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ijwrsmff · 3 years

Note

could i request for the dbd killers pig, huntress, death slinger and whoever else you see fit with the idea of reader suddenly disappearing in a trial? like one minute they’re fixing gens and running round the map then the next minute they somehow end up back at the campfire or something and the killers had no idea? mistakenly thinking the entity took them or something. thank you !!!

Woo! This one was really fun to do, I absolutely LOVE this idea, thank you for requesting!

The Pig (Amanda Young):

Something was wrong...you were here just a minute ago…

She saw it with her own eyes

She was stalking behind you, ready to grab and hook you but…

A dark mist encircled you and then you were just...gone

A feral yell made its way up her throat and she began stabbing into the air

Were you...gone forever?

Maybe the entity didn’t approve of her and your relationship...and took you away

She screamed into the sky, and the three remaining survivors feared for their wellbeing

The rest of the trial was...brutal

She may have mercy at some points...but not with you gone

She resigned herself into thinking you were gone for good, and took her sweet time torturing the other survivors

If you were gone...there would be no holding back

She injures the others, letting them get just far away to think they’re safe before she jumps out of the shadows and takes them

She put their torture devices on quickly, and soon all of the survivors were running on borrowed time

She began hooking the others as soon as she could, just wanting this nightmare to be over

If she would be stuck in this loop eternally...she didn’t want to do it without you

Upon returning to the campsite and seeing you sitting there talking to your other survivor friends...she began crying under her mask

You ran up to her, knowing how frightened she must be

“Hey...it’s okay Amanda, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Those words and your warm embrace were enough to soothe her aching heart

The Huntress (Anna):

She was right behind you and you knew it

She had been chasing you for what felt like forever, and you were wearing out

You turned the corner quickly and hid in a locker, hoping to throw her off your trail

But she could see the red scratches that indicated you had entered the locker

“Oh my sweet little rabbit, you didn’t think that would work, did you?”

She swung the doors of the locker open to find...nothing

She was certain you were there...there’s no way you could have left the locker without hearing or even seeing it

The rest of the trial she spent looking for you

Forget the rules, where were you?

She didn’t even care about the other survivors, you were her main priority

After a while, she pinned a survivor down

It wasn’t her fault...he got in the way

“Where is y/n”

He looked confused “what do you mean? We haven’t seen them for a while...we figured you already mori’d them…”

So not even the other survivors knew where you had went…

She sighed and let him get up, continuing her search for you

By now, all of the generators had been repaired and the countdown had begun

She didn’t care

Where had you gone…? The entity wouldn’t have taken you in the middle of a trial...right?

As soon as she was back to the killer’s campsite she ran for the survivor’s campsite hoping with all of her being that you were there

You were there

She rushed over to you and picked you up into an embrace

“Don’t you ever leave me like that again, understand?” Her words were meant to sound firm but it came across as...frail

She was so terrified of losing you it hurt

“I’m sorry I worried you...I wish I knew what happened myself but...all I know is one minute I was in the locker and the next I was back at the camp.”

She refused to let go of you, and pressed her lips softly to your forehead

“I need you...that...that scared me so much” she spoke quietly, not wanting the other survivors to think she was weak

“I need you too...we’re together forever. No matter what stunts the entity pulls.”

Death Slinger (Caleb Quinn):

When he found out the entity took you...he was livid

All of the survivors remaining were absolutely horrified

He seemed...more vicious than usual

And that’s saying something

He aimed to make quick work of the survivors, not wasting any time hooking each and every one of them

There was...a dangerous look in his eyes that made the remaining survivors terrified to the core

He didn’t see it happen, but he assumed. One minute you were there, the next you weren’t. He even tried asking the survivors he hooked where you were but...they had no idea either

He reeled the last survivor in, and made quick work of placing him on the hook

You better be at the campsite...if you weren’t...he’d attack anyone and everyone who even looked at him

He couldn’t help it...he was beyond pissed

He didn’t want to admit it...but if you were really gone for good...there’d be no point in continuing the entity’s game

He would play the game...but he would lose all will to continue if you were gone for too long

So when he had finished with the trial, he immediately sprinted to the edge of the survivors camp

To say he was relieved when he saw you would be an understatement

You looked up to him with the eyes he so deeply loved and ran up to him

He pulled you into a hug immediately

He wasn’t one to show physical affection where the others could see...but this was an exception

“Leave me like that again and I’ll be sure to kill you in the most painful way possible.”

How comforting

At least you know he cares

The Shape (Michael Myers):

You were his primary target

Often, you were

In his mind...he was sparing you from continuing the game the entity had set up

He was saving you

He made sure it was as painless as possible...unless he was mad

Either about how the game had gone so far, or something else

But this time...when he was about to pull you from the generator, a dark mist enveloped your form and you were simply...gone

He stood still a moment, processing what he had just witnessed before his eyes narrowed and he kicked the generator with all the strength he had

The rest of the trial was...absolutely brutal

He made things as painful as he possibly could

It made him feel...a little better

Not enough though

If he could scream out, he would have

Instead, he settled on making the survivors remainder of the trial complete and utter hell

By the time he had hooked the last survivor they had less than half of the generators complete

He wasn’t wasting any time, that was for sure

When he appeared back at the campsite he stalked off into the dark between the two camps

You were there waiting for him…

“Michael! I was so worried, are you okay?” You placed your hands on the sides of his mask, something you did when you were trying to comfort him

It worked, and his demeanor changed

A small noise left his throat, and to you it sounded almost like...a whine

“I’m so sorry I scared you...but I’m here now and that's what matters!”

He placed his hands on your cheeks, mirroring your actions

You smiled up at him, and leaned up to press a kiss to his mask

“I’m here now...you don’t have to worry about me leaving anytime soon...okay?”

He nodded and pulled you closer into a warm hug

“I won’t leave you...I promise.”

#dbd #dbd x reader #x reader #the pig dbd #the pig x reader #amanda young x reader #the huntress dbd #the huntress x reader #anna huntress x reader #deathslinger x reader #the deathslinger x reader #caleb quinn x reader #slasher imagines #fluff #angst/comfort

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Excuse Me what is pulp and why is it importan?

Good question! And probably one I should have answered sooner. Time to put on the historian hat for this one.

"Pulp" is a term used mainly to describe forms of storytelling that sprang out or were dominant in 20th century cheap all-fiction American magazines from the 1900s to the 1950s. The pulp magazine began in 1896, when Frank Munsey's Argosy magazine, in order to cut costs, dropped the non-fiction articles and photographs and switched from glossy paper to the much less expensive wood pulp paper, hence the name. The pulp magazines would mainly take off as a distinct market and format in 1904, when Street & Smith learned that Popular Magazine, despite being marketed towards boys, was being consumed by men of all ages, so they increased page count and started putting popular authors on the issues.

It was specifically the 1905 reprint of H.Rider Haggard's Ayesha that not only put Street & Smith on the map as rivals to Argosy, but also inspired other companies to start publishing in the pulp format. Pulps encompassed literally everything that the authors felt like publishing. Westerns, romance, horror, sci-fi, railroad stories, war stories, war aviation stories. Zeppelins had a short-lived subgenre. Celebrities got their own magazines, it was really any genre or format they could pull off, anything they could get away with.

Nowadays, although they came quite late in it's history, the American pulps are most famous for it's "hero pulps", characters like The Shadow and Doc Savage that are viewed as a formative influence on comic book superheroes. The pulp magazines in America lasted until the 1950s, when cumulative factors such as paper shortages, diminishing audience returns and the closing of it's biggest publishers led to it dying off, although in the decades since there's always been publishers calling their magazines pulp. That's the American pulp history.

But pulps are a phenomenon that spans the entire world and has a much bigger history to it, because pulps have become synonymous with cheap fiction magazines and those have a much bigger history. In America, before the pulps, you had the dime novels, the direct predecessors of the pulps, as well as the novelettes. England had it's penny dreadfuls and story papers, and continued publishing pulp-format magazines past the American 1950s, and that's how we got Elric of Melniboné. France and Russia arguably got to it first with it's 1800s coulporters, chapbooks and particularly the feuilletons which lasted all the way to the 20th century and created characters such as Arsene Lupin, Fantomas and The Phantom of the Opera. The Germans published pulp under the name hefteromane. Japan also published pulp magazines both original as well as imported, and the current "light-novel" phenomenon started off as an equivalent of pulp magazines (it's even on the Wikipedia page). China has wuxia, Brazil has cordel, Italy has gialli. There were Indian, Persian, Ethiopian, Canadian, Australian pulps and much more. Look anywhere in the world and you'll find examples of "pulp" happening again and again, under different circumstances and time periods.

Even if we stick to American fiction, it's impossible to state that all pulp heroes must come from the 1900s-1950s pulp magazines, because that forces us to exclude some of the most popular pulp heroes like Indiana Jones, Green Hornet, Rocketeer and The Phantom. Pulp may have once been a term meant to refer to pulp magazines exclusively, but it's morphed and lost structure and it's become the closest thing we have to a general umbrella term that allows us to try and consolidate these under a shared history. It's a lot, as you can see, and it's why several pulp historians that broaden their scope outside of 1930s American fiction have adopted Roland Barthes's definition of pulp as "A Metaphor With No Brakes In It", which is still the closest thing to a true working definition we have.

Why is it important? You tell me. I don't like to stake claims about stuff being "important", everyone's got their own priorities in life. Surely a lot of people would scoff at the idea of old populist fiction published in what was functionally equivalent to toilet paper having any sort of "importance". On the other hand, some people definitely want to talk big about the pulps as a cultural bedrock of fiction, something that's baked into the lifeblood of all fiction as we currently know it. Which it is, mind you, but I don't like to talk about pulp fiction's value being derived mainly from merely the things it inspired.

There is definitely a historical importance to be had in cataloguing them. According to the US's foremost pulp researcher Jess Nevins, 38% of all American pulps no longer exist, and 14% of all American pulps survive in less than five copies. Many libraries have very scant, if any, records on them, many collectors are hard to locate and are uncooperative when it comes to sharing information and letting outsiders view their collections. A lot of them are bound up in legal complications that prevents them from taking off in the public domain, and a lot of them ARE public domain but are completely inacessible as research material. And that's the American pulps, foreign pulps have fared far worse in posterity, with records inaccessible to people unfamiliar with the language or locations, many existing merely in mentions on decades-old records, and hundreds if not thousands of them being completely gone beyond recovery or recall.

Gone, dead, wasted, destroyed. They can't be found in barbershops or warehouse or bookstores, not even in antique stores. Hundreds, thousands of characters, stories and creators, gone. Time and posterity have crushed them to dust, forgotten and ignored by their successors. Unfettered by pretenses of respectability that repressed their glossier counterparts, in packages meant to be destroyed after reading, proudly announcing itself as trash. Things that should have never even lasted as long as they did have died many times now. It's heroes peripherical shapeshifters, nearly all of whom seem dead, quite dead, as dead as fictional characters can possibly be.

But they do not die forever. Many of them have, maybe most of them have, but many of them linger on.

"The strange red flickering of 1930’s fiction seems distant now. You hold in your hand the product of a time too remote to recall, and feel a slow stir of wonder. The smell of pulp pages, an illustration, an advertisement, these fragile things mark the slow hammering of time and display what it has done. About you are today’s machines, today’s shadows.

Outside the window, leaves hang against the sky, as did leaves during the 1930’s. The sound of voices are no different then than now. You hold the magazine and feel something quite delicate slipping past. These solid forms surrounding you are all insubstantial. Time’s hammer will also pass across them, leaving little enough behind." - Spider, by Robert Sampson

Many of the things people call dead are just things that have been sleeping for a while or haven't had the chance to be born. Pulp fiction is dead on the page, inert, unless your imagination breathes live to it, and every now and then, one way or another, these characters dig themselves out of dustbins. Maybe it's a brief revival, maybe it's a successful reboot. Maybe they find publishers, or maybe the public domain allows them to find new life. Maybe new creators do interesting things with them, and maybe, just maybe, they live again because some won't shut up about them online. Some curious impulse led you to me, did it not?

We all have our Frankensteins to obsess over, and these are some of mine. As someone who's lived a life perpetually restless over pursuit of knowledge, pulp has lured me like a moth to flame, because I literally never run out of things to discover within it, I never run out of possibilities. As the years pass and the public domain starts being more and more open to the public, more and more narrative real state is brought forth for writers and artists and creators to play around.

Pulp is the dark matter of fiction, the uncatalogued depths of the ocean, the darkest recesses of space. It's the box of your grandfather's belongings, the treasure you find in an attic, a body part sticking out from an old playground. It's the things that don't work, don't succeed, the things that don't fit, that are out of place. That shouldn't live and succeed, and did so anyway. The things that slither in the cracks, the shadows behind the curtain.

Aren't you interested in peering on what's behind the curtain?

The exquisite workmanship of the head, of a pre-pyramidal age, and the hieroglyphics, symbols of a language that was forgotten when Rome was young–these, Kane sensed, were additions as modern to the antiquity of the staff itself as would be English words carved on the stone monoliths of Stonehenge.

As for the cat-head–looking at it sometimes Kane had a peculiar feeling of alteration; a faint sensing that once the pommel of the staff was carved with a different design. The dust-ancient Egyptian who had carved the head of Bast had merely altered the original figure, and what that figure had been, Kane had never tried to guess.

A close scrutiny of the staff always aroused a disquieting and almost dizzy suggestion of abysses of eons, unprovocative to further speculation. - The Footfalls Within, by Robert E Howard, quoted by Stuart Hopen’s The Mythic American Culture

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #argosy #h rider haggard #ayesha #robert e howard #solomon kane

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

The Secret

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a dark and dreary night, Anakin tries to see if he can influence your dreams.

A/N: idk what in the hell this even is tbh I just started writing it two days ago idk what happened this is some inception shit but not the crazy ass mind bending plot twist part at the very end of inception but like just the cool middle part where you kinda get what’s sorta going on but not really okay anyways I gotta go

Warnings: There are DUBCON/NONCON ELEMENTS to this, smut/oral sex, a splash of m/m (sorta?), dark Anakin uses the force to mess with your dreams without your knowledge or consent so please read at your own discretion

***

Anakin knows it’s wrong.

It’s the middle of the night on a moon he never bothered learning the name of and Anakin knows it’s wrong when his eyes shift over to you for the fifth time in the past minute. Curled up with your back to him and the crackling firelight illuminating this tiny little cave, breathing soft and quiet through your nose as you sleep, the wind roaring monstrously outside. Anakin acknowledges it—the moral impropriety of even sitting here thinking about things he shouldn’t be with you so close by. It’s wrong, no getting around it.

But there’s also something inside him that… wants the wrongness.

He likes it. Anakin likes having secrets, he likes breaking rules even when nobody is consciously here to witness it. It makes him feel alive in a way that battlefields just can’t anymore, not after two years of constant conflict where the only enemies to feel his wrath have been comprised of nuts and bolts, their robotic cries never leaving him with any satisfaction anymore. At the start of the Clone Wars, sure, it was a thrill to slice through voice boxes and body parts, even if they were mechanical. But the droids aren’t afraid of death, they’re just programmed to stay alive. It’s like killing large, dumb swarms of bugs—it needs to be done for the common good but there’s never any true fulfillment in it anymore, it just feels like a task to be completed instead of an earnest, hard-earned goal.

He’s also been given direct permission to do it. He’s even been ordered to carry out enormous droid massacres on behalf of the Republic, but that’s the thing. Anakin isn’t looking for permission, see, it takes away half the thrill.

No, he wants to feel wrong. He wants to wonder if he shouldn’t have. He wants the quiet guilt, the sparkle of holding a secret he’ll never breathe a word about, the addictive power trip from having real influence over something, something equally as real.

Technically, Anakin is supposed to be on lookout right now. He’s meant to stay awake and patrol the perimeter of the cave for enemy combatants, but he doesn’t even bother pretending to be diligent when it’s just you two here. It’s not necessary. He’d be able to sense another lifeform miles away in this secluded, barren wasteland; there’s no threat to be found right now. He can keep warm by the crackling firelight in this cave, sheltered from the dust storm that spontaneously broke out a few hours ago. He can stay awake without moving a muscle and listen to your slow breathing all night long, letting it fill him with shameful desires he spends the daylight hours fighting and suppressing.

He silently flicks his gaze over to you once more, blinking as he studies you. He can sense your mind becoming creative in its slumber, beginning to swirl into dreamlike possibilities around yourself, about to choose a path for your consciousness to follow tonight. Yes, this is what he’s waiting for. He can’t force you to dream—that’s beyond his expertise as a Jedi. But if he finds himself in the right place at the right time, he can certainly try his best to… give you a suggestion.

The wind whistles outside and the fire pops quietly and you continue to breathe. In, and out. In, and out.

Anakin closes his eyes, and begins.

He first maps your body with the Force, trying to understand it on a deeper level. Gauge it—its proportions, its ambience, the thrumming lifeforce flowing through your veins even as you sleep. He has to be careful—as a fellow Knight, there’s no guarantee you won’t immediately be able to spot him exploring your energy in this way, there’s nothing to stop you from suddenly rolling over and asking just what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

But Anakin is patient. It’s one of the only times he can remember truly exercising that untapped potential inside him, perfectly content to allow you to drift while he works to find his bearings with you. Minds are complex, especially when they’re unconscious. They’re finicky and never stay in the same spot for long—it’s not like they evade, necessarily, but instead, they just… float around. Pulsing. In and out of existence, hiding behind and under immovable things, no rhyme or reason for it, vanishing into uncertainty and nothingness as soon as he thinks he’s found it. Like trying to find a microscopic air pocket in the depths of a pitch black ocean. He’s not losing any oxygen by existing right at the edges of your sleep, but it takes hard concentration to stay here, hidden, not allowing himself to slip. He’s looking, he’s looking… but he soon realizes he just needs to wait longer. He needs to wait until you float your way back around to him, until you present the opening yourself.

So Anakin waits.

And waits…

And then suddenly—

—There. He locks onto a flicker in the Force and holds, finally isolating and breaching the surface of your inner subconscious. Anakin smiles softly, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his temple at the effort it took to locate you without alerting you of his presence. There you are. Maker, it sure is pretty in here, isn't it? He has you, he’s cradling the buried, hidden, most fragile part of your soul as you slumber, not knowing any better.

