#bears in trees we don’t speak anymore

[s-cordelia-mae]

Bears in trees pretty please draw me a little tattoo I wanted to try tonight at Kingston but my sharpie went walkabouts when George signed someones paper 🥺🙏

[love-pyramus]

I PROMISE TO TEXT BACK AS LONG AS YOUD LIKE THAT ITS DEATH TIL US PART THROUGH BLUE SCREENS WE CAN PART ANY SEA THAT SURROUNDS US OR COMPOUNDS US OR THREATENS TO CUT ANY CORD THAT CONNECTS US WE DONT SPEAK ANYMORE ITS NOT THAT DEEP OR THAT SHALLOW ITS SOMEWHERE WE JUST STAND IN THE MIDDLE I MEAN HAVING A DMC I MEAN TRUE REVERIE I MEAN MY HEAD ON YOUR HEARTBEAT YOUR HEART BEATING OUT OF TIME OF TIMES ABANDONED WHEN WE COULD SCALE ANY ROOF IN SOUTH LONDON WE DONT SPEAK ANYMORE

[twinksintrees]

we don’t speak anymore is the little cellist of the how to build an ocean singles

[i-have-a-head-ache]

to them,

it’s been 3 years since i’ve seen you and 4 since we last spoke as friends.

sometimes i see you on social media.

i guess you’re married now. it makes me angry because after everything you did to us I still don’t think you deserve to be happy.

and now we’ll never get justice for the shit you put us through. sure it’s easier now, but it doesn’t change how betrayed we felt.

you were a terrible friend. yet you blocked me? you twisted the events that happened to our mutuals at the time. though now i realise they were terrible friends too - for different reasons of course, but i can see why you were friends.

we don’t speak anymore.

although i still get angry at you, i don’t miss you anymore. i’m glad we got out when we did.

because i’m thriving without you. i’m happier. your toxicity can’t hurt us anymore.

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Context I think she legit tried to get me out of a bad relationship but we were all kids and it was a whole mess and like I don’t remember any of it very well but I have her insta

[stellamancer]

prompt: peel back the layers of me, on purpose or accidentally + “i’m not stopping— not now, not ever.”

summary: in the aftermath of everything, megumi is barely surviving.

wc: 1.8k

contains: gn!reader (reader is not a sorcerer but aware of jujutsu society), canon divergent with spoilers post shibuya incident arc, mentioned character deaths (megumi is the only survivor 😭), angst, hurt/comfort

co-written by @seiwas as part of our milestone event collab: keep this love unspoken (tell me as loud as you can) [closed]

You find Megumi in the rain.

He stands from a distance, back hunched and fingers twisted in what you know calls for Divine Dogs. The moonlight lends itself to his shadows, a distant light cast upon what’s left below—illuminations over darkened silhouettes.

You know he can’t summon them anymore, their powers having trickled over to the handful of shikigami he has left. But you think at this moment, body slack and drenched in rainfall, that he looks like one right now—a lone wolf staring at the moon, searching, reaching.

(His howls are deafeningly silent.)

“Megumi!” you shout, the umbrella in your hand shaking as your waterproof jacket shelters you without warmth.

He doesn’t respond—you didn’t expect him to, anyway.

Megumi’s been different for a while. Withdrawn.

And though he’s always been hidden within layers of himself, it never used to be this many; he would always shed one off when it came to you.

“You’re going to get sick!” you attempt again.

You’ve known this secluded clearing since you were 10. It lies deep inside the training grounds of the college, hidden within tall trees and winding paths—as if it was always meant to safe-keep the memories made in them: the first time Megumi ‘trained’ with Gojo at age 7; the day when you, wide-eyed and seeing, knowing of the horrors of this world–his world–were eventually introduced as his training companion years later.

He doesn’t move.

You take a deep breath, stepping towards him.

Companion, not partner is what you are.

With your abilities limited to just seeing, you never had to fight his battles. Instead you watched, sat on the sidelines as you both grew, always around but never beside him—because, what else could you do?

Even when his world continued to take, and take, and take; Tsumiki. Nobara.

Gojo.

Yuuji.

It was (is) all you could (can) do.

Walking towards him now, with unease weighing on every press against crunching grass and sinking soil, you wonder if this is what it feels like to enter a battlefield.

The air is thick and damp, a sickening cold that seeps deep into bones—when you get close, he’s heaving, each rise and fall of his back punctuated by ripples of white cotton clinging.

“Megumi,” you say softer but not any less firm, “we should head back.”