His heart thumps with excitement even though he’s barely done anything yet. To someone without sensitivity to the Force, they might just think the both of you are asleep right now. Just the two of you sitting still in this relatively small space, eyes closed, neither of you are touching, nobody has said anything or made any substantial movements in hours, nothing has changed in this world. All of it is existing in another plane, a place most people wouldn’t be able to recognize unless someone informed them of its existence, and even then, it would be beyond understanding.

But he has you now. He’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. He can allow his focus to dip just slightly, knowing your mind will pull him along through the comatose current. He senses you already working through the beginning whispers of dreams, but they’re not the kind people can ever remember. These aren’t formed, there’s no substance to them—it’s just pure, abstract dreamspace for your mind to drift through while you slumber.

Finding your true consciousness through all the murky, shapeless slumber was the test in skill. Now comes the luck.

Very carefully, without arousing any suspicion or drawing undue attention to himself, Anakin begins to drag the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth. He doesn’t open his mouth, he doesn’t move a single muscle outwardly—he just lets his tongue begin to flitter around slowly in its enclosed cavern as he breathes, making the movements as soft and hypnotic as he can, matching the aimless way you’re carrying your mind and his shadow through the darkness.

He’s tried this before. Once or twice, with a pretty Ambassador he was tasked with protecting for a few months at the start of the Clone Wars, but the results were always less than ideal. He could never seamlessly transfer his desires through her consciousness before she awoke, perhaps because she wasn’t Force sensitive. The dream would either never happen, or he would push too hard and it’d turn into a rabid nightmare that fractured her thoughts and made her terrified to close her eyes for weeks. Not this time, though, Anakin isn’t going to allow it. Not with you, not after all the unprecedented effort it took to even just get himself here.

He finds a bit more passion to put into his movements, his jaw beginning to work with more purpose. Stars, he wants this to work, and while it’s probable that there’s an easier way to accomplish it, this isn’t something the Academy trains for. There’s only so much he can do except just be patient and giving with his soft, muted thoughts, urging you to make use of them without ever saying them aloud.

And suddenly, like the dark waves of your sleep decide to illuminate for him all on their own, your subconscious mind responds to the gentle stimulus. It carefully reaches out and studies the suggestion he’s silently offering, having spent what feels like an eternity trying to entice your rawest, most fundamental being into going somewhere it normally wouldn’t go, all without letting you know he’s even there.

His tongue is still moving. With purpose, with a specific intent in mind, Anakin allows his head to slowly fall back as he lifts his chin up towards it, wanting it more and more the longer you take to consider it, as if your mind is actively trying to tease him by playing hard to get. He can feel you right there, feel you thinking about it, and the whole thing is almost like some elaborate courting ritual while he waits with bated breath for you to decide whether or not to humor him.

But then, just when Anakin fears you may be too strong to be swayed, too powerful in the Force to be tempted by an outside source, you abruptly snatch the idea from him and start to run with it.

Suddenly parts of your spirit begin illuminating that should be dormant right now, and Anakin follows you, wherever you’re leading him. He knows none of this is necessarily intentional on your behalf—nobody can consciously pick and choose their dreams, not even Jedi. But this endeavor proves that it’s absolutely possible to subtly inspire them in each other, regardless of the morality behind it.

The wind continues to howl outside the cave and remind him that an entire universe still exists beyond your beautifully soporose mind, but the dreamscape gradually begins unfolding around him without any further prompting, requiring nothing more than what he’s already provided. Anakin’s tongue continues to simulate and suggest regardless, only now he feels the ghost of it beginning to materialize somewhere else besides the roof of his mouth, the sensations appearing before the images can be conjured to fill in the gaps. His hands suddenly tighten on his thighs at the soft, enticing feeling beginning to take root in you.

And oh. It’s… good. It feels different when his own body isn’t really the target of the stimulation, when he’s doing nothing more than simply experiencing it vicariously. Anakin supposes he could’ve bypassed all this effort, just aimed the pleasure more directly from the very beginning instead of working to inspire and coax it out of your own consciousness, but that was never his intention and it misses the point entirely. Where’s the challenge in it? The finesse is lost, it doesn’t appeal to him. It’s brash and brutish and not his style. No, this is what he wanted. He wanted to get just close enough to plant the most basic, fundamental idea in your head and then witness the rest of it all play out as a phantom passenger. Step back, strap in, and see how you kindle and manipulate the desire yourself, exactly the way you want it.

Anakin starts to breathe a little heavier through his nose, shoulders tense as he works to ride the slow swelling of your own prolonged pleasure with you, not knowing if or when it’s going to peak. He’s never made it this far before, he has no idea what to expect. Your consciousness does all the heavy lifting for him, your floor muscles move and contract without him needing to do anything to encourage it, the dream he seeded now completely taking over and whisking you both away.

But then… then suddenly Anakin doesn’t understand. Because yes, your mind works exactly the way he hoped it would—everything goes the incredibly precise direction he intended, and yet the destination is somehow… here? Back at the very beginning?

You dream of a cave. It’s exactly the same as the one you’re both silently holed up in for the night, and no new faces have appeared. If Anakin fluttered his eyes open at this specific moment, absolutely nothing around him would change. Except, perhaps, the subtle glow around everything—the watery way the air seems to be moving, as if it can’t decide whether it wants to exist or not so it strangely succeeds in doing both at the same time. He’s not really here—at least, he doesn’t think he is, he’s just seated on the dirt floor, appearing as nothing more than an invisible witness to it.

No. No, actually, he takes that back, he… is here. It takes him a moment to see the full picture as you’re still putting the puzzle pieces together, but… that’s him. A projection of himself at least, looking only slightly different but recognizable enough. Dark robes, robotic right arm, steady gaze.

But where are you? Anakin looks around the empty cave, still trying to understand how you’re painting this, his conscious mind moving much more rapidly than your own abstract one and yet also somehow taking so much longer to catch up to you. You’re not here. Why aren’t you here? He’s getting stuck on the details, he knows he’s lagging behind.

It takes a moment longer. Just one, before Anakin suddenly realizes that… he’s not just an invisible witness, is he?

He looks back down to see his own head now buried between his thighs.

But they’re not his thighs, not really. They’re yours. He’s just seeing everything from your point of view, feeling everything you’re feeling from the small little space he’s occupying in your mind.

At this point, Anakin needs to anchor. He feels himself—his real self, the one currently stuck in a cave in the midst of an unexpected dust storm—curl inwards and clamp his legs together. This will work. If he focuses enough to pinpoint the way his knees feel pressed tight together, he can have a tether to separate himself from your dream, the way yours are currently… wide open. This is all too similar to your true surroundings—he didn’t expect this, he doesn’t want to get lost.

And yet… Maker, it feels good. His long curls feel so soft in your hands, his tongue drags slow magic between your legs. When Anakin first suggested the idea to you, he didn’t think you’d assign the role back to him. He assumed you had someone else in mind, somewhere else you wished to be besides this dull, dreary setting. He gave you just an inkling of a prompt, and this is what the most creative part of your mind created. Something he could be doing at this exact moment, if only he’d known you’d be interested.

Then again, Anakin thinks, you may have just recognized him subconsciously. You may have attached him to the idea already, if only because he was the truest originator of it. But it doesn’t matter now, he can’t process such complex thoughts while maintaining the suspended mental state he’s in—he feels like he’ll either completely fall into it or out of it if he tries.

But as your muscles continue to work and your pleasure continues to build, it becomes harder and harder to separate where he is in relation to you. Anakin clenches his legs tighter together as you open yours wider apart, the dream gaining more strength as it develops. Stars, it’s—it’s—

Anakin starts to lose it and he needs to tug on that tether to his surroundings again, but it’s way more difficult than it should be to recognize himself. His calloused fingers on his left hand tremble as he reaches up and uses them to cover his face, biting his tongue to stop the low rumbles of ecstasy that want to claw their way out of his throat. Maker, this feels so… different from the build he knows. He thought—if he was successful—that he’d be able to handle it as silently and stoically as he’s able to handle his own pleasure, but this is something else entirely. Why does it feel so… so spectacular? Maker, he never realized the sensation was all that different on the inside, much less that he was actually missing out by having a dick between his legs.

But then suddenly there’s a pause, a break in the way you’ve been rhythmically squeezing and flexing your body for him.

The dream adapts to it. Anakin looks down between your open thighs just in time to see himself pulling away from your warmth, putting two fingers in his mouth, before slowly easing his hand back down between them.

No, he thinks, a bright flare of panic sparking inside him as he immediately snatches and yanks the tether to reality, popping his eyes open and pulling away from your mind entirely, oh no—wait, that’s not what I—

But see. That’s the thing about being so meticulous about conjuring something that doesn’t actually exist. Once his brilliant creation decides to backfire on him—a fool-proof way to escape it doesn’t actually exist either.

He… he can’t wake up. No matter how much his body struggles backwards on the dirt floor of the cave, how wide he can feel his eyes are right now, how excruciatingly aware he is that none of this is real, none of this is actually happening to him, he’s caught in the dream he planted and you’re hauling him along for the ride. The closest he can describe it is like having footage play in one eye while the other can see perfectly fine. He knows where the line that separates reality is, but he can’t escape your consciousness’s crushing gravitational pull; it’s too massive and overwhelming now, he can’t gain enough velocity to get home. Real life exists but only through a window, and being stuck on the other side like this—knowing he’s dreaming but not being able to jolt awake when he’s very ready to leave—is suddenly more terrifying than any nightmare Anakin has ever experienced.

It also has unintended consequences. Clinging so desperately to his own body has made him completely aware of it in the purgatory he’s now trapped himself in, but the pleasure is still there so the source of the stimulation is still there. They’re not your thighs anymore, they’re his thighs again. But that’s also still him between his legs, continuing to ease his fingers forwards.

He keeps retreating back and away from them no matter what, but there’s nothing more he can do.

Anakin helplessly watches on as his own fingers slowly disappear up inside himself, and his eyes instantly lose focus and his jaw goes slack as he feels it the way you would. They’re not real, so there’s no pain, no true pressure or stretch, just… hard, unadulterated stimulation starting to burn up inside him.

He doesn’t realize his body kept moving until he suddenly feels the wall of the cave slam into his back and he has to brace himself against it, frantically shoving himself back into it as far as he can with his legs and digging his nails into dirt at the base, scrabbling for breath and stability. Anakin tightens up wickedly as you both bear down on the phantom intrusion, sweat beading at his hairline as he works to process the foreign sensation and you whimper quietly in your sleep. His cock is rock hard between his legs and he shudders to think that his mind will compensate for the difference and his alter ego will actually take it into his mouth—but no, the projection doesn’t change because it’s still coming from you, still being led by your own desires. Dream-Anakin’s mouth drops and his tongue comes out to keep licking your slit but to the real Anakin, it just looks like his mouth disappears somewhere near his balls, and then a magnificent swell of bliss suddenly kicks in before he can fight as savagely against it as he wants. He’d normally be repulsed, and maybe he currently is to some extent, but because your pleasure spikes so dangerously with it, his hips stutter into the sensation just as desperately.

He’s making noise, he knows he is—he can feel his throat working too hard for just air to be moving through. No, he’s whimpering, or moaning, or doing something but he can’t hear himself at all. His instinct is to yell as loudly as he can, to try and wake you up manually, but it doesn’t seem to work, you’re way too far gone now. He listens for the dust storm that should be screaming outside, the popping of the fire somewhere in this cave, but they’re suddenly nowhere to be found. He’s being dragged under by your enormous current that’s somehow still continuing to build in strength, losing oxygen by the second. He’s not ready for it, he doesn’t want it, he’s terrified, he needs to wake up—

Anakin slams his head back against the wall hard enough to make himself bleed and gasps raggedly as he loses his grip on everything, shutting his eyes tight with his fist shoved up against his teeth. Nothing exists at all anymore but the swirling typhoon that continues raging forth. Beyond purgatory, and then beyond heaven.

When you finally do manage to find the absolute peak of your climb, he’s sure he all but blacks out with it.

It’s pure, blinding rapture on all levels—physical, metaphysical, whatever else exists after that. It surges up with razor-sharp claws of merciless ecstasy and he’s just not equipped to experience anything anywhere close to it. The connection between your minds thrums and sparks violently; Anakin feels the way your body practically soars over top of the pleasure while his is just being ruthlessly pummeled into the ground by it. He’s not meant to handle this, he literally wasn’t made to survive the devastating anomaly—it’s as wicked and excruciating as it is dazzling, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly be able to come back from it.

Eventually, Anakin manages to find his way back to himself. Eventually.

His cock is throbbing, that’s the first thing he‘s able to notice. The dirt floor beneath him that somehow feels slightly different than before, the fetal position he’s assuming on top of it, the once sturdy wall now crumbling to dust against his back.

The next thing he notices is the utter, complete mess he made. Blood slowly drips in a line down his neck and more cum than he’s ever felt himself produce before drenches the front of his pants. Anakin slowly blinks his eyes open, trying to fight the vertigo and wondering if he might have a concussion right now. There are cracks and fractures in the ground that branch out from the small crater at his back, and the fire is completely extinguished now, charred logs splintered and strewn about like somebody detonated a bomb in here.

At some point, his gaze drags over towards you, and remarkably, you haven’t moved. Still curled up on your side with your back to him, still breathing slow and steady and undisturbed.

Anakin pants in exhaustion and waits for you to turn over to address him and what he did. There’s no way you’re still asleep, not after what just happened. Anakin couldn’t get through it without sending a giant shockwave through the entire cave and quite literally rupturing the ground beneath him, he’s surprised you even managed to stay in one spot the entire time. He doesn’t know if you feel violated right now and are refusing to acknowledge him, or if it’s just taking as long as he is for your brain to catch up and start functioning again.

That is, until he hears a small snore come from your unmoving body once more.

Anakin blinks.

No. You have to be awake, he figures, moving to prop himself upright and wipe the blood from his neck with the dark sleeve of his robe. There’s no possible way that the orgasm you both shared is actually… normal, no, the sheer power of it had to be influenced by his presence somehow. He must have… increased it, or something. Anakin doesn’t know how, but he knows he must be directly responsible, this had to have been the strongest you’ve ever cum in your life and you just don’t know how to confront him about it right now, so you’re pretending to sleep. Yes, that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be.

He’s not going to check, though. He’s not going to find any lingering energy left within himself to summon and look for the thick darkness of sleep still enveloping you, he’s not going anywhere near your signature right now. No, Anakin is fine just like this, exactly where he is. Instead of verifying or confirming his own understanding, he’ll just be extra confident in it, that’s always worked well for him.

So he just sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling like his whole body is weak and trembling with fatigue. Maybe you are asleep, he shrugs. Maybe he’s wrong, and selfish, and an idiot. Or maybe.

Maybe you just like keeping secrets, too.

#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #Smut #reader insert #dark anakin #no-droids

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muns0n · 2 years

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Best Kept Secret

Chapter 1 - Hawkins High

The bell resounded shrilly, marking the end of 6th period. Shoving the trigonometry textbook quickly into your bag and keeping your eyes downcast, you headed for the door. Sweet, sweet freedom.

“Y/n?” Miss Perkins’ voice called. Sighing inwardly, you turned from the doorway, plastering your best top-student smile across your face as you made your way toward her desk. She leant against it relaxedly, slim form angular and arms crossed.

“Yes? Is everything okay?”

“Absolutely. I just wanted to check how you found that lesson,” she continued, genuine concern lacing her words. “It’s tough being new, and AP math isn’t easy either.”

I could do AP math with my eyes closed, you thought disinterestedly.

“The lesson was fine,” you replied, one hand loosely clasped around the canvas strap of your bag. “Today has been good.”

“I’m glad,” she nodded, a small smile pulling at her thin lips. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.” With a slight incline of your head, you left the room, heading out into the hallway. Golden light slanted through the windows at the end of the hall, and teenagers rushed to and fro beyond the doors to the parking lot. The hallway around you was nearly empty, most people having fled the school grounds as quickly as they could. You wanted to join them, you really did, but today was your first day at Hawkins High, and if being late to every single lesson had taught you anything, it was that you needed to get a better idea of the school’s layout. Preferably before the full day of classes you had coming tomorrow.

Clean converse scuffed lightly against the floor as your eyes danced over the doors surrounding you, map and pencil in hand. 22-B, 23-B, 24-B… Turning down a hallway, you tried to ignore how incredibly similar it looked to the last one, picking out random landmarks. A water fountain here, a soccer bulletin board there. Anything to help figure out where in hell you needed to be tomorrow. If the stragglers still at their lockers cared about how lost you looked, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, they didn’t show it. A few had their tongues too far down eachother’s throats to even notice you at all.

Gross.

Miss Perkins had been right about one thing, and one thing only. It was tough being new. And, you had been happy back in Boston. Things were simple there; you had friends (only a few, but they were good ones), you had plans for college. Here, you had to start over. Sure, you could bring your stellar GPA along with you, but it was a tender age for anyone to move. And at the start of senior year, too. But, when your Dad came home almost leaping in excitement about a new job opportunity, your Mom nowhere to be seen, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him exactly how much you didn’t want to move.

So yeah. You were a little salty about being stuck here. Just a little.

It hadn’t taken your Mom much convincing. She, being an accountant, could work from virtually anywhere. The only downside was how much time your Dad’s new job took up. Suddenly, you went from having one parent home for dinner to having neither.

Whooping and hollering coming from somewhere to your left tore you from your thoughts. The hallway was mostly dark, the only light leaking from behind a door a couple metres ahead of you. A quick glance at your timetable told you you didn’t have any lessons in that section of the school. So there was really no need to go see what was happening in there. No need at all.

But, of course, you were nothing if not curious.

The door was cracked open a few inches, enough to get a good look at the scene inside. A group of boys sat around a table littered with dice and figurines, chatting animatedly as they glanced between sheets of paper in front of them and the long-haired guy sat at the head of the table. Said guy slapped a hand adorned in rings onto a heavy looking book in front of him, grinning around at his comrades as he said something you couldn’t make out. The boys looked to be of varying ages, the long-haired one a little older, maybe, and they all wore identical shirts.

Their jabber continued for a few more minutes, you watching silently from back in the hallway. Whatever was going on in there, they all seemed to be loving it. Something nerdy, no doubt. Eyes flitting back to the seat furthest away from the door, you noticed it was empty of the long-haired guy who had sat there moments earlier.

Where did he-

Suddenly and aggressively, that ring-covered hand slammed around the door’s edge, and a thick head of hair made its way into your vision. Frozen, caught like a deer in headlights, you could only stare back at the brown eyes boring into your own. They seemed to reflect light, to shine slightly, despite the hallway behind you being dark. You opened your mouth to explain, to come up with an excuse, but the guy’s jaw hardened and his eyebrows rose slightly. He pinned you with a bored, slightly pissed off look. And then, the fingers around the doorframe tensed, and the thick oak door was slammed. Right in your face.

Well, that told you.

An embarrassed flush rose quickly up your neck and face, and you hurriedly headed in the opposite direction, scribbling furiously on the map so as to look busy. A great first day. Truly. Despite feeling sheepish as you continued wandering the halls, you couldn’t help but also feel ticked-off. Whoever that guy was, his reaction seemed a little overkill. Rude, honestly. You had barely spoken to anyone all day, except awkwardly introducing yourself in class and chatting with the sweet secretary, and this was your first proper student interaction. Embarrassing, annoying, and straight up awkward. A wonderful welcome to Hawkins High.

—————

Your angered simmered as you marched down the sidewalk into town. The Family Video Store’s obnoxious sign leered over you as you approached, door swinging open. You deserved a treat, after the day you’d had. A movie was the perfect choice. Even if there was nobody to watch it with.

A guy in a uniform leant against the counter facing away from you, eyes glued to a small, box TV hanging from the ceiling. You recognised the scientist on the screen from Back to the Future and smiled slightly at the guy’s choice of movie. It was a classic, but not what you were in the mood for tonight.

Walls of VHS tapes stared back at you, and you had the distinct sinking feeling that you were a little out of your comfort zone. Most of your life so far had been bike rides with your dad, studying, and sleeping. Sure, you saw a movie once in a while, but this was a little larger scale than the usual 3 choices at the theatre.

“Need some help?” Jumping slightly, you swung to your left to come face-to-face with a girl your age. Mousy hair fell loosely to around her jaw, and bangs framed her face. She grinned, revealing straight, white teeth.

“Hmm, I guess,” you replied unsurely, turning back to face the wall of movies. “Any recommendations?”

“Depends what you’re in the mood for.” The girl hummed, trailing a slim finger across a display to her right. She glanced down at your outfit, frilled socks peeking up from behind worn converse and the pleated skirt that fell to mid-thigh. “Romance?” And then, she was on the move, leaving you to stare dumbfounded down at your clothing of choice.

“Um, actually no!” You blurted, defiant and slightly embarrassed again. God, what is with the residents of this place? No social cues at all!

“No?” The girl reappeared, swinging her head around a shelving unit to face you again. “Okay, what then?” You wracked your brain for a genre that caught your interest, but came up empty. The blank look on your face spurred the girl into action once again. This time, she headed toward the counter in the centre of the store. “Steve. Hey, Steve!” She slapped the guy from earlier’s impressive head of hair, pulling his attention from the movie.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“We’re supposed to be working. And we have a customer.” She jabbed a thumb back toward you, an expectant expression on her face, and bend down to ruffle through another display nearby.

The guy - Steve - turned back to face you, one hand still rubbing at the back of his scalp where the girl had struck him. You lifted a hand awkwardly in greeting.

“Hello.”

“Um, hi,” he replied. His brows furrowed as he took you in. “Are you new here? I don’t recognise you.”

“Sort of,” you began, nodding as your hand found purchase on the strap of your bag once again. “I moved here a couple weeks ago, but I haven’t been out around the town much.” Steve nodded, leaning a hip against the counter as he crossed tanned arms over his chest. The relaxed look would have been pretty hot, if it weren’t for the huge ‘FAMILY VIDEO’ logo plastered to his vest.

“You go to Hawkins High?” You nodded in response, glancing down at the girl who continued to sigh and huff at various VHS covers.

“Well, if you ever want someone to show you around town, you know where to find me.” Steve purred lowly. Your gaze shot back to him, mouth falling open slightly in shock. Was he..flirting? He grinned down at you from a decent height, made taller by the way the counter area was set on a pedestal.

“Here!” The girl leapt up, saving you from replying to that painfully awkward offer. “This one’s perfect.” The girl held up a copy of ‘Taxi Driver’, smiling wide as her hair fell haphazardly around her face. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“Okay, sure,” you said, pulling out your wallet and stepping closer to the counter. There was something about this girls’ friendliness that was a little infectious. It made you want to be her friend, to be honest. She laughed as she rang you up, placing the VHS down gently in front of you.

“That was easy,” a glance at her name-tag told you she was called Robin. “Didn’t need much convincing at all. Hey, do you want to set up a rental account? Since you moved here and all. Makes it easier to rent movies.” You nodded in reply, and gave her your details, not missing the way Steve loitered pointlessly next to her.

“Thank you.” You said, slipping the tape into your bag and tucking the reciept into your jacket pocket. The empty street outside beckoned you, and you turned toward the door, ready to leave this small space of peace and head back to the empty house waiting for you. An uncomfortable feeling that felt a little too like loneliness settled into the pit of your stomach. Turning back to the counter for a split second, your eyes landed on the TV hanging from the ceiling. Back to the Future was paused.

Screw it. You only live once.

Steve and Robin looked down at you confusedly as you pulled the VHS back out of your bag and let it swing loosely between your fingers. Pressing your lips into a line, you steeled your shoulders as you faced them with a smile.

“Would, uh.. would you guys want to join?”

#reader x eddie munson #eddie st4 #eddiexreader #eddiemunsonxreader #eddiemunson #eddie munson #eddie x reader #Eddie #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #stranger things #st4 #stranger things Eddie #hellfire stranger things #hawkins

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anntoldst0ries · 3 years

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The Signs (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 11 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: 1.6k, T Summary: After moments of passion and confessions, Ethan finds himself unable to fall asleep. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None

A/N: They are riding on Hawaiian waves, I am riding on the wave of fluff.

He witnessed the scene countless times during his career.

People squeezed in hospital corridors on horribly uncomfortable plastic chairs, air filled with hope of receiving the good news on their loved ones’ health, shared by many souls simultaneously. Wives resting their heads on husbands’ shoulders, mothers holding children perseveringly, their arms and legs numb and asleep. Some of them unmoving, save for shallow breaths and occasional blinks. Tired, on the verge of emaciation, haven’t had a wink of sleep in god knows how long.

How were they doing this? Where did they take this superhuman strength from?

Ethan could never fully comprehend this.

It was the sort of power he never really experienced in his life.

Until now.

Because when Noelle’s head found its haven on the sea of his chest, there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to become completely still, to hold his breath and be the pillow of safety she nestles up to.

He’d do whatever it takes to preserve her sleep, which, right now, was the most fragile and precious thing in the world to him.

It was a sign.

They lay in the aftermath of the afterglow, two castaways of the storm called life which, despite hurting them both really badly, also helped them find each other.

Them against the world.

Tropical Hawaiian air, sticky and dense, filled the room already soaked with lust.

It was heavy, failing to provide even the slightest relief amidst pervasive heat.

Because it was the type of heat that didn’t have much to do with the temperature.

It was the ardor of lovers.

Written on their curves were the stories of worship and promises of stories yet to be told.

They claimed each other's bodies a couple of times this night, engulfed in waves of desire bigger and stronger than the ones breaking on the shore outside the hotel windows.

The tidal waves hitting them, every next one with more might then its predecessor, their whole world encapsulated in the sounds of pleasure.

And something else.

In those moments, they were so much more than just a combination of skin, bones, muscles and ligaments succumbing to the march of time.

They were everlasting.

As doctors, they were reminded of their own mortality every second of every working hour.

But now, they were invincible, only if for a night.

When they moved in perfect unison, he saw something in her eyes.

He didn’t know what to call it, but he knew what it felt like.

Unconditional.

Their clothes and belongings were scattered all over the floor, the only witnesses of the wedding night fever.

It was the type of mess that was actually a proof of a perfect order.

The only kind of disarray he could live in permanently.

Signs.

Every cell of Ethan’s body craved sleep. But his eyes were wide open, defying the laws of gravity. And his mind was on overdrive. He couldn’t help but reminisce.

Two years ago he kissed her for the first time.

He could tell you exactly what happened right before and after the kiss. He could describe every second, every detail, every thought. But when their lips touched, he forgot his own name. And everything else he thought he knew.

A year ago he was fighting for her life.

Back then, Ethan didn’t know how strong he really was. Until being strong was the only choice he had.

Today, she was right here beside him and it was almost surreal. She was so close that he would notice the rising and falling of her chest. The rhythm of her breath.

It took him long to believe they could have a happy ending.

Too long, he kept reprimanding himself.

Yet the signs were there, if one only looked.

They were all around.

Ethan thought of all the people who made him the man and the doctor he was today.

Dolores. His first patient turned friend, the tragic and unjust loss. Baby Ethan’s fight. The night when nature played the cruelest eye for an eye game. Life for life. The night he started seeing Noelle Valentine through a brand new lens. He never told anyone, but seeing them so vulnerable awoke something in him. His own sensitivity, buried beneath the layers of grumpiness and indifference. Thick doctor skin.

Naveen. Ethan wished he could wipe the images out of his head. Seeing the man who taught him everything shrink and almost disappear was one of the hardest things he had to face in his whole life. Truth be told, he only made it through because she shared the burden with him. Because she saved Naveen. This delicate, slightly-built woman. The warrior. His Noelle. She made him so proud.

Louise. What his mother did to him was beyond repair. The cross he carried with him, anywhere he went. But in a short period of time Noelle achieved something he couldn’t do for years. Forgive. Never forget. Forgive and finally understand that even broken souls deserve the unbreakable love.

Dad. The man who, despite all the adversities, always had time for his child. But that didn't stop Ethan from resenting Alan for always justifying what Louise did. He couldn't understand, even though it was so simple. Love. In the realms of medicine, Ethan was in his element. But the concept of unconditional love was estranged. Until he met her. Not only did she mend the broken fence between father and son, but also showed him that some things truly are unexplainable and can only be understood with heart, not mind.

Tobias - his former best friend then best rival and now...best not to talk about it too much. Only Noelle had the power of talking Ethan into considering looking at Tobias in a different light. She laughed at the idea of holding the grudge forever. She challenged him and called him out on his bullshit.

Every relationship that meant something to him, had irreversibly been impacted by the force of a once clueless intern.

She signed them all.

Suddenly, she peeled away from his chest and rolled over to the left, so that her back was now facing him. Having covered her with a thin sheet, his fingers brushed her shoulder blades ever so lightly, as if anything more than this could hurt her.

It took all the willpower in the world to stop himself, for he wanted to touch every single millimeter of her being.

He wanted to draw the maps on her back. Maps of all the places they are going to discover together. The highways of their world. The plans of all the cities they will tower over. Write the words of pure adoration. The stories yet to unfold.

At the risk of looking like a creep, he slowly inhaled her smell. He wished there was a way to capture and bottle it, so he could carry it with him everywhere. His favourite perfume in the whole wide world.

Noelle shuddered lightly and the tiny movement startled him. Maybe she was trying to shoo a bad dream away.

“You are just a few inches away… and this is the longest distance between us I’m willing to put. No more running.” He whispered and kissed her hair lovingly. As if on cue, her breath returned to its regular rhythm, the tension leaving her muscles.

Part of him hoped she was asleep. Another wished she’d heard every single word. After all, he wasn’t best at translating feelings into words. Or maybe he was actually afraid that once he started, nothing would stop him.

Not only from telling her how he’s never felt this way about anyone, but also how everything fades whenever she’s around. How all the hospital drama dissipates, because everything is figureoutable as long as he knows she’s safe and sound. How, if he couldn’t run, he’d walk. If he couldn’t walk, he’d crawl. To her.

Today has done something to him.

Celebration of Ines’ love. Zaid’s speech. Being surrounded by people he no longer considered co-workers only. His friends.

Ethan lied. “I've never felt this way about anyone... and I don't know if I ever will again." Because he is certain he never will again. But more importantly, he never wants to.

Words echoed throughout his head.

“What I didn't expect was to meet the kindest, sweetest, most amazing doctor I've ever known... and the best friend I've ever had.” That was exactly what happened to him when one intern crossed the threshold of Edenbrook hospital...and inadvertently his life.

A crazy thought was born in his head. Completely irrational. And not a bad idea.

He hoped Zaid wouldn’t mind if he’d stolen the line and used it for his wedding vows. That is, if she agreed to share the rest of her life with him. There was always a dose of uncertainty.