The word rings in his ears.

(Back? Back to what?)

He turns his face to the side, droplets falling from the tips of his hair and down the slope of his nose. It’s awful how you’re reminded of a scene completely different from this—him, at 10, fighting back a smile as you play in the rain with his lone two shikigami.

“Still training,” he finally speaks, tone flat. Unfeeling.

Except he isn’t. You know he isn’t—isn’t training, isn’t unfeeling.

Eight years, you’ve known Megumi, two since he lost everything. You’d always seen it as a blessing that your hands could never bear the power to be weaponized against anything, but now you curse every twisted fate in jujutsu society that there’s no one left to carry the burden but Megumi.

You sigh, extending your arm as you step closer to cover him with the umbrella.

“I’ll keep you company then.”

That’s what you are after all—it’s what you’ve always been, throughout the past two years especially. His eyes no longer meet yours as if speaking to you without talking; the small smile he used to give you now falls flat, static. Fingers that once moved fluidly, surely, now fidget as he picks at the sides of his nail beds, skin peeling.

“You don’t have to,” he mutters tightly, the call for Demon Dogs morphing into clenched fists beside him.

Something in him feels like snapping.

How can you just always be there?

Waiting. Tending.

It shouldn’t tick him off as much as it does right now, but it does, because—

“Well,” you clear your throat, shifting your feet, “someone has to keep you dry if you’re staying out here.”

—you say it so easily, as if this is something you just do and not give.

As if he should even be here, when he shouldn’t. Especially not on the receiving end of it.

His chest burns.

“I didn’t ask for that,” he spits out, grabbing hold of the edge of the umbrella to tip it over, knocking it out of your hands.

It falls to the ground and rolls away, but you don’t move to grab it— your eyes are on Megumi.

Only Megumi.

The fire in his chest rages on, bright and hot, the flames licking at his ribcage. It hurts, it’s painful. His heart is charred, with little left to serve as kindling and yet, despite the rain, despite everything, it remains ablaze.

Just like the fire in your eyes right now.

Rather than reach for the umbrella, you take a step toward him, the rain saturating your clothes, your skin, but you don’t seem to notice, don’t seem to care.

All Megumi can think of is how it's unfair.

You shouldn’t be wasting your time on him, not with his bloodied hands and dark thoughts. He never should have survived, he didn’t deserve to survive. Fushiguro Megumi is living on time that isn’t just borrowed— it’s stolen, ripped from the hands and souls of those far, far more deserving.

Time is precious, he’s learned, but here you are trying to throw yours away.

“Megumi, please,” you say and while your words are soft, there’s a tautness there that Megumi painfully recognizes. Tsumiki would use that tone too, in her patience, in her frustration, whenever Megumi would act out. He’d always bend to her will eventually, but you are not Tsumiki.

He will not give in to you.

“Can’t you see how tired you are?” you plead. It doesn’t matter; he doesn’t care, and either you don’t seem to realize, or you do and you don’t care either. “I know you want to keep training, but I really think that maybe you should turn in for the night. Get a good night’s sleep and start again in the morning.”

Megumi hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in ages, and honestly speaking, he doesn’t think he will ever again. How can he when he knows that Yuuji and Nobara will never wake up again? He starts to turn away from you. “I’m not tired.”

“Megumi!” He hears you take another step and feels the slightest tug at his shirt—

Gojo gave him this shirt for his 15th birthday. It was two sizes too large and exactly the type of thing Gojo liked to wear himself. Whenever Megumi wore it, he looked childlike and ridiculous; in fact the first time he put it on Gojo laughed so hard that Megumi swore he saw tears in his eyes. Megumi remembers snapping at him, telling him if he was going to buy someone clothes as a gift, it would be best to buy clothes that actually fit, but Gojo had merely laughed it off, telling Megumi he’d grow into it one day.

Now Gojo is gone, but just as he said, Megumi's grown into the shirt. It fits better now, even though it’s worn and fraying. Whenever he wears it he can almost hear Gojo laughing at him, telling Megumi ‘I told you so’ in that annoying voice of his.

All he hears right now is the ripping of fabric.

Megumi’s body goes completely still and you are oddly silent.

It’s almost as if time has stopped.

But then the apologies start spewing from your mouth, unending and torrential, just like the rain above. “Oh my god, Megumi, I’m so sorry, I—”

He turns around to face you, and the shirt rips even more, tearing more and exposing his chest. Any hope of the shirt being repaired is gone, but Megumi doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, because all he sees right now is you, fretting and wide eyed, “I told you to just leave me alone!”