But the idea certainly didn’t sound so scary anymore. Quite the contrary.

~~~

Noelle woke up in a couple of paradises simultaneously.

The tropical paradise.

The physical paradise of total satisfaction.

The paradisiacal view of Ethan Ramsey’s perfect body.

“Good morning.” She murmured to the man on the balcony, who, despite the heavenly view of Hawaii stretching behind him, had his eyes set firmly on her.

“Good morning indeed.” He replied with an unknown sweetness in his voice, that surprised even him.

And he really meant it.

This was a good sign.

Fantastic even.

Maybe the best one ever.

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@openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

#Ethan x mc #Ethan Ramsey x mc #open heart 3 #open heart fanfiction #dr ethan ramsey #play choices #Ethan x Noelle

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years

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Don’t Treat My Love Like a Habit Part Fourteen

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Mature (this may change) Warnings: Cursing; angst... And well.... Y’all will see Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read. Reina is Spanish for Queen. I hope everyone’s having a good week! 💜 Summary: You’d spent the last few days checking all of the cameras we had available for Hernandez, but you hadn’t been able to get another fix on the man.

The tracker stopped giving off a signal somewhere around El Eden, outside Jericó. There was no way for you to know if it had been knocked loose, or if it had been found, but it gave you a direction. It also put Hernandez in range of one of the last in-person sightings of Lorea, down by Las Minas. “So I’ll drive down--” “I don’t know if you should be driving anywhere. You haven’t even gotten your stitches out yet,” You gave the phone a withering look, willing Alex to feel the power of the stare from the other end. You and Pope were at the office, looking down at a readout of all of the places the tracker had given off a signal before cutting. You’d spent the last few days checking all of the cameras we had available for Hernandez, but you hadn’t been able to get another fix on the man. Pope told you that he hadn’t gotten anything else about Hernandeze’s whereabouts from his informant, either, and that she hadn’t even expected him to be in the car that night.

The two of you had taken to calling Alex when we were in the office and having him on speakerphone when we were talking over status updates that day. You tended to go by his apartment at least once a day to check on him, make sure he was eating properly and helping out if he needed it. Pope had gone with you a couple of times, and they had been… Amiable. “Fine, you drive,” Alex retorted. You shook your head. “I’m still looking through these feeds. I get that we may get something closer to where the tracker cut, but-- I don’t want anyone going anywhere until we have something more firm. If the tech just shat the bed, or they found it and broke it, going down to El Eden isn’t going to solve anything, it’s just going to waste time.”

“Pope, your informant doesn’t have anything?” “She didn’t the last time I spoke to her,” Pope turned his head toward the phone to answer, his eyes still set firmly on the map, “But I have a check-in with her in a couple of hours.” A check-in. You were pointedly not thinking about what that might entail. “Look, soon as we get something that looks like Hernandez--” “What if we don’t?” Alex asked. You went quiet. It was a fair question. The man had slipped up once; he’d be raising his guard, making sure nothing like that happened again. You and Pope had both been twice as cautious that week, double- and triple-checking that the door was locked before we went to bed. “We will,” Pope answered. You turned to look at him, taking in the set of his brow, the way his lips were pulling down. He meant, ‘We have to’.

You hadn’t had a quiet night alone without Pope since the office had been broken into. It was… Odd. Not eerie or anything, but just like something was missing. You’d briefly, stupidly, wondered if Pope felt like this when you’d stayed with Alex at the hospital. It was Pope’s apartment, he was used to being there alone. Well maybe not alone, but at least without you there-- You huffed, closing the fridge door for what had to be the fifth time that evening. Pope hadn’t told you when he’d be home back when he’d left to meet with his informant. “You gonna tell me what her name is, or should I call her Isabella 2.0?” You’d tried to tease. He’d cast you a dour look as he’d tugged jacket. “What’s it matter what her name is?” He’d asked, and the words had left him with such tired irritation that you immediately felt stupid for saying anything. “No, it… It doesn’t,” You’d mumbled. He’d just grunted, said he’d let you and ‘Brano know if he got anything, and left.

Maybe he hadn’t sounded that irritated? Maybe you’d just been thinking about it too long. Being in the apartment alone gave you a lot of time and silence in which to overthink things. You’d texted Frankie and the guys to see how they were doing, but Benny had a fight that night, so you wouldn’t be able to distract yourself with them for at least another few hours, and by then, Santiago would be home. Hopefully. Hopefully Santiago would be home. Back. Hopefully Santiago would be back.

Hernandez is hunkered down in Las Minas. You’d jumped at the sound of your phone, and now you were just staring at the text that had come through from Santiago. Lorea? Was Alex’s answering text. Unclear, Pope’s response came through in seconds.

Las Minas, you could work with that. First thing in the morning, you’d go in and start working through the camera feeds that you could access from Diego’s office. You opened your separate texts with Santiago. Coming back soon?

You watched the screen for a few moments before setting the phone aside. A few more minutes, nothing. He’d answered Alex so quickly. You looked around the apartment, stomach churning. Maybe you wouldn’t wait until morning to head into the office and start combing through those camera feeds.

You left him a post-it, of course.

“So I’ve got five possible targets, there are like three that I’m ready to rule out, but I wanted to get your read on them before I dropped them completely,” You said, not even bothering with a ‘hello’, instead pointing to a map on the wall with printed-out imagery from the cameras you’d been able to access pinned to it, “The red tacks are the ones I think are the most likely, blue are the ones I wanna ditch.” “Have you been here all night?” Pope didn’t bother with a ‘hello’, either. “Where else would I be?” You returned your hand to the keyboard, eyes still on the monitor. “I don’t know, with Zambrano?” He said it like it was obvious, like you were over there all the time, beyond helping the guy since he was wounded. “Just stopped by after work for a bit.” “And then?” “Would you look at the map, please?” You didn’t mean for it to come out as snappy as it had, but you were… Tired, and annoyed - more annoyed than tired. Santiago had never answered your text, nor had he texted you when he got in, which you’d asked him to do on the post-it. To top it all off, he was asking if you had been at the office all night. So, presumably, he hadn’t gotten in, had spent the night elsewhere, and… And you’d gotten a tip out of it. Anything else that happened didn’t matter, and you didn’t care anyway, and this game of emotional whack-a-mole was really starting to take it out of you.

You didn’t dare look at Pope, didn’t want to know whether he was looking at you or the map in the stilted silence that followed. But after a few moments, you heard his footsteps trail away from your desk, over to the wall, and you let yourself glance over your shoulder. Same jacket as yesterday - but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. You lowered your head back to your work, shaking your head a little. What he was wearing, what he did last night or didn’t do, none of that mattered, none of it-- “Ditch the blue.” Pope’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you grabbed the pen you’d set aside hours ago, crossing them off of the list that you’d compiled. “Too conspicuous?” You asked. “Yep.” You tossed the pen back onto the desk and glanced over at Pope, watching him look at the two remaining targets. They weren’t terribly far from one another, but they couldn’t be monitored by one person. “I’ll get Zambrano, drive down, hit them today,” Pope said, pulling his jacket sleeve back and glancing back down at his wrist, “He can drive. We won’t engage if we see anything, it’ll be strictly recon,” He added, glancing back at you. You turned back to your computer, nodding and wordless. You didn’t like the idea, but you knew that the tip that Pope had gotten would need to be moved on quickly. “You should go back to the apartment, get some rest,” Pope added, heading for the door of your small office space. “I’ve got some stuff to wrap up here,” You shook your head. “Reina.” You looked up at Pope then, raising a brow and waiting for him to speak. He hesitated before he sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll grab walkie-talkies, Zambrano and I will radio when we’re in position.” “Fine,” You nodded, and were on your way to adding, “Be careful,” When you found yourself speaking to the door.

“How was the fight?” You asked, leaning back from your monitor and stretching your back over your chair as you spoke into your chair. “What fight?” Alex’s voice crackled through your headset. “Mic,” Pope’s sighed over Alex’s question. “Shit, hang on, ‘Fish-- Sorry, guys,” You apologized before tapping the mute button on your headset - the controls were so damn sensitive. You’d already accidentally knocked them half a dozen times. You raised your phone back to the ear you’d pushed your headset back from. “Sorry, Fish.” “Late night?” Frankie chuckled. “... So how was the fight?” You repeated, not in the mood to touch that just yet. “It was great. Benny kicked the guy’s ass.” “Atta boy,” You grinned, pushing yourself out of your seat, “How’ve you been?” You listened to Frankie catch you up on what you’d missed the last couple of weeks, checking your phone screen now and again for any texts from Santiago or Alex, just in case. “You okay, Q?” “Fine, why?” “You sound a little...Dead.” “Forgot what a sweet-talker you were, chulo.” “You know I don’t mean it like that--” “I’m teasing, Frankie,” You smiled a little, grabbing your mug and walking over to where you’d set up the coffee maker in the back office that Diego had allotted you and Pope, “I’m fine, just… Yeah, late night. Work, you know.” You hesitated as you set your mug down, thinking. “...Frank?” “Yeah?” “Let’s say… Hypothetically… That there was a, like… Snowball’s chance in hell that there was some truth to all the teasing you’ve done about me and Pope.” “How big a snowball?” “You know that boulder that chases Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark?” “Oh, no!” Frankie laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the sound of it -- it was so light, and after the mental hell you’d been putting yourself through, it was nice to hear someone laughing about it. “What’s going on?” He asked. You looked down at the coffee pot, trying to cobble your thoughts together. “It’s just-- Ugh, hang on,” You reached up, adjusting your headset as it began to slip, your hand brushing the controls as you did, “It’s just that-- I don’t know if it’s because I’m staying with the guy, or-- Or what, but I can’t get him out of my head. It’s bad, Frankie. And I mean, it’s not new, either, I’ve had feelings for Santiago since… Since before I took this job. I mean they weren’t always serious, not like they are now, but there’s always been something there for me--” Now that you were admitting it, you couldn’t get the words to stop; they were spilling out like unorganized tupperware from a hastily shut cupboard, “But fuck, it’s just been so much-- Worse isn’t the word, I mean, noticeable, maybe. Fuck, I’ve been living with the guy, we sleep in the same bed, and he’s cuddly, and I like it way too much. I spent half the night looking for new apartments because I just… I can’t do it anymore. If I don’t get out of there, I think I’m gonna fall in lo--” “Hey Q?” Alex’s voice crackled in through your earpiece. “Hang on ‘Fish--” You sighed, raising your hand to your headset. But before you could even touch it-- “Your mic is on,” Santiago’s voice was quiet, almost regretful. Your heart slammed into your rib cage with the force of a freight train. You reached up with a shaking hand, tapping the mic button on your headset again to mute it. “...Francisco, I’m going to need to call you back.” Tag list: @justanotherblonde23 ; @revolution-starter ; @emurlemur ; @badbitxhbuckybarnes ; @supernaturalcat7 ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo

#Don't Treat My Love Like a Habit #Santiago Garcia x Reader #Santiago Garcia #Santiago Garcia/Reader #Santiago Garcia/You #Santiago Garcia x You #Santiago Pope Garcia x Reader #Santiago Pope Garcia x You #Santiago Pope Garcia Imagine #santiago pope garcia #Santiago Garcia Imagine

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maidskeppy · 4 years

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So I saw all this Skeppy jail stuff, and I decided to write something about it... enjoy!

Warnings: angst, spoilers, possible lore inaccuracies

"Oh man, he’s gonna be pissed if he sees this…”

Skeppy muttered to himself while digging up sand at a desperate pace. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, he had let a creeper into his and Bad’s home, which had decided to detonate while standing right against the front wall. While most of the wall was fine, the window had completely shattered, and the floor had a huge hole in it. Skeppy could fix it all, but he wasn’t sure how much time he had before Bad got home.

He almost had enough sand when he heard fast-paced steps approaching. Bracing himself for another lecture about being careful, he turned around to face…

Dream?

Skeppy wasn’t even sure when they had last met up. He knew Dream had been busy, with important-sounding things like war and politics, but Skeppy hadn’t paid much attention to anything that didn’t directly concern himself, Bad, or the Skywars map he had spent months constructing. “What’s up?” He asked, not sure what to expect.

Dream sighed, and for the first time, Skeppy noticed the exhaustion in his posture. He was breathing heavily, and a few drops of sweat briefly shone on his forehead before slipping below his mask. “Skeppy,” he began, wheezing the name out with difficulty. “It’s Bad. He needs you.”

“Wait, why? What’s going on?” He was already putting away his tools, ready to run.

Dream shook his head. “No time to explain. He’s hurt, he needs you right now.”

Even if there had been time to explain, that was all Skeppy needed to hear. He ran as fast as his body could physically stand, yelling several times when Dream couldn’t keep up. “Come on! Where is he?”

“In here,” Dream finally panted, placing a hand on the door of the prison. With his other hand, he fished a keycard from his pocket, swiping it to gain access.

Skeppy followed, squinting through the dim halls. “Why would Bad be in here?”

“He agreed to help me guard it,” Dream instantly responded. “We might have to use it soon, and… we need all the help we can get. But there was an accident. This way.” He pointed down a long hall, lined with entrances to what appeared to be tiny cells.

The hall was only just bright enough for Skeppy to see into each cell. From where he stood, they didn’t even look big enough for a person to fit into. What was supposed to go in them? Most of them were marked by signs, but he couldn’t afford to take time to read any of them, not when Bad was hurt and alone and probably crying for Skeppy. Answers could wait.

He had darted out ahead, but the careful attention he gave each cell allowed Dream to quickly catch up. Occupied with his task, Skeppy didn’t actually realize how close Dream was until a hard shove forced him past the entrance of the cell he was examining. Turning around, he was met with the slam of iron bars, sealing his only way out.

“Dream, we don’t have time for trolling!” He banged on the bars with both fists, hoping they would somehow be weak enough to collapse. They weren’t. “We have to find Bad!”

“No, Skeppy.” Dream stood outside, all traces of exhaustion mysteriously absent. “I have to find Bad. And then I have to let him know we’re doing things my way from now on… as long as he wants his precious little Skeppy to stay safe, anyway.” His words were drawn-out and sickly sweet, a vicious mockery of them both.

Skeppy launched another futile attack on the bars. “Oh my God, you’re actually fucking evil. Dude.” Had he been like that the whole time? The idea was starting to hurt his brain, especially since he was no longer even sure if Bad was hurt or not.

Dream shrugged. “Maybe it looks bad from your side, but I’m doing what’s best for everyone. Now don’t go anywhere… not that you exactly have a choice.” With that, he was gone, leaving Skeppy alone in his cell.

Now that he was inside it, Skeppy was questioning the use of the word “cell”. He had so little room to move that a better word would probably be “cage”. He couldn’t even properly sit or lay down… which meant he wouldn’t be there for long, right? Yeah, it had to be temporary. Bad would find him, work things out with Dream, and get him out.

He sighed, not quite out of relief, but out of an unshakable trust that it would come.

—

Losing track of time proved easy, as he realized when he next heard footsteps in the hall, and couldn’t produce an answer to how long he had been left alone for. He didn’t think he had fallen asleep at any point, so it was probably less than a day, but that was as specific as he could get. Leaning forward the tiny amount he could, he tried to get a look at his visitor.

Twin metaphorical weights of stress tumbled off his shoulders when he glimpsed a familiar set of eyes, framed by an equally familiar hood. Once Bad saw where Skeppy was waiting, he rushed over, clinging to the bars that separated them. “Skeppy! Are you okay?”

“I will be once I’m out of here.” Skeppy reached out, his hands closing over Bad’s fingers as much as they could. “What’s going on? Dream’s trolling us, right?”

“You don’t have to worry about Dream anymore. Actually, they’re probably dealing with him right now.” Bad cast a look back towards the prison’s entrance. Though the thick obsidian walls prevented any sound from escaping, he could imagine the scale of the commotion.

“Great. Let’s go home.” He didn’t even care if Bad saw the creeper hole. They could fix it, go to bed, and hopefully forget this ever happened.

“Well…” Still holding the bars, Bad took a step back. “Here’s the thing, Skeppy.”

If that was already enough to chill Skeppy’s blood, what happened next turned it to ice.

As Bad watched Skeppy, the vibrant red in his outfit faded to a dull gray, then to white.

“Bad, what’s happening?” He asked, even as he started shaking in a way that suggested he already knew.

“I have to do something important, Skeppy.” His fingers stroked Skeppy’s palms in an attempt to be comforting. Skeppy hated that he couldn’t even bring himself to pull away. “Something dangerous. People might start thinking they can use you to stop me.” He shook his head. “I won’t let them.”

He didn’t wait for a response. “I know it’s not the nicest place,” he said, voice taking on a placating tone. “But it won’t be for long, and I’ll visit you all the time, okay? I’ll bring all the foods you like, and drinks, and games, and anything else you ask for. You won’t really be missing out on anything!” Was he smiling? Was he really smiling? Skeppy wanted to reach out and slap him, right across the face.

He resorted to the only tactic he had left. “Don’t do this, Bad.” He kept his voice soft and sad, hoping it would be enough to have an effect. “You know I won’t be happy here. Is whatever you’re doing really worth that?”

Bad bit his lip, and for a second, Skeppy saw a battle rage in his eyes. Then it was over, and Bad pulled his hands away from Skeppy’s. “Skeppy, I know you don’t understand yet, but I’m doing this so we can be together forever. No more problems, no more fights, nothing trying to keep us apart.” He looked down, hands twisting together. “Don’t you want that?”

Damn it, he was even better at guilt trips than Skeppy was. “Yeah, of course, but…”

“It won’t be long,” Bad promised again, leaning closer. He carefully positioned his face against the bars, making it clear what he wanted. Skeppy sighed, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“It better not be.”

“See you soon, Skeppy.” Bad gave him a kind smile. Somehow, its sincerity hurt even more than Dream’s cruelty. When Skeppy didn’t answer, Bad looked away and started walking, disappearing from view within seconds.

As soon as he was gone, Skeppy felt a broken noise escape from his throat. It sounded like a strangled hiccup, but the way it forced streams of tears from his eyes made it feel more like a sob.

Whatever it was, it echoed through the hall for a moment, then faded away. Once it was gone, Skeppy heard something faint but unmistakable: a single footstep, which wasn’t followed by another.

He waited for a little longer, delaying his conclusion for as long as he could, but it increasingly set in despite his best efforts. If Skeppy had heard that footstep, then Bad had heard him crying. And he hadn’t come back.

There was no reason to keep holding back. He slumped as far down as the cage would allow, and let the tears come.

He didn’t realize that his sobs weren’t just wordless sounds until the walls echoed them back to him.

Despite everything, he was still crying for Bad to come and save him.

He could explain it away by blaming habit- that was what he always did when things went wrong beyond his own ability to fix them. But even as he told himself that, he couldn’t make it feel like the truth.

He loved Bad. He had loved him through all their fights, all their time apart, and he would keep loving him, no matter how long he was kept here. And he couldn’t decide what was worse: the thought that Bad didn’t love him as much in return, or the thought that he did, and could still bring himself to do this.

In his cramped position, he wasn’t sure if it would even be possible to sleep, but sleep eventually came. When he could no longer physically stay awake, he finally drifted off, hands still gripping the bars in the same position they had been when Bad had been there to hold them.

#skeppy #badboyhalo #skephalo #skeppy jail #the skephalo can be platonic or romantic #dreamsmp spoilers #dream smp spoilers

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winterdeepelegy · 3 years

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Endwalker finished - thoughts

Personal release ranking:

1. Shadowbringers

2. Heavensward

3. Stormblood

4. Endwalker

5. ARR

6. 1.0

I will preface my opinions by saying that I completely and fully understand the extent of challenges they were dealing with in development, due largely to development happening remotely as a result of the pandemic. But there are some things they still could have improved upon.

Thoughts/spoilers behind the cut below.

I honestly don’t know how to feel about this one. After seeing so many people rave about Endwalker, about how “good” it is, and about the feels it invokes, my expectations were pretty high. Suffice it to say, my experience wasn’t the same in that... I feel like it was lackluster. It didn’t feel all that impactful to me, and there were definitely things they could have done better, or done with less of. Truth be told, I felt like the end of 1.0 going into ARR really drove home the feeling of dire stakes. The realm was in imminent danger, and they brought you into the thick of it by showing it happening in real time. It was interactive beyond one or two dungeons and a slow spread. You could see it coming. And when it happened, it happened everywhere over Eorzea, in the open and in the cities, it was constant. That, to me, felt more like an “end of the world” scenario than what we just experienced. The only place in EW where I came anywhere close to this feeling was Vanaspati. The skies raining fire is not a new thing in XIV, they’ve been using it since 1.0, and to my brain that felt like an overused flex. The slow spread of the Final Days “off camera” really made it feel a lot less urgent. If its affects had started sooner in the course of the MSQ and actually -spread- to more areas as you progressed, especially to the main cities, or had streams of Blasphemies showing up in affected areas, I might have felt differently about it. The last region and leg of the storyline didn’t invoke any feels for me. Knowing you could undo what was being done to your comrades really took away from how impactful that could have been. It felt like there were no stakes. “This is fine”. Endwalker could have benefited more from a named NPC or two dying to really drive things home. Ahewann barely got there, but he was a minor character. Is it fair to say my experience in 1.0 might have colored my reaction to EW? Yes, it’s entirely possible. On one hand, I feel like nothing will ever top that moment. On the other hand, a part of me is glad that this didn’t cheapen that moment as I feared it would. “Oh, you thought Bahamut breaking free was bad? Hold my beer.” It is, however, 100% a FInal Fantasy game and, as some have said, the most Final Fantasy game that ever Final Fantasy’d storywise. I just wish I could have felt the feels that everyone else felt in the course of playing it. Among the worst parts of EW, imo, were technical decisions. It really felt like some of the indoor lighting in the new areas was a broad step -backwards- compared to the improvements they made over the course of HW, SB, and ShB. It’s little better in these new areas than it was in early ARR, and really makes characters look terrible. And don’t even get me started on all the follow/stalk quests. Who thought this - or having so many - was a good idea? I don’t mind walking around with any of the NPCs, but the fucking follow/stalk quests need to go and whoever thought they were a good idea needs to rethink their career choices. These were a huge drag and sticking point, and really took away from how enjoyable EW could have been. The first one I could understand, but past that they didn’t need to keep doing it. The maps of the new zones? While pretty, most were a pain in the ass to navigate before flight, and certain areas prevented you from acquiring flight until you were later into MSQ. TWICE. This was cute with Kholusia, but this was a pain in the ass this time dealing with two zones like this. Slow me down with meaningful story events, don’t slow me down with bad geography design. For positives, the trial boss designs definitely had Yoshitaka Amano all over them. The designs for Hydaelyn and the Endsinger were INCREDIBLE, especially the latter. Radz-At-Han has become my favorite of the new locations, which surprised me as I really thought I’d enjoy Sharlayan’s aesthetic more. Elpis was also stunning, and I could spend oodles of time just hanging around there. As for the Loporitts, I’d happily go anywhere the adorable little bunny people wanted me to go. The ending? Pretty satisfying over all, and both looking forward to and dreading whatever comes next, in equal measure. They’re going to be hard pressed to top the last decade. All in all, it’s a fair wrap-up of 11 years of continuous storyline. Honestly, I’m content, I just still feel like it could have been a lot more than what was delivered.

#ffxiv #ff14 #Endwalker #Endwalker spoilers #ffxiv spoilers #ff14 spoilers

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bangtan · 4 years

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BTS – ‘BE (Deluxe Edition)’ review: a sensitive, stunning document of pandemic life

The pop giants take on a number of genres and triumph, this special album finding them on a mission to shepherd fans through uncertain days 4/5 stars

When the pandemic struck, BTS were busy promoting their album ‘Map Of The Soul: 7’ and putting together a stadium world tour. A week after those scrapped dates were meant to kick off in Seoul, leader RM unexpectedly appeared on a livestream on the band’s YouTube channel with an announcement: they’d be using this sudden free time to make a new album. As time ticked past, more livestreams followed, giving fans a glimpse into the behind-the-scenes process as the new record was crafted. The seven-piece divvied up the jobs needed to produce it – musically and beyond – and shared conversations about how to respond to the global crisis that had the world in a vice. Seven months later, ‘BE (Deluxe Edition)’ emerges as the most accurate musical encapsulation of the rollercoaster that is pandemic life so far; one minute brimming with joy, the next listless and miserable, another swinging slowly back to a neutral baseline. The band’s expressed aim is for the record to spread comfort, but, in an early vlog where the members discussed ideas and themes for the album, singer Jimin warned: “Even something intended to be consoling can make someone feel worse.” Over seven songs (and one skit), BTS strike the perfect balance between encouragement and reassurance, and sharing in the dark cloud of everyday struggle Covid-19 has cast over us. They do so through honest, candid songwriting and the sincerity that has always shone through in BTS’ music. ‘Life Goes On’ – a central motif for the album – depicts the lingering frustrations of everything but time having been frozen. “There’s no end in sight / Is there a way out? / My feet refuse to move,” sighs V, the track gently glistening beneath him. Instead of dwelling on what they can’t control, though, they return their focus to hope: “Like an echo in the forest / The day will come back around / As if nothing happened / Yeah – life goes on.” Much of ‘BE’ finds the band trying to find something to cling onto, clutching at small moments of happiness wherever it can find them. On the bright, retro pop of ‘Fly To My Room’, punctuated by big lashes of ‘70s piano, Jimin, J-hope, V and Suga celebrate being able to travel – through their memories, Zoom, and TV. “The TV sound makes it feel busy and crowded as if I’m out in the downtown,” raps J-hope. “Your mind can be changed by your mind.” ‘Blue & Grey’’s redemptive arc is longer, lower and harder to spot. The most devastating song on the album, it details “unease and gloom” in terms that are crushingly vulnerable. “Don’t say it’s OK / Because it’s not,” sing Jimin and V in unison, voices dripping with desperate emotion. “Please don’t leave me alone / It hurts too much.” After the band have unravelled their malaise, though, Jin hints there still could be light at the end of the tunnel, even if it feels miles away: “If, in a far-flung future, I’m able to smile / I’ll tell you that I did.” ‘Skit’ – their first non-musical track since 2017 – perhaps best embodies the notion of enjoying the few moments of positivity 2020 has offered us. Here the band talk through their reactions to finding out that recent single ‘Dynamite’ (which rounds things off the album) scored them their first Number One on the Billboard Hot 100; the news landed Jungkook’s birthday. “This is the best gift in my life,” he tells his bandmates. “Don’t you think this is what happiness is like?” RM asks as their chatter fades out. Personal success colliding with universal turmoil comes with its own complex set of emotions – a clash of happiness and guilt – but BTS’ casual conversation is a reminder to celebrate what you can. Just as ‘BE’ cycles through the various ever-changing moods the pandemic has made a constant in our lives, it’s also finds the band constantly moving between genres, each attempt a triumph. Jin, Jungkook and RM’s ‘Stay’ takes the form of steadily climbing future house, its chorus a juddering but melodic lightning bolt of joy. On ‘Dis-ease’, J-hope, Suga and RM are in their element on an old school hip-hop track, serving up inventive wordplay at a mile a minute, the song conveying a message of strength: “There’s no eternal night / I’m stronger / A spark of fire / I will never fade away.” ‘Telepathy’, meanwhile, mines a different kind of disco from vibrant chart-topper ‘Dynamite’, its palette still rich and colourful, but with a more metallic sheen. “You’re doing OK, right?/You’re not in pain anywhere, right?” asks Suga on the latter. “For me lately, I’m not too sure / I feel like I’m just floating.” They’re simple words intended to help fans through uncertain days with care and sensitivity. When NME spoke to the world-conquering band in August, RM said they were “eager to comfort and give joy to people through our music and performance more than ever”. Mission accomplished.

#bangtan #bts #rm #jin #suga #jhope #jimin #v #jungkook #t:article #201120

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lemonpepperhawks · 4 years

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Castaways

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: After a freak storm, you find yourself shipwrecked on a deserted island with Pro Hero, Keigo Takami. While you work hard to get rescued, you realize too late that all may not be as it seems.

Themes/Warnings: Smut; Yandere!Hawks; Noncon; Bit of a slow burn; This is my first time writing smut so I can’t guarantee it will be good, but I like to think I can at least tell a good story lol

It was a beautiful day to be on the water. The weather report said there would be rain, but the only clouds you could see were far off on the horizon. You stretched out on the bow of the boat, letting the warm sun soak into your pores.

You closed your eyes, reflecting for a moment. At first you had thought a private boat ride was a bit... much, for a first date. But being here in the moment, you couldn’t have had a care in the world if you’d tried. You felt utterly at ease, with the caress of the sun above and the gentle rock of the waves below.

“Order up,” came a voice beside you.

You opened your eyes to see your date, Keigo, standing above you with a drink in each hand. One large wing stretched out behind him, blocking the sun so you didn’t have to squint. He passed you a glass and took a seat on the bow beside you. Lounging side by side, you both sipped your drinks and looked out over the ocean.

“You know,” you began, “I thought you were a little crazy when you asked me out here. On a boat, in the middle of nowhere.” You chuckled. “But I’m really glad I came.”

“Bet you’re also glad I’m not secretly an axe murderer,” Keigo joked, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Refill?”

You looked down at your own almost-empty drink and shook your head. You were feeling unusually drowsy from the combination of alcohol and warm sunshine, and what you honestly wanted was a nice nap.

Somehow, Keigo seemed to pick up on this and scooted closer to you, twisting his finger through a strand of your hair.

“You look so peaceful,” He mused. “You can go to sleep if you want.” “Noooo,” you protested weakly, a small smile on your lips. “I don’t want to fall asleep on you during our first date. I really am having a good time.”

Keigo let out a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, you falling asleep on me would fulfill... several fantasies. And don’t worry, I’ll protect ya from any sharks.”

With this, he swept you into his arms and planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. Normally, this would be far from anything you’d do on a first date - but your head felt so heavy, and the combination of rocking waves and the soft, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat had you falling asleep in seconds, smile still spread across your lips.

☙

You awoke suddenly. You had no idea how much time had passed, but you were immediately aware that several things had changed. First, you were no longer out on the bow of the boat. Instead, you lay inside the boat’s cabin with a towel wrapped around your shoulders. Secondly, you noticed that your hair was damp and dripping onto the planks below you. And finally you found the reason for all this: there was a storm raging outside.

“Oh!” shouted Keigo, noticing you wake. “I’m sorry, I had to move us inside. This storm sprung up so suddenly; there wasn’t even a cloud and then-”

“Keigo?” you muttered. Your body felt heavy and groggy as you came out of your sleep. You still weren’t alert enough to comprehend what was happening.

“Don’t worry,” assured Keigo. He turned around from his place at the ship’s wheel to face you with a smile, the same easygoing one he always seemed to have. “Lucky for you, I am a master of not only land and air, but also sea. We’re perfectly-”

A loud thud shook the boat as something hit the left window, hard.

“-safe.”

That noise had finished waking you up, and now you were on your feet, stumbling as the boat rocked violently. You made your way over to Keigo at the helm, tripping over your own two feet like a drunk, and gripped onto one of his arms for support. Looking out the windshield, you could see the full force of the squall. Wind slammed the rain back and forth like a whip, severely limiting visibility. You looked up at Keigo, who was focused straight ahead, his eyes seeming to try to pierce through the storm.

“Look, there!” he exclaimed. “There’s an island ahead and to the right.”

You squinted, but couldn’t see anything yourself.

“Should I steer us over?”

“I think so,” you agreed. The boat seemed sturdy, but it was small. Just a simple vessel meant for trips of no more than a day or two of light sailing. You didn’t like the thought of being out on the open water during a heavy storm like this.

Without another word, Keigo steered the boat in the direction of the island. The motor sputtered, but stayed running. Slowly, you became able to see the outlines of cliffs and trees through the downpour. There didn’t seem to be any dock, so you guessed this was going to be a beach landing and hoped Keigo knew what he was doing.

Suddenly, a huge shudder went through the boat, knocking you off your feet. Without taking his eyes off the storm, Keigo reached out and caught you with one of his strong wings.

“Hold on,” he commanded steadily, tucking you closer to him.

With terror, you realized that your feet were getting wet. Water was starting to seep into the cabin. You looked back to see a large hole in the boat’s hull, and were about to tell Keigo when another spasm rocked the boat. This time even Keigo lost his footing for a moment.

“Rocks,” he explained quickly. “We’re hitting the rocks.”

His voice was calm, but looking up you could see a hint of panic in his eyes. The wind was whipping furiously, and it felt like the boat might capsize at any moment. The shore was tantalizingly close, but you felt in danger of being swept away before you could reach its safety.

Keigo took his eyes away from the storm for a second, to look at you reassuringly. He gave you a smile and opened his mouth to say something, almost shouting against the sound of the wind.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fi-”

And then, all at once, there was a crash, a jolt, and you felt yourself and Keigo being thrown through the windshield and into darkness.

☙

You found yourself waking up again, this time on the soft sand of a beach. The sky was dark, but clear - thank goodness. Looking to your left, you saw a small campfire, and beyond it, Keigo.

“Good evening, sleepyhead,” he said lightly. “Had me worried for a bit.”

You looked down at yourself, making sure you were all in one piece. Amazingly, there was not a scratch on you. Your muscles were a bit sore, but that was it. Nothing hurt, nothing bled.

Looking back at Keigo, you noticed that the same could not be said about him. He was covered in bruises on his arms and legs, and he had a cut running across one of his cheeks that was still freely bleeding.

He must have noticed your look of surprise, because he said, “Don’t worry, I was just about to clean myself up.” He patted a first aid kit at his feet. “Just wanted to make sure we had some warmth first. It’s getting to be night.”

He looked up and out over the sea, and you followed his gaze to marvel at the stars. You had never seen so many. Being far away from any light pollution, the sky looked like a swirling, winding map of light. And there were so many colors in the sky; it was unbelievable. Casting your gaze downward, you landed on the washed-up wreckage of the ship. It was a miracle that it looked to be mostly in one piece.

“Keigo, what happened?”

“Well,” he said, rummaging through the first aid kit. “I’m sure you noticed the storm.”

Even in a situation like this, he was lighthearted and joking. Part of you found it a little appalling, but part of you wished you could be more like him - more able to quell the rising panic in your chest.

“It really did come out of nowhere,” he continued. “Never seen anything like it. And it was gone just as soon as it came.”

It was both alarming and astonishing that such a short storm could cause so much destruction. You stared numbly into the campfire as he went on.

“Luckily you’re safe, and that’s what matters.”

You looked up, and Keigo was staring back at you intently. You could tell he meant it. Even though his own body was battered, it was more important to him that you were safe. You supposed that was part of what being a Pro Hero was all about, but it still sent a shiver down your spine to think that he cared for you that deeply, even if only in a professional capacity. He returned his attention to his injuries, dabbing something on his scraped arms. You moved over to help.

“Thanks,” he laughed. “I’ve had worse, but it never hurts to have a pretty girl taking care of ya.”

He winked. Okay, maybe the care and concern extended a little beyond professionalism.

“Anyway, I took stock of the boat while you were knocked out,” he resumed. “And we have enough supplies to last a few weeks. Which is good, since it looks like we may not be going anywhere soon.”

“Wait, a few weeks?” you interrupted. “Can’t you just, like, fly us out of here?”

“Well, about that...” Keigo mumbled as he turned his back to you.

Where once there had been two brilliant red wings, now there were little more than stubs with feathers protruding from his back.

“It was a pretty rough landing,” he explained. “A lot of my feathers were torn off and swept away while we were in the water. And on top of that, most got mangled anyway when we were thrown out the window. Honestly, I probably couldn’t even get myself off the ground right now.”

At this point, Keigo looked to you and noticed that you were on the verge of tears.

“Hey, don’t worry though.” He took your hand and clasped his fingers around it tightly. “I promise, I’ll take care of you here. You’ll always be safe with me.” You looked up into his soft, golden eyes. His smile beamed back at you as he opened his mouth to add:

“And hey, what a first date this has turned out to be!”

☙

It undoubtedly was turning out to be quite the “first date.” It only took a few days until you had somewhat settled into a routine. There was a lot of free time, but it allowed you and Keigo to get to know each other and work on projects to make your lives easier on the island.

Keigo had insisted on making identical shelters for the two of you, side-by-side.

“So I can keep a better eye on you,” he explained cheerfully.

At first he had wanted the two of you to share a single lean-to and bed of leaves, but you insisted that you were more comfortable being at least a little ways apart, and eventually he relented.

“I get it,” he teased, “not ‘that kind of girl.’ But you know I just want to look out for you, chickadee.”

What exactly there was to look out for, you weren’t sure. You had both circled the island several times - it wasn’t that large, and could be walked in a few hours - and the place was completely deserted. Your only fellow inhabitants were a large population of wild chickens, much to Keigo’s delight. Every morning before you woke, he would wander off into one of the more forested areas. And by the time you were awake, he would be wandering back with fresh meat. You didn’t particularly like thinking about where it came from, but you were grateful for the food.

And chickens weren’t all the island had to offer. There were also delicious fruits and wild carrots, which you had stumbled on while clearing some weeds from around your campsite. There was even a spring of fresh water only a ten minute walk from the beach. It was almost the perfect island to be stranded on. And all of this, along with the nonperishable food from the boat, ensured that you were both well fed and hydrated.

Once, you had asked Keigo about the food. Why there was so much on board for just a day trip. He shrugged.

“Better to be prepared and not need it than to need it and not be prepared.”

☙

While there were certainly worse people to be stranded with than your handsome date, you were still looking forward to being rescued. The whole situation was overwhelming, and, although Keigo was doing a great job at playing survivalist and keeping you warm and fed, it made you uncomfortable to be in such a committed situation with someone you had only been on one date with.

Granted, the one date had now turned into a two-week-long stay on a deserted island, but nonetheless you were hoping to get back to civilization so that the two of you could pursue a more normal, less stressful and intense relationship.

Keigo himself seemed unaffected by stress as far as you could see. The first morning on the island, you had asked him how long it would take for his wings to grow back.

“Last time I got this beat up?” he considered. “It took a few months.”

That was not the answer you had been hoping to hear, but it did inspire you to branch out and think of other creative ways to speed up your rescue.

The first thought was obviously your cell phone. However, one look at the glitching screen told you that your phone had been destroyed by the impromptu swim during your arrival. Keigo’s was the same way.

You then turned your attention to making a good old fashioned “SOS” sign out of rocks, which Keigo helped with. You didn’t have much hope for it - you had seen no planes or other boats since being marooned, and you didn’t even have an idea of where the island was in relation to any populated areas.

“Won’t people start looking for you?” you asked Keigo hopefully as you both worked on the sign.

“Eventually,” Keigo agreed. “But honestly, my friends are used to me disappearing on missions without notice. It could be awhile before they realize something is up.”

You, unfortunately, were the same way. A loner. No close friends who would be suspicious of you dropping off the face of the Earth for a few weeks. Of course your presence would be missed at work, but of course you hadn’t told anyone at the office that you would be on a boat,in the middle of nowhere, with the No. 2 Pro Hero for fear of the gossip that would spread. They wouldn’t even know where to start looking for you.