You fall silent, your words and apologies staunched. The downpour surrounding you both only seems to get louder, more relentless, and the both of you are soaked to the bone. There’s no way that either of you are getting out of this without catching a cold, but Megumi doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t—

“Why do you keep doing this?” he demands. “Why don’t you just—”

He stops short, all the words in his head trying to fly out of his mouth all at once.

In the midst of his silence, you speak up, your voice barely audible, “...just… what?”

Stop.

Leave.

Go away.

“...this is pointless,” he finally answers.

“No, Megumi it’s—”

“It is!” he argues, his voice rising. “You’re wasting your time with me, so just stop already!”

Life isn’t fair. Megumi learned that long, long ago. When his father abandoned him, when Tsumiki fell into a coma, when Yuuji died over and over, when Gojo died at his hands. Time and time again Megumi has had it beat into his head, burned into his mind that life isn’t fair.

And neither, he’s learned, are you.

“I won’t,” you say, voice firm, resolute. You take another step toward him, and it feels almost as if Megumi’s entire world is shaking, tilting on its axis and flipping upside down. The fire in your eyes burns bright and hot, the flames calling to the one raging in his chest. It aches and yearns. His heart is smoldering, but still it beats, drumming to a beat that’s at odds with the torrent surrounding you both.

You reach for him, and before Megumi can try to dodge, before he can slip through your fingers, your hands cup his cheek, gentle and firm before you bring him down so that you are both eye to eye. He sees himself reflected in your eyes, widened and bewildered. The only thing you see is Megumi.

Only Megumi.

“I’m not stopping,” you say, thumbs pressing into his cheeks, as if you’re trying to leave a mark. “Not now, not ever!”

And then you kiss him.

It’s like a shock to his system— lightning striking the ground where he stands. You’re putting everything into this, your frustration, your desperation, your love. Megumi can feel it, flowing from you to him, like electricity, like cursed energy. His hands shake, torn between pushing you away because he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you, and holding you close because you’re all he has left.

This isn’t fair.

You pull away slowly, and Megumi only wants to give chase. He knows he shouldn’t and yet…

“I…” he begins, the words fumbling around in his mouth. “I don’t…”

“I don’t care,” you interject, cutting him off. “You can tell me that you don’t deserve this; but I don’t care. Life isn’t fair, I know, so why should I have to be?”

Megumi stares at you, speechless.

“So, Megumi please,” you plead once more, and this time all Megumi hears is you and you alone. “Please let me in.”

It seems the rain won’t stop anytime soon, and, for better or worse, neither will you.

With a deep sigh, he relents.

He gives in to you.

notes: requested by @firein-thesky

cielo! thank you so much for requesting and we're sorry it took so long, but hopefully it was worth the wait!!

um, i'm (niku) not sure what else to say regarding this piece. sel took the lead here actually and i did my best to match her in terms of writing but i think you can tell when i took over LMAO. i don't want to ramble too much but maybe i should do like sel and do my notes at the end from now on too... hmm.

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 1

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.4k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to friends to lovers trope, slow burn, plot, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Synopsis: After Makarov gets away again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you with each interaction. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

You’ve always been a light sleeper, if you could even be called that. The truth was that you hardly slept at all. Bedtime was always more like cat-nap time. Light, soundless, ready to pounce at the sound of dust falling to the floor. That’s how you trained yourself and the habit stuck, even if you don’t take missions anymore. It was hard to deprogram a killing machine. 

The two years have been peaceful even if you were always on edge. Semi-retirement has been kind in only giving you the sounds of the forest trees in the wind, the gentle rush of the creek, birds singing every morning, and most importantly, no visitors. The world didn’t know that you existed and you preferred to keep it that way for as long as you could. While you did feel the phantom blood dripping down your hands every now and then to an unsettling reminiscent degree, you did like this little slice of heaven that was your off-grid cabin. It was a good place to be before you undoubtedly go to hell in the end.

You were in your bed when you heard the rustling of the forest floor just outside your window. Steps. But not the steps belonging to a fox or bear you have learned to recognize over time. These were the steps of a man. No, multiple men. The way the foot falls of a man walking is an undeniable melody you have heard thousands of times. In the dead of night, you bolted up out of bed and reached for your throwing knife and a pistol, always kept at your bedside. Like a thief in your own home, you silently followed the sounds outside along the walls until you reached the living room. They were going to come in through the front door. 

Under the cover of darkness, you readied