The two of you really might as well have fallen off the face of the Earth.

A few days after the completion of your SOS sign, you had an epiphany. The body of the ship was still on the beach, and ships had radios. Even small ones like this. The ship itself might be beyond repair, but the radio could still be functional. You sifted through the rubble to get to the cabin, which was surprisingly intact.

Keigo wandered up behind you as you went over to the radio. It was rare for you two not to be in each others’ line of sight these days.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“I just remembered, we can use the radio to get out of here!” you responded excitedly.

Keigo said nothing. You flicked on the radio and were delighted to see the small green light on its casing come to life. You held the receiver up to your ear, and were greeted by silence. You flipped to another channel. Silence. And another. More silence. Your heart sinking, you went through the channels one by one, and were rewarded with nothing.

Keigo came up to put an arm around your waist. “No luck?” he asked calmly.

“I don’t understand,” you sobbed. “How can this be? The light is on; it should be working. There’s not even static!”

“Let’s not wear out the battery,” Keigo suggested, reaching past you to flick the radio off.

The green light, and your hopes of rescue, blinked out.

“Maybe I could fix it,” you mused, brightening a little.

“Maybe,” Keigo agreed, giving you a squeeze. “I think I have some tools in here somewhere.”

☙

The days drew on, and you began to feel stagnated. You hadn’t made any progress toward being rescued. Despite several weeks passing, Keigo’s wings did not look any fuller. The bruises and scar across his face had healed nicely, but his wings remained bare. You had no idea how their growth worked, but you had been hoping that by now he might be able to fly himself - even if it meant leaving you on the island alone, he could at least scout for a rescue ship during the day, or perhaps even fly back to civilization and tell them where to find you.

Keigo, however, had grown increasingly reluctant to leave your side. You supposed the isolation was getting to him and making him clingy. You were his only company after all. And besides, it was kind of cute, having an otherwise confident and laid-back man follow you around like a puppy dog. You could tell he was infatuated with you, and you couldn’t deny that you had been developing stronger feelings for him as well. It was hard not to when he spent most of the day in just his cargo shorts, sweat glistening on his muscled back.

Still, you insisted on keeping your separate sleeping arrangements. Keigo pouted about it, but seemed to understand that you weren’t ready for that yet.

Aside from your daily chores of sleeping and eating, you spent most of your time cleaning up around the campsite, playing games to pass the time - you were both pros at Rock Checkers by this point - and just talking to each other. You enjoyed hearing about all of Keigo’s exploits as a hero, and he seemed just as interested in the details of your average civilian life. You had spent so much time together at this point; it was impossible not to grow close, and maybe even a little dependent. You couldn’t blame Keigo - you liked having him around too.

Occasionally, Keigo would disappear into the dense forest during the afternoons, and you would be left with free time to work on tinkering with the radio. On one such occasion, before leaving, he gave you a playful warning.

“You stay right there while I’m gone, chickadee. You never know what big scary monster you might run into in these woods.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just you in those woods, Keigo,” you returned, laughing.

Keigo just smirked and disappeared into the trees.

☙

Later that same afternoon, you sat hunched over the radio. Not only did Keigo have a toolbox stowed in the ship’s cabin, but the radio operation manual as well. These resources had proved to be very helpful in taking the radio apart, but not too helpful in actually getting it to work. You were beginning to grow frustrated when a voice behind you startled you.

“Hey!” called Keigo. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned to see his messy mop of blond hair poking through the doorway behind you.

“Come here,” he said excitedly. “I have something to show you!”

“Hang on just a minute, Keigo,” you responded. “I think I’m close to a breakthrough here. The manual says there should be a green wire right here-” you pointed to a terminal node on the radio “-but I can’t see one. It must have been knocked loose. If I can just find that, we should be able to-”

“Aw, come onnnnnn” whined Keigo. “It’s getting dark out, and you’ve been working too hard. This can wait until tomorrow. I have something I really want to show youuuu.”

You sighed. He could be immature at times, but his childlike excitement was also something that drew you. You couldn’t resist the excited light in his eyes.

“Okay,” you relented, putting your tools and loose parts away. “If you’re so eager, I guess we’d better get going.”

Practically skipping, Keigo dragged you into the woods. You had not explored much of this part of the island, seeing as it was in the opposite direction from the fresh water source. You hadn’t really had the interest or need to.

“Close your eyes,” Keigo commanded giddily.

You must have been getting close to whatever the surprise was. After a few minutes of guiding you through the trees, Keigo put his hands on your shoulders to stop you. He put something rough into your hands.

“This is a rope ladder. Climb up and I’ll let you know when you’re getting close to the top.”

You smiled a little to yourself as you started up.

“And don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you slip,” he added.

At the top, Keigo made you keep your eyes closed until he could scramble up to join you. You had expected to be in a tree, but beneath your feet it felt like solid ground. You guessed that this, whatever this was, was what Keigo had been working on during the times he disappeared into the woods.

“Okay,” said Keigo, a little out of breath as he came up behind you. “Go ahead and open your eyes.”

You opened your eyes and gasped as Keigo wrapped his arms around you. You were in the trees, their leaves surrounding you on all sides. Actually, you realized, you were between several trees, standing on a firm platform of vines and leaves suspended within their branches. The trunk of one rose up through the center of the floor like a giant column. Peering beyond it, you had a magnificent view of the ocean and sky, where the sunset was just disappearing, giving way to night.

“You like it, baby?” Keigo whispered in your ear. “I built this just for us.”

“It’s - wow it’s - definitely impressive,” you stuttered.

You had the sudden and overwhelming feeling that you were perched in a nest. A nest belonging to a very large, very strong bird.

Keigo nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I know you’ve been feeling shy, chickadee, so I wanted to make our first time extra special.”

“You wha-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Keigo spun you around and planted a kiss on your lips, silencing them. One hand was in your hair and the other around your waist, pressing you fully against him. His mouth moved with desperation, trying to force yours to open further.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” Keigo panted, lowering you both to the floor. “And I know you have too. I see the way you look at me, baby.”

Keigo’s own eyes blazed with hunger, his smile beaming above you. In the dying light, his skin seemed to glow, taking on an unearthly sheen. You were speechless, and unsure of what to say even if you could find your voice.

Keigo started to lift your tattered shirt, and that snapped you back to reality.

“Please, wait,” you begged, grabbing at his hands.

“You don’t need to be shy anymore,” Keigo insisted, pushing away your hands. He reached beneath your shirt to squeeze one of your breasts. “I love you and I’m going to take care of you. Always. Please, please just let me make you feel good!”

“Keigo, STOP!” you demanded.

He stopped, and pulled his hands away from you slightly.

“Keigo, I- you’ve been so nice to me,” you started. “But I’m sorry, I’m just not ready for this. This is all so intense and I- I just want to go home so we can have a normal relationship instead of being stuck on a fucking deserted island!”

Keigo backed off from you, looking hurt and dejected. You were almost in tears, and your voice hitched as you spoke.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I think… maybe it would be best if you slept here tonight and I went back to the campsite.”

Keigo made no response. Unsure of yourself, you stood up and made your way over to the rope ladder. His silence persisted as you lowered yourself down and started back in the direction of the campsite.

☙

Eventually, you found your way back to camp. It was fully dark by the time you reached the side-by-side lean-tos, and you flopped down in one of them, eyes blurred from crying.

You didn’t know what had happened back there. Keigo had been nothing but sweet and generous throughout all of this. Even his treehouse, while a bit presumptuous and misguided, was a sweet testament to his feelings for you. You just weren’t prepared for how fast things were moving.

Maybe you had overreacted. It was too dark at this point to try and find your way back to Keigo, but in the morning you would find him and explain things. That you had feelings for him, but wanted to focus on getting out of here before pursuing anything more.

You leaned back and closed your eyes. You had half expected Keigo to follow you, but it seemed he hadn’t and was going to spend the night apart as you requested. Uneasily, you drifted to sleep.

☙

You were prodded awake in the middle of the night by a stabbing sensation in your shoulder. Groggily, you propped yourself up and felt behind you for whatever loose twig was the culprit. As you did, you realized with some amusement that you had fallen asleep on Keigo’s bed. He always took the left lean-to and you took the right. It had become a sort of unspoken rule, like a couple who each has “their side” of the bed.

You felt a pang of regret thinking this. If only Keigo hadn’t come on so strong. The truth was that you did want what he wanted. You wanted to be with him. But the stress of your situation and the intensity with which he tried to seduce you had been too much. You hoped you could work things out in the morning.

“Such an idiot,” you muttered. “Hope I didn’t ruin our chances for good.”

Finally, your fingers located the thing that had been poking you. It was oddly smooth, and, as you saw lifting it out of the pile of bedding, not a twig at all.

You held it up to the moonlight in disbelief: a little green wire.

Your stomach dropped. Swiftly and silently, you stalked toward the wrecked ship, needing to be sure. By the light of the moon, you quietly opened the casing of the radio, found the node with the missing connection, and slipped the green wire in. It reached perfectly to the node on the other side.

You tried not to let the panic set in. But something was very wrong. You felt the need to get out of there, away from the confined space of the ship.

Tumbling into open air, you began to pace on the wet sand, away from the boat and the campsite. Your thoughts were a whirlwind. Why would Keigo keep that wire from you? Why would he have it in the first place? The answer was obvious, but you didn’t want to believe it. You had been walking aimlessly for at least ten minutes, frightened and confused.

Suddenly, your foot hit something sharp in the sand.

☙

You fell to your hands and knees on the beach, and immediately scrambled around to see what had pricked you. There was a sharp point sticking out from the packed sand, and you dug around to reveal the object.

It was a feather.

Brilliantly red even in the glow of night, and far too big to belong to any normal bird. Tears welled up in your eyes. You continued to dig and uncovered another, then another. Soon you had unearthed a pit filled with the things.

“Enjoying your night without me, chickadee?”

One of the feathers zipped past you, toward the sound of the voice.

Trembling, you turned to face him as plumes of feathers swirled around you. One by one, they found their way to Keigo, and his wings began to reconstruct themselves in front of your eyes. Keigo’s hands were stuffed in his pockets as he looked down on you.

“Glad I don’t have to keep secrets anymore,” he said flatly. “I was really beginning to miss having these.”

His wings were stretched out to their full length, making his presence impossible to ignore and extremely intimidating. He relaxed them slightly and sighed.

“Keigo, you- you knew this whole time,” you spat. “The radio, the feathers, the food - this whole island!”

The man in front of you said nothing.

“Why?” you asked weakly. “Why would you do this?”

“What? Is it so bad to want some time with you?” Keigo shot back suddenly. “I told you, you had nothing to worry about. I love you. I can take care of you here.”

With this, he flew toward you at frightening speed. Before you had time to attempt an escape, he was on top of you. Pressing you down into the wet sand with the full weight of his body.

“Why can’t you just be appreciative? I did all this for you. Just to be with you!”

“You could have killed me!” you screamed into his face. “You weren’t keeping me safe! You could have killed me!”

At your words, Keigo’s expression darkened drastically. He was frowning at you, and you had never seen him like that before. No, not just frowning, but scowling.

Your shirt was torn off before you could even register what was happening.

“You said it yourself,” remarked Keigo, towering above you as he kept you pinned with his legs. A smile was creeping back on his lips. “I’ve been so nice to you. But I think I’ve been too nice. I think it’s time for me to take what I want.”

Keigo grabbed at the rest of your clothes and dragged them off of you, leaving you exposed beneath him. Then he undid his own pants and let himself spring free.

Slowly, all while looking down at his captive, Keigo used a hand to pump his throbbing cock. Reaching, he took one of your hands and wrapped it around his length, holding it there as he leaned down to bring his face right against yours.

“This is exactly what you want, you little tease,” he whispered harshly. With his other hand, he plunged two fingers inside you, feeling as your walls became slick and clenched around him. “I know you do.”

Smiling wide, Keigo straightened up. With his hands, he pushed your arms to either side of your head and pressed them against the sand. With his tongue, he trailed up and along your body from hip to breast, making you squirm. He was marking you as his, showing that he owned and could do whatever he wanted with you.

“Keigo, stop!” you cried once again, trying to look anywhere but up at him.

“No,” he growled. “This time, I won’t.”

He slammed his cock straight into your core, making you cry out in shock and pain.

“Quiet, baby. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us!” Keigo taunted.

He thrust into you again, this time only eliciting a whimper. Keigo’s own unrestrained grunts and moans mixed with the sound of the waves against the beach as he continued at his frantic pace. After a few minutes, he regained his composure and looked down, where you were trying to shrink into the sand beneath him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Keigo crooned. “You know I really do love you, and I promised I’d make you feel good, too.”

Using a wing to continue holding your arm in place, Keigo brought one of his hands up to his mouth and gave two fingers a scandalous lick. He never stopped looking down at you as he did so, an amused little look flashing across his face as you shivered at the sight. He brought the hand down between your legs, and began to rub slow circles around your clit, his saliva mixing with the wetness that already coated you. Involuntarily, you let out a moan.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he coaxed. He began to pump his cock in and out of you again, slowly this time. “Show me how much you want this.”

Not letting up, Keigo leaned down to use his mouth on you as well, biting and licking at your collar bones. He picked up his pace steadily. Your hands remained pinned, and all you could do was writhe under the onslaught of his touch.

His fingers were rough, and they grazed your clit relentlessly, sending shocks up your sides. You could feel a coil winding deep in your stomach, and despite yourself, you were desperate for a release. Keigo could feel you tightening around him as he neared his own climax.

Forgetting the restraints, Keigo shot up and pulled you with him, continuing to pound into you while on his knees. With your hips raised in the air, Keigo kept the pressure of his fingers on your most sensitive spot, sending you past the point of no return.

As he felt your walls clenching, he growled into the night:

“Tell me who makes you feel this fucking good!”

“K-Keigo!” you screamed, your body convulsing as you reached your climax.

“That’s right,” he grunted, slamming you both down into the sand again. “And it’s because you’re mine. All. Mine.”

At these words, you felt his cum gushing into you, making you flush from head to toe. He held his arms around you tightly as he rode out his own high, moaning in a gravelly, guttural voice.

The night was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of heavy breaths and crashing waves to echo off the beach as Keigo remained poised above you.

Finally, as his panting slowed, Keigo spoke.

“We should probably get comfortable, chickadee. It might be a long while before they find us.”

#hawks smut #hawks x reader #yandere hawks #bnha x reader #smut #keigo takami x reader #yandere keigo takami #bnha hawks #bnha smut

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 3 years

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Prompt, Angst, The titan gets badly damaged and a lot of the crew are dead or injured, mariner goes AWOL from the cerritos to find out if boimler is okay and there's a scene with boimler unconscious on a biobed and Mariner is like "you have to live so I can feed you to an armus for leaving the cerritos!"

A/N: you sent this prompt ages ago, but the words just wouldn't happen lmao. So six months late and a few thousand words short, here you go:

ao3

Okay, so here’s the thing.

Beckett keeps files on everyone. Not physical files of course--too insecure and hackable (she should know). But a mental file. Still hackable if she runs into a telepath, but still slightly more secure from the rest of her coworkers.

It’s not as if they’re particularly like. Creepy files. She isn’t snooping into anyone’s actual physical file onboard or obtaining any info illegally. She just observes things and passively marks them for later. Tendi likes peanut-butter sandwiches. Janice gets her neck tattoos re-inked every few months. Captain Mom has a stick up her ass. That kind of thing.

It’s a fine tuned compartmentalization that’s useful in a variety of situations, whether it’s knowing what to say in a social situation or who to trust during a red alert (tip: always go with Rutherford, he’s anxious but the least likely to betray you and throw you out of an airlock. Bonus: he’s the most likely crew member on this trashcan to actually have a working idea).

Some mental files are incredibly detailed. For instance, the one on her mom is about as thick as a handbound copy of War & Peace and just as boring. Everything from her favorite flavor of ice cream to her first response to an emergency situation is in there-incredibly accurate and incredibly detailed. She’s sure her mom has a similar mental file on her as well, but resolutely does Not think about it.

Some mental files are almost empty. Ensign Gent’s toothbrush is pink. First Officer Ransom has nice abs I guess. That dude who’s name I can’t remember opened his third eye and ascended into the afterlife or something I wasn’t actually there Tendi told me and I was on my fourth drink.

And then some are medium sized but entirely unremarkable.

Like Bradward Boimler’s, for instance.

Loves classic rock. Dyes his hair purple. Stickler for rules. Needs to loosen up a bit. A lot. Probably needs to get laid. Definitely needs to get laid.

That’s it, that’s the entire file. Beckett doesn’t really concern herself with whatever’s going on with Boimler beyond the occasional ribbing or co-assignment. It’s not because she doesn’t like the dork. She would tentatively (but never to his face) call him her friend if cornered. And she enjoyed riling him up.

She updates the file about a year (almost two) into her acquaintance with him. FUCKING BACKSTABBING TRAITOR. (That’s it now, that's the entire file.) She doesn’t revisit it again, not for almost eight months, despite Tendi’s cheerful updates on how he’s doing--they’re still in constant contact, despite his ghosting Beckett--and Rutherford’s worried comments on his well-being.

“It’s not our job to babysit him,” she snapped one day. “Hell, it wasn’t our job when he was here. Just let it go.”

And that was the end of that.

______

Okay, that was very much not the end of that.

It starts like this:

“Something’s going on, on the Titan,” Tendi hisses, dropping down into Beckett’s bunk at like 2am. Time doesn’t work the same out here as it does on Beckett’s home planet, but it feels like 2am so she’s calling it 2am. Everyone who’d been on the Alpha shift were pretty much dead to the world anyway, so it might as well have been. The point was, Beckett was sleeping, Tendi should have been sleeping, but instead the two of them are having an anxious stare off in the dark.

And Beckett’s currently having cardiac arrest from being startled so soundly. After her heart starts working again like a human heart is supposed to, the words begin to register. Sort of. “What?”

Tendi flips her padd around. Beckett blinks at the bright light from the screen, squinting to see what’s there.

“Is that morse code? Why the fuck is the Titian using morse code.”

Tendi stares at her unblinkingly, face flat.

Then,

“Oh. Oh shit. Shit!” Beckett sits straight up, throwing the covers off. There’s a few protesting noises and shushes that ensue around the room, but Beckett is already making a blind grab for her pants and shoes. “The fuck didn’t you lead with that?”

“Because people are sleeping,” Tendi whispers. Loudly. She rolls off the bunk and onto the floor, shoes already on. “So we’re going, right?”

“Of course we’re fucking going,” Beckett hisses. “Why wouldn’t-”

“Because you’ve been all hung up over him for the past eight months.”

“He ghosted me!”

“Okay yeah-”

“After accepting a promotion that he promised he wouldn’t-”

“Mariner-”

“He’s a backstabbing, little weasel who climbs over his friends-”

“Is this about that or the fact that you miss him?”

Beckett finishes pulling her shoes on and stands up, scowling. “I don’t miss him. Why are you defending him?”

“I’m pissed too. Don’t get me wrong, when we see him I’m gonna kill him. But I think this is more than that.”

“Whatever.” Beckett turns on her heel. “Are we stealing a shuttle or what?”

“Rutherford’s already on it.” Tendi taps rapidly on her data padd, keeping pace with Beckett’s light job easily. “We were hoping you could like. Let your mom know-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Beckett pulls out her comm, quickly typing out a quick message to her mother. “This is gonna be a shitshow.” The two of them enter the shuttle bay, which is pretty much deserted due to it being beta-shift.

“I have no idea how we’re even going to sneak onto the planet. It’s been on lockdown since the Titian crashed there.” Tendi’s shoulders slump.

“Leave it to me, I know a guy.”

“Of course you do,” Rutherford says, popping head out the shuttle door. “Good to go?”

Tendi gives him a thumbs up.

Beckett straps herself into a chair, stomach churning. “He’s fine though, right? Like, we would have gotten a call. Who’s his emergency contact anyway?”

Tendi worries her lip between her teeth. “His mom? I don’t know, it never came up and I don’t have access to his file.”

“He wasn’t on the list of deceased. Just the missing persons list,” Rutherford offers helpfully, punching in some coordinates.

“Well that’s reassuring,” Beckett mutters under her breath. She stares down at her comm, stomach churning.

_______

“Seriously, what are the odds of this even happening?” Tendi asks, dragging Rutherford by the arm behind them. A severely concussed, disgruntled Rutherford makes a grunt of what Beckett assumes is agreement.

“Do you really want to be arguing about the odds right now?” Boimler shrieks, sliding to an uncoordinated stop as the four of them run directly into the maze wall.

“Fuck,” Beckett says, eloquently.

“I thought you said you knew which way we were going!” Boimler runs a hand through his wet hair, face going through a series of complicated expressions before settling on frustration.

Beckett crosses her arms. “I did know where we were going. When I had the fucking map!”

“Why are you yelling at me about that? I didn’t even have it!”

“I don’t see anyone else here dumb enough to have lost it.”

“Guys-”

“You were the last person with the map, Mariner.”

“Unless some idiot took it out of my pack when I wasn’t looking.”

“Guys.”

“I didn’t touch your stupid map! Why are you so fixated on this!”

“Because if we had the map, maybe we wouldn’t be about to die via giant space spider!”

“Guys!” Rutherford shouts.

Beckett jumps at the unexpected shout from the usually quiet ensign. She turns on her heel, meeting Tendi and Rutherford’s unimpressed stares.

“Lookie, secret passage.” Rutherford waves a hand to a hole in the wall that hadn’t been there like two seconds ago. “You two good? Can we go?”

Beckett pushes past Boimler, lightly shoulder checking him and jumps through the doorway after her two annoyed friends. She doesn’t listen worriedly to see if Boimler follows her (she doesn’t) and she doesn’t resist the urge to turn around and make sure he’s close.

She balls her hands into tight fists and stomps past Tendi and Rutherford, ignoring the exchanged glances. “Please tell me this is a way out.” Her flat voice has the barest hint of a tremble in it.

You’re losing your touch, Mariner, get it together, she tells herself.

Tendi pulls a lighter out of her back pocket. (Because of course D’Vana Tendi has an old timey lighter on hand. There was a reason Beckett liked her after all.) It takes a couple of flicks, but she manages to get it to catch. The small source of light barely lights up their passageway, but it’s enough to see that it leads deeper into the planet.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Tendi sighs. “I’ll take the lead, I guess. You good, Sam?”

Rutherford grimaces, but nods. “Nothing I can’t handle. Let’s just get out of here.”

_______

It would be Beckett’s luck that she and Bomlier get separated from the other two. And it would just be their luck that there’s a cave in just before they reach the end of the catacombs. And of course, of fucking course, the Cerritos’ ETA on getting them out is anywhere from 2-6 hours, depending on how fast they can get the ship up and running again.

If anyone is using buffer time, Beckett is going to put spiders in their pillowcase.

“This is bullshit,” she mutters, dropping into a seated lotus position. She plays with Tendi’s lighter, flickering it on and off again.

Boimler grimaces from across her. “Can you stop that? It’s giving me a headache.”

Beckett makes steady eye contact again and flicks it off again.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck yourself. Or whatever,” Beckett mutters. She flicks the lighter back on.

Boimler makes a face like he’s swallowing back a retort. Instead of snapping back, he jams his hands into his pockets. “Can we- can we just talk about it? Like actually talk about it, not passive aggressively pretend like-”

“Like passive aggressively avoiding your best friend’s calls is okay?” Lighter flicks off again. “Yeah, that seems like bitch move, for sure. Glad I don’t know anyone who does that.”

“I’m sorry,” Boimler says into the dark, voice cracking.

“Fuck you.” Beckett flicks the lighter back on. Boimler’s eyes follow it, eyes dilating slightly as the light hits them. She flicks it off again, plunging the cave into darkness again. She flicks it back on. Boimler leans heavily against the cave wall, not looking at her or the light. He starting to look very pale. Paler than usual.

Beckett wonders about that headache.

“How long were you out here before we got your distress signal?” she asks, keeping her eyes glued to the lighter. She sees him shrug in her peripheral.

“Dunno. A while.”

Her stomach tightens. “You didn’t like. See anything weird?”

“You mean besides you and Tendi hauling ass? Not really.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

“What about strange smells-”

“Mariner.”

“You look pale,” she snaps. “And like super clammy. And I’m not talking about your stressed out will Mariner stop talking clammy, I’m talking like I think you inhaled a deadly neurotoxin kind of clammy.”

“I feel fine! Just the headache. Aaand maybe a slight stomach ache,” he adds at her flat expression. “I always have a stomach ache though-”

“-yeah, yeah, it’s the ulcer you’ve had since you were, like, two, you’re a goddamn medical marvel Boims. Budge over.” She shoves the lighter into his hands and grabs his face. “Are you dizzy,” she asks, peering in closely at his pupils.

Boimler tries to shove her away, but she’s stronger and more stubborn. “A little. Look, it’s just the headache and str-”

“Yeah, do you usually get pink eye from stress?” she asks dryly, pulling back to giving him some breathing room.

“I-what.”

“Your white are like. Super inflamed or whatever. Boimler, I think something’s wrong.”

“Shit.” He rubs his temples. “What’s that ETA again?”

“Six hours. Give or take some buffer time.” Mariner stands up. She’s not worried, she’s not. “Maybe you should lie down.”

Boimler glowers at her in the dim light, hands tightly wrapped around her lighter. “I’m fine.”

______

“Good thing you pulled him out when you did,” Dr T’Ana tells Ransom. “Any longer-” she pauses, seeing Beckett’s expression. “Do you want to know what it was?” she asks her.

Beckett, who’s currently white knuckling the back of the plastic chair by the biobed, shakes her head. “Not really,” she replies, stiffly. “Long-term effects?”

“None,” T’Ana replies, scratchy voice almost gentle. Almost. “So feel free to be as hard on him as you want when he wakes up.”

Ransom barks a laugh, clapping Beckett’s shoulder. “Oh, Mariner knows how to be-”

“If you make a single hard joke in my presence, I’m tossing you back onto that planet,” Beckett replies flatly.

Ransom removes his hand. “Right! Right, I’ll just be on my-”

“Out,” T’Ana and Beckett snap.

There’s a pause after the turbolift doors close after Ransom. Dr. T’Ana eyes Beckett warily for a moment. Then, “Call me if he wakes up with any symptoms.”

“You said-”

“Yeah, well. He has a lot of surprises in him, doesn’t he?” She gives Beckett a pointed look before leaving, grumbling down at her clipboard.

Beckett glares down at the unconscious Boimler. “The shit I go through for your dumb ass.” She flops into the uncomfortable chair. “Wake up already. It’s no fun yelling at you like this.”

____

Surprisingly, Beckett does not yell at Boimler when he wakes up. It’s a near thing, though.

“Well, thanks for not letting me die, I guess,” he says, watching her warily after she’s done ranting. Not yelling, ranting.

“I wouldn’t have let you die,” she scoffs. “You’re still my friend, dumbass.”

Boimler perks up in surprise. “What?”

“Look, just because you pulled the ultimate shitty move, doesn’t stop us from being friends. You’re still on notice, though.”

“Right! Right.” He pauses, blinking up at her. “Does it help that I submitted a transfer back to the Cerritos before any of this went down?”

Beckett freezes. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong that was my actual dream job, buuuut-”

“Riker is crazy?” Beckett dryly supplies.

“I thought you were crazy,” Boimler lets out a whooshing breath. “Like I seriously thought you were the most batshit, insane person I’d ever met, hands down. But Riker is certifiable.”

Beckett grins. She can’t suppress it and she’s too tired to try. “So you’re saying I’m preferable.”

“I will take you any day of the week over that.”

“Sounds like a compliment.”

“It is.”

“Hmm.” She eyes him critically.

“Soooo,” he draws out the word. “Am I forgiven?”

Beckett picks his shirt up off the end of the biobed and throws it at his face. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He pulls it over his head, causing his hair to stick up in the back. Beckett suppresses the urge to smooth it down.

“I like watching you squirm,” she replies. “It soothes my massively inflated ego.”

Boimler barks out a laugh, easing himself out of the biobed carefully. Beckett turns to go--he still has to talk with Dr. T’Ana and possibly her mom over the transfer, and give his full report to Riker--but stops as he catches her wrist in one hand.

“Hey. Thanks.”

Beckett’s heartbeat rackets up a few notches. Stop that, she thinks at it and then stops because thinking at your own organs is weird. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, voice even. “You would have done the same for me.”

It’s true. Boimler may be a bit of a bastard and sometimes a shitty friend, but she has no doubt he’d have come running if it’d been the Cerritos accosted.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Sometimes I feel like that’s all I do with you.”

“What?”

He drops his gentle grip on her wrist. “Nothing. Just.” He shrugs, looking cagey. “I know I’ve been a bit of a-”

“Bitch?”

“--yeah, that lately. But. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you. And that’s why I’m coming back. Because-because you deserve to know that. That you're my best friend, too.”

Her face heats up. “Yeah, well,” she mumbles. “Whatever.” Jams her hands into her pockets. “Don’t think I’m just gonna forget everything because you-”

“Yeah, I know. It’s fine.” He gives her a lopsided smile. “I just thought you should know.”

____

Beckett can feel the blush on her cheekbones until she reaches her bunk. Fuck, she thinks. Fuuuuuck.

She opens up her mental file on Boimler, crossing out whatever she had in there before. Best friend, she replaces it with. Stares at it for a long moment. Erases it. Puts it back.

Bradward “Brad” Boimler. Best friend. Loves classic rock. Dyes his hair purple. Has made some improvements, but still needs to loosen up a bit. Probably needs to get laid. Definitely needs to get laid.

You could help with that.

Best friend. She underlines in the file. You don’t have feelings like that for your friends.

Beckett throws herself into her bunk. She had the horrible, sneaking suspicion that Brad Boimler’s file was about to get a lot longer.

_______

#beckett mariner #brad boimler #marinler #boimler x mariner #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #star trek lower decks #star trek lower decks fic #star trek lower decks fanfic

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie - part 5/ 5

for @ban-aard <3

read on AO3

previous / Bonus chapter

The first notes of the song filled the air and still Jaskier didn’t move. Geralt’s stomach dropped. He should have never agreed to partake in that ridiculous game. He should never have let Jaskier drag him up there.

Even as he thought this, he knew he was being unfair. He hadn’t let Jaskier drag him anywhere. Geralt had been more than willing – eager really – to do whatever Jaskier wanted if it meant seeing his eyes light up the way they had.

And more yet: Though it was so obvious that Jaskier wasn’t comfortable with the idea of dancing with him, Geralt couldn’t find it in him to regret what they had had on the stage just moments before, when Jaskier’s touch had come so surely and with so little hesitation as if it belonged on Geralt’s skin.

Even as Jaskier’s heart had sped up when Geralt had come to stand before him and a small smile of relief spread across his face, Geralt had known it was only a fleeting moment, forever to be treasured in his memory only, but at the very least Jaskier hadn’t been able to see the way Geralt’s mask had slipped into something not even a poet could rationalise away as only an act when Jaskier had reached out. The way Jaskier’s fingers had mapped his face and the way his lips that been so soft against Geralt’s hand would be forever etched into Geralt’s mind. He almost wished it had taken Jaskier even longer to recognise him if it meant he would have gotten to feel those touches on him for a few moments more.

Jaskier’s grip on his hand became the tiniest bit tighter.

“I assume I’m going to lead?” Jaskier said, sounding strained. “I’ll try to go slow. I know you don’t really like to – I don’t even know if you know how to dance.”

“I do,” Geralt said too quickly. “But I only know how to lead.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up and he cracked a smirk though he gladly let Geralt guide him into position, Jaskier’s hand resting warmly on Geralt’s shoulder and the other fitting so perfectly into Geralt’s hand.

“What, are you telling me you spend your winters dancing in Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt took the first step back and Jaskier followed, just like he had always followed him across the continent, always happy to go where Geralt led him to.

The way Jaskier looked at him tightened an iron band around his chest until it became hard to breathe. He looked awed, as if Geralt had given Jaskier an unexpected gift. It was too much. If Geralt looked at that expression for much longer he would drown and in his need to gasp for air, words would tumble out of his mouth and drag him under even deeper with no hope for rescue.

“Yen taught me.” Geralt said it to keep himself from giving shape to anything he would. He hadn’t been prepared for the way his heart would clench when Jaskier’s expression fell and his eyes darted away. “She said it might come in handy if I ever –“

The hurried words broke off. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t confess how Yennefer had insisted that Jaskier should be wooed with dance, no matter how often Geralt had resisted and told her that he would never ask Jaskier to dance – that Jaskier would never accept such an offer, not if it came from Geralt. And yet, Geralt’s protest had died away and he had found himself dreaming, wishing, hoping.

“If you ever what?” Jaskier’s posture was far too rigid to match the forcibly light-hearted tone.

“Nothing. Forget it.” Geralt sent Jaskier out in a twirl, hoping it would buy him time to come up with a better reply. “Either way, now I’m glad she taught me.”

He brought Jaskier close to him again, closer perhaps than before. Jaskier didn’t reply, but he melted into Geralt’s arms, followed the slightest hint at what Geralt was prompting him to do, even though Geralt’s movements were awkward and clumsy and clashing so horribly with Jaskier’s elegance and easy grace. Still, as Jaskier twirled around Geralt and came back time and time again, his smile became brighter and a laugh bubbled up in him that was matched by a low rumble in Geralt’s chest.

The longer the song carried on, the more couples joined them on the dance floor and started moving to the music, but they could have just as well disappeared into thin air, for Geralt could see none but the man in his arms.

The twinkle in Jaskier’s eyes was enough to startle Geralt out of the strange trance he had fallen into while feeling Jaskier respond in that way to being in his arms. Lost in Jaskier’s gaze, Geralt tripped over his own feet, tugged a bit harsher than intended on Jaskier’s hand and without warning, Jaskier came crashing into him.

Geralt caught him without missing a beat. His hands rested low on Jaskier’s back and one of Jaskier’s hands laid on Geralt’s chest right above his heart. Their faces were so unbearably close, too far apart still.

It was wishful thinking that Jaskier’s eyes flickered down to his lips. His hand didn’t truly tighten in the fabric of his doublet. He didn’t truly pull him closer. Did he?

Geralt’s mouth went dry and his eyes darted between Jaskier’s, searching for something he was foolish enough to hope for, now that they were standing like this, like lovers, barely swaying anymore and believing they were the only people in the world.

How could he not hope? How could he not dream when some of that perfectly combed hair had come loose and fallen into Jaskier’s eyes? When his stiff posture had fallen away as he let himself enjoy the dance. When his smile held barely a hint of tension and his face was flushed. He looked like he belonged, not in this town that doubted his words and talent, not amongst those people who would scorn and scoff at what Jaskier so vehemently believed in, but right here in Geralt’s arms.

“You are beautiful.”

Even while the words left Geralt’s lips, a dagger plunged into his heart. He had said it too quietly, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

Not nearly loud enough to believably pretend he only said it for their act.

Geralt prayed that his slip up would somehow escape Jaskier’s notice, that maybe he could pretend to never have said it. If Jaskier ignored what he had said, he would not pull back and that would be enough.

But Jaskier’s eyes widened and his mouth opened just the tiniest bit, just enough for the smallest gasp to leave him.

Geralt’s heart gave a jolt and he wanted, he wanted … he was leaning forward, the last remnants of their dance slowing to a halt and Geralt’s hand pulled Jaskier closer ever so slightly. Not thinking but feeling more than he ever thought possible, he tilted his head and leaned in.

Just before his lips could touch Jaskier’s he stopped, giving Jaskier the change to close the gap between them. For the briefest, most wonderful moment he was certain Jaskier was leaning in too.

But the kiss never came, instead Jaskier went still in Geralt’s arms and the truth Geralt had so cruelly forgotten crashed back into him.

Jaskier didn’t want this. Going to a festival together, holding his hand and dancing was one thing. But Jaskier could not have made it clearer that he didn’t want what Geralt had wanted so desperately to do. A kiss was taking it too far.

Geralt had known this. Of course he had. There was a reason as to why they had not gone beyond holding hands for their pretence. There was no hope that Jaskier would want anything like that with him. Geralt had been stupid enough to forget that none of it was real, no matter how much he wished the soft looks and gentle touches weren’t all just a lie on Jaskier’s part.

Abruptly, Geralt pulled back and turned his face to the side. He couldn’t bear to look Jaskier in the eyes right now, he couldn’t see the discomfort because of what Geralt had almost done or the relief of him not going through with it.

Maybe if he had seen Jaskier’s face, it would have been easier when Jaskier spoke up again.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and it tore Geralt’s heart apart.

Sharply his head snapped back. “No, Jaskier.” His voice broke. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

If anything, Geralt should be the one to apologise. Jaskier was in this situation because his songs were defending witchers and how was Geralt repaying him? By almost forcing a kiss onto him in a situation where Jaskier wouldn’t be able to speak up or shove him away if he didn’t want to risk other people’s ire at unravelling the nature of their false relationship.

But Jaskier’s eyes widened and the hand still holding Geralt’s twitched.

“But I am. Sorry, that is.” Jaskier interrupted himself by swallowing thickly. “For what I said before.” When Geralt only furrowed his brow, Jaskier let out a trembling sigh. “When I said that I loved you.”

His words were quiet enough that no one would hear him over the sound of the music still playing, still it was loud like roaring thunder in Geralt’s head.

When Geralt tensed, Jaskier gave him a joyless half-smile. “Yeah. Exactly. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean… you don’t have to do things you’re uncomfortable with just because I took this thing too far. It was stupid of me, just – just forget it ever happened.”

Unable to form words Geralt only nodded, though he knew he would never be able to forget the precious words spoken with such conviction that for a moment Geralt had almost let himself believe they had been true.

If it had just been those words, the knowledge that they hadn’t meant anything, it would have been fine. But now, hearing Jaskier denounce them so openly, calling them stupid, saying they had taken it too far made it so much worse. As if the words had just slipped out, not because they came naturally to him, but because they weren’t important. Meaningless enough that they should be forgotten by the one who had them burned into his memory.

But if this is what Jaskier wanted, if he regretted saying it so much, then Geralt would not speak of those words again, would try not to think of them while he was with Jaskier.

Geralt gave Jaskier a smile that he hoped didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “Don’t worry, Jaskier. We both know this doesn’t mean anything. After today we will go back to the way we have always been.”

The promise spoken as a comfort cut into Geralt, even as he smiled to reassure Jaskier; even as he knew that those were hollow words. Geralt wouldn’t be able to go back. Not after having gotten a taste of what it felt like to have Jaskier touch him so gently, look at him so softly and speak his name as if it was the only word worth saying.

“You’re right. It doesn’t mean anything.” Jaskier’s shoulders sagged and he returned Geralt’s smile all the more brightly. “I’m glad we’ll be able to go back to normal. That this won’t stand between us.”

It was said with so much relief that he wouldn’t need to repeat the words that it gave a sharp twist to Geralt’s heart. Still he knew it was better this way. As much as he wanted Jaskier to say it again, he wouldn’t be able to bear it if Jaskier didn’t mean it and that he knew was a dream that would never come true.

Once they left the dancing couples behind and went to the edge of the town square where it was quieter and less bustling, it was easier to look at Jaskier again. Here no eyes were on them, no nosy ears straining to listen in. They didn’t need to prove anything anymore. They had done what they had set out to do, certainly. If they wanted to they could leave the festivities and retire to their room. There was no need to continue with their act for any longer.

They stayed. Even as the last couples decided to dance no longer since their feet began to hurt. Even as evening fell and the town square was illuminated by lanterns and fairy lights instead of the sun.

Jaskier’s eyes reflected the lights, making them look like stars on the night sky and Geralt found himself unable to looking away. He could finally understand what poets meant when they said their beloveds were pained with starlight.

Though he must notice Geralt’s blatant adoration, Jaskier’s hand didn’t leave Geralt’s and Geralt let himself smile at Jaskier and look at him as openly and with as much admiration as he wanted to. He only had a few more hours left – minutes, if Jaskier decided he has had enough – and the ticking clock made Geralt desperate to take as much as he could get. Maybe the memory would be enough to warm him when Jaskier left him once more for Oxenfurt or some court where his songs would be celebrated and he would find a new lover who would be allowed to look at him the way Geralt did now.

“They won’t doubt your songs now.” Geralt didn’t know why he said it, why he felt the sudden need to fill the silence that had never bothered him before. He just knew that he wanted Jaskier to be happy. If it wasn’t with Geralt on his arm, then maybe knowing that his music would be celebrated would make this evening pleasant for him.

Jaskier let out a soft sigh. “There’s always at least one person who doesn’t understand what I’m singing about.”

It was a familiar enough jab that Geralt knew it was him that Jaskier was talking about. Too often had Jaskier complained playfully and with over the top theatrics about Geralt’s inability to see what his songs meant. There was something in the way he had said it now, resigned and maybe even with a hint of bitterness, that made Geralt squirm.

“Not everyone is a scholar. I might not understand the metaphors and all that but even I can recognise a good song.”

“Oh? My songs are good now?” Jaskier nudged Geralt playfully with his shoulder, but his tone hadn’t changed.

“Always were.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s smile wavered and he quietly said, “Now you are taking the act a bit too far. That is something you can’t possibly mean.”

Silence settled over them again and Geralt wrecked his brain, desperate to find something to make right what he had somehow broken without realising or meaning to.

“I would like to hear you play.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “What, right now?” He squinted. “Geralt, I really appreciate how dedicated you are to do all this,” he gestured widely over to the people who were still enjoying the festival, “but you’ve already done so much you wouldn’t have done otherwise. I won’t make you listen to me sing too.”

“I want to.” Geralt swallowed thickly. “I never get to see you perform in full.”

“You’ve heard me compose my songs.”

“But it’s different. You’re different when you play for someone else.” Geralt felt his throat grow tight, but he forced himself to continue. It was likely he had already broken too much with how he behaved today. What more harm could this cause? “Happier. You smile more openly. And I never get to see it. There’s always someone approaching me for a contract midway, or I just come back from one when you’re about to finish the set or I can’t stay because of the potions. I just – just this once?”

Jaskier gave him a long unreadable look, before nodding slowly.

They went back to the crowd, back to the prying eyes. When Jaskier’s hand pulled away from his, Geralt tightened his hold unwilling to let go just yet, before releasing his hand.

He watched Jaskier’s every step as he went up to speak to one of the musicians and borrow her lute before going up the stage once more.

“My husband asked me for a song and who am I to deny him?” he announced with a broad smile and winked in Geralt’s direction. Softer, he added, “This song is for you, Geralt my love.”

Geralt’s breath got stuck in his throat. There was that word again, right after his name, as if his name was worth mentioning first. That word that meant more to him than it was allowed to. He couldn’t keep that word, never had it in the first place and yet that knowledge didn’t stop his heart from yearning to hear Jaskier say it again.

Geralt stared transfixed as Jaskier took a deep breath and began to sing a song softer than any other, more precious and fragile than he remembered it sounding when Jaskier had composed it.

“Each night and day I dream,

I try

To tell you - can’t you hear?

With song and smile I scream

my truth

And yet you hear a lie.”

Geralt had heard snippets of it before when Jaskier had performed, but then it had been less tentative and more certain. This time Jaskier didn’t wink, didn’t make a big show off prancing around. He just stood up there on the stage, eyes never leaving Geralt and with nothing to show but himself and his song, as if saying ‘This is me. This is all I am and all I have to give. My song. My heart. My love.’

It seemed almost simple. Geralt might not know the meaning of metaphors and scalar transpositions, but he knew Jaskier. He knew what he was showing now was anything but simple.

He was looking so vulnerable, so pleading and it was – it almost felt as if he could…

“Oh Dear heart, can’t you see?

For me it’s you, it’s none but you

I wish for you it could be me.

Oh tell me, love, it could be true.”

Jaskier’s voice broke and for a moment Geralt was sure he understood. Truly and not just because his own hopeful heart begged it to be so.

There were whispers once more. Geralt didn’t want to listen to them, didn’t want to hear anything but Jaskier and the impossible promises he made.

But this was what Geralt had always missed. Not only the way Jaskier looked, but also the way others looked at him. The way lovers sighed and leaned into each other as they too came so close to understanding, or maybe they understood better than Geralt ever could.

An overwhelming sense of pride for Jaskier washed over Geralt. Not one person dared doubt his words now. Not one person would raise their voice and claim that his songs were lies, not when he was begging for the truth to be heard.

“How strange,” one woman whispered. “How strange and wonderful that the bard won’t leave his witcher.”

It was. It was more than Geralt ever could have hoped for.

“I always thought a witcher’s life was lonely. Cold and dangerous.”

“Yes,” another hushed whisper agreed. “A horrible life, really. Well. It’s good to know this one witcher has someone to make it a little better.”

With each whisper the soaring thing in Geralt’s chest became heavier until it plummeted. The words weren’t spoken with malice. They were almost exactly what Geralt had thought to himself time and time again.

He was incredibly grateful for Jaskier. He truly was making the Path not only more bearable, but also brighter, filled with laughter, something to look forward to instead of dread when the end of winter neared.

But Geralt? What was he doing? What was he giving Jaskier in return? The best pieces of meat when he should have so much more. The blanket with the least holes in it when he should be sleeping in the softest bed. Words that never left Geralt’s throat when Jaskier deserved to be surrounded by praise and admiring crowds that he needed to thrive.

Keeping Jaskier was selfish. Even believing for a second that Jaskier could love him the way he craved was nothing but self-absorbed when Geralt had done nothing to deserve Jaskier’s heart. Hundreds of people had felt Jaskier’s burning eyes on them while he sang a love song and fallen for it – for Jaskier - only to watch him leave come the morning. Even if Geralt had him, even if only for a night or the duration of a song, he would be left wanting and he would try to keep Jaskier.

A songbird could never love a cage.

Geralt had been selfish for years trying to stay with Jaskier and so he continued to be now as he tore his eyes away from Jaskier and fled the festival, fled the illusion that he had mistaken for reality, fled Jaskier’s smile and his yearning song and his eyes that would never look at him again in the way he wanted them to.

He was selfish turning his back on Jaskier without goodbye in the middle of a performance that Geralt knew Jaskier wouldn’t interrupt to come after him and ask why he left, why he couldn’t continue to travel with him.

How could Geralt have explained it anyway? What excuse could he give other than that his heart was not as hardened as it was meant to be and that one day he would shatter Jaskier if he didn’t shatter himself now.

He had tried getting Jaskier to make the sensible decision to leave Geralt before when Geralt hadn’t been strong enough to make it himself. He had told him time and time again how dangerous the Path was and still Jaskier had stayed by his side. Jaskier had disregarded the threat for his own safety in order to tend to Geralt’s wounds, unknowing that each gentle touch was turning his heart from stone into oh so breakable glass.

Geralt knew that later if he had one regret, it would be leaving Jaskier without telling him, telling him he was not coming back, telling him that he wanted nothing more than to stay, telling him that Jaskier was the most important part of his life but that he was willing to leave so Jaskier could be happy and safe.

Still, Geralt kept going until the sounds of the festival died away and he couldn’t hear Jaskier’s song anymore and further still.

If he heard even a hint of that song, his mind would drift again into forbidden territory and if he stopped running in order to think about confessing the sin of loving Jaskier to him, he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist turning back and doing so.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he did. Once Jaskier knew the truth of why Geralt couldn’t stay with him, of how Geralt yearned to have him in a way he never could have, he would reel back in disgust and say he never wanted to speak to Geralt again. Geralt’s heart would finally break fully and become what a witcher’s heart was always meant to be.

It would have been easier to go on with a hardened heart and fairer for Jaskier to know why he was being left.

But Geralt was selfish and so he didn’t look back.

Jaskier’s fingers danced over the strings, coaxing the music from the instrument in a way that seemed harder than ever, though it set something in his chest loose and made him feel light as a feather. It felt exhilarating to pour his heart out into song and have Geralt actually listen for once.

Jaskier could have soared if it weren’t for Geralt’s eyes grounding him in the here and now. He could have stayed like this forever, could have told Geralt all he wanted him to know. He almost believed his wish had finally come true and Geralt understood.

But even the most resilient dandelions wither eventually and people have to face the facts that no more wishes will be granted.

Geralt turned away harshly and instead of soaring, Jaskier plummeted back onto the earth as this dreamlike illusion was shattered.

His fingers didn’t falter as he watched Geralt push his way through the crowd and away from Jaskier. A hollow wound gaped in his chest. He had been too open, had allowed himself to show the truth and had been stupid enough to think Geralt wouldn’t run when he saw it.

Geralt faded from view and Jaskier was still playing. Why was he still playing? There was a painful irony in singing about his devotion and hope for something he could never have, for his love to see the truth, while the person he sang for had finally seen past the lie and was leaving. Was it truly devotion if he just let him go without at least attempting to make things right between them? Was it love when he continued to sing about what his beloved despised so much? Jaskier’s fingers faltered on a chord.

What the hell was he still doing here?

The song cut off abruptly when Jaskier’s fingers stilled altogether and his voice dried up mid-sentence.

There were murmurs and confused shouts around him he was sure, but he ignored them all. He put the lute down carelessly and chased after Geralt as he always had, praying that this wouldn’t be the time Geralt finally decided he had had enough and forbid Jaskier from following him any longer.

As soon as he left the town square and the decorative lanterns that had lit up the festival he was plunged in darkness. His lungs were burning as he ran through streets and alleyways, always searching for a hint of where Geralt could be.

Witchers were quiet when they hunted and it seemed they were so too when they were the ones being chased. There was no hint of where Geralt was, no visible sign of him, no sound.

But Jaskier knew Geralt blind and deaf. He would always find him.

“Geralt!” Calling for him with a broken and trembling voice was unfair, he knew, but in his defence, the distress in his voice was as real as could be and no matter how frustrated or angry Geralt was, not once has he not come to Jaskier’s aid when he called out for him in fear.

Only mere moments after Jaskier’s shout broke off, Geralt appeared at the far end of the alley. Jaskier couldn’t see his face in the dark, but his silhouette spoke of tension as if Geralt was bracing himself for a fight. His golden eyes reflected the sparse light and raked over Jaskier.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, though he stopped his approach when he must have realised that Jaskier wasn’t in imminent danger.

“You left.” Jaskier too halted his steps, though his body screamed at him to breach the distance between them, to grab Geralt’s hand and never let him go.

“Go back, Jaskier.” If possible Geralt’s posture stiffened even more. “Enjoy the festival. When you get back to the room I will be out of your hair.”

“What?” No, he couldn’t mean what Jaskier thought he meant. He couldn’t!

“I’m leaving. For good. I never should have allowed myself to – to take you as a travel companion.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurted out and couldn’t stop himself from taking one step towards Geralt. “Is it because of what I said before? I already told you I wouldn’t say it again.” His voice became frantic. “Or was it because of the song? Was it too much? I will stop. I promise I will stop. I will sing about your hunts and nothing more.” It was all he could promise. He knew it wasn’t enough; he knew he should take all his confessions back and tell Geralt the declaration of his feelings had held no meaning, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny them, now that he had spoken them. “I won’t speak about those kinds of feelings ever again. Just please don’t leave me!”

Jaskier wished he could read Geralt’s face, but at the same time he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear the look of rejection that surely was there.

Geralt stared at him for a long time in silence before he turned away. Jaskier’s stomach sank. This was as much of an answer as he would get. At least he didn’t have to hear Geralt use his precious sparse words to break his heart.

“I’m not leaving because of the song,” Geralt finally said with a tight voice. It was impossible to tell if he forced the words out or if they tumbled out while he was unable to stop himself.

“Then why?” Jaskier’s desperation was impossible to miss and Geralt would be able to sense the tears that pricked at Jaskier’s eyes, but Jaskier didn’t care. “I will be better. I promise. Just tell me, please. What did I do wrong?” Don’t tell me that loving you is my mistake. Not that. That is the one thing I can’t regret, can’t amend.

“Nothing.” Geralt’s shoulders sagged and he still refused to look at Jaskier. “It’s nothing you could change.”

“What can’t I change?” Whatever it was, Jaskier would try.

The silence between them was raw and heavy until Geralt finally turned back to Jaskier.

“That witchers are unlovable.”

Jaskier couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped him. He took another step forward and almost expected Geralt to flinch away. He didn’t. He just stood there unmoving with his eyes following Jaskier’s every move as if he was waiting and ready to accept whatever penalty Jaskier inflicted on him.

“That’s not true.”

“It has to be.” Geralt’s voice cracked as if Jaskier’s words were throwing him off a cliff he had desperately clung to. “Because if it isn’t – if witchers can be loved – that means it is just me. Just me who you won’t fall in love with.”

Jaskier flinched back, stunned. Geralt couldn’t have possibly just said what he thought. If that was what had Geralt running away that meant that Jaskier’s hope wasn’t foolish, that he could have what he had thought out of reach.

“Geralt…” There was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings he wanted to put into words, but that name was the only word that could come close to holding all of them. “Geralt, I –“

“Don’t.” Geralt’s voice was harsh and cut through the lightness and warmth bubbling up in Jaskier’s chest like a knife. Geralt’s tone was hard and ungiving, like the walls that Jaskier had spent decades carefully tearing down were up again. “Don’t apologise for not being able to feel for me what I have always known I couldn’t have and don’t tell me I’ll get over it. I won’t. I tried for years and it’s impossible. It’s too late for me.”

“As it is for me,” Jaskier said softly.

Geralt’s head dropped as if invisible strings holding him up had been cut as all fight left him.

“I know.” The defeat in his tone sent a sharp pang through Jaskier’s chest. “I know it’s too late to make it better now. I just wanted to leave before you’d have to find out. I never wanted to burden you with knowing.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jaskier came closer still, carefully and slowly as if approaching a frightened animal. Each step made his heart beat faster until finally he could reach out and brush his fingers across Geralt’s cheek. Geralt’s eyes closed and he leaned into the touch as if it would be the last time. “It is too late for me to get over it. Over being in love with you.” A breathless laugh escaped him. “Though I never exactly tried to fight it in the first place.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped open. They were wide and disbelieving, searching Jaskier’s face for something he was all too willing to let him find this time.

“Jask.” His voice was full of wonder. “You mean all this time… I always thought you didn’t… I thought you couldn’t feel as I do.”

Jaskier let his hand trail down Geralt’s neck over his arm until he found his hand. He lifted it to press it gently against his own chest, hoping the rapid rhythm of his heart could do what his words couldn’t and convince Geralt of the truth.

“I am not like you. I can’t repress my feeling and I don’t want to. I love differently. Hard and fast and over too quickly.” He swallowed thickly. “Except for when it’s you. It didn’t end. There was not a single beautiful moment that made me fall in love with you and there wasn’t one ugly instance that made me fall out of love. Every second I spent with you I fell deeper until it became impossible for me to ever not love you anymore.”

There was so much more Jaskier wanted to say, but all words got lost in his throat when Geralt surged forward, stopping just before their lips could touch.

He was close enough that their breaths were mingling.

There was hesitation in his eyes, an apprehensive uncertainty, but stronger yet was that fondness that set Jaskier’s chest ablaze.

“May I?” Geralt said it so quietly, nearly as if he was still scared of what the answer may be, but he was brave enough to say it nonetheless.

Instead of replying, Jaskier closed the gap. It took nothing more than a tilt of his head and the slightest push forward but it felt like an unbearable distance.

Jaskier sighed when their lips finally met. It wasn’t a grand kiss, barely worth mentioning. It was little more than a brushing of lips, sweet and fragile and more than Jaskier had ever allowed himself to dream of.

It was over too quickly when Geralt carefully drew back again, only enough to be able to form words.

“Jask.”

Jaskier didn’t let him finish. He leaned forward again, chasing another kiss that Geralt seemed all too happy giving him, before pulling away once more.

“I need to tell you –“

Another kiss, this time broken by the smile that played around Jaskier’s lips and the soft laugh that escaped Geralt’s.

When Geralt leaned back this time, he rested their foreheads together, bringing his hands up to caress Jaskier’s face.

“Damn it,” he said with a hoarse chuckle, sounding strangely breathless. “Can you stop kissing me for one moment so I can say it back?”

“Hmm, tempting,” Jaskier said with a grin. “But I spent far too much time not kissing you to resist now that I know I’m allowed to.”

Geralt’s breath shuddered and his thumb brushed across Jaskier’s lips with aching gentleness.

“And I wasted too much time not telling you how I felt.”

“Then stop wasting time.”

As much as Jaskier wanted to claim Geralt’s lips again and again, he wanted more than anything to hear Geralt say the words he had dreamed of for longer than he could remember.

“I love you, Jaskier.”

He had known what Geralt would say and still he couldn’t help but let out a small gasp.

When Jaskier didn’t move, Geralt let out a nervous chuckle. “What, are you not going to kiss me again?”

Jaskier shook his head the tiniest bit, just enough that Geralt could feel the movement without breaking the contact of their foreheads.

“Not yet,” Jaskier said and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to get distracted.”

“Distracted from what?”

“From this. This moment, you saying it. I want to remember it forever, how your voice sounded so beautifully breathless, how you are holding me, how it’s just the two of us and how this moment belongs to none but us. I want to keep it. I never want to forget even the smallest detail about this.”

“Then you’ll need to remember a lot of moments from now on,” Geralt repeated again. “I will never stop saying it. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Later, when the sounds of the festival would die down and the streets would be filled with the townsfolk going back to their homes, Jaskier would take Geralt’s hand, unwilling to break contact for even a moment and lead him back to the inn. Maybe he would play the song for him again, a private performance just for his love, the first one Geralt would ever hear in full, the first one where Jaskier would be happy as never before. Maybe Geralt would tell him the truth about what had made him fall in love with Jaskier, he would share the secret that would be only theirs to know. Maybe they would kiss and fall asleep in each other’s arms or maybe Jaskier would do his best to coax Geralt into dancing with him again in the privacy of their own small room, just because they could and Geralt would grumble but he’d oblige and do so with a smile. Maybe later they would laugh as the full extent of their stupidity sank in. Maybe Jaskier would write a song about it. Or maybe it would be just their story and they would be the only ones knowing all of it.

There was so much they could and would do later on, not only this night but for the rest of their lives. They had time.

For now, they just stood where no one could see them, where there wasn’t an ounce of pretend between them and held each other, knowing for the first time that they loved and were loved in return.

#thanks ban-aard for the insight on the dancing thing #fake dating #I scream a truth you hear a lie #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraltxjaskier #witcher #witcher fanfic #fic #my writing #multichapter

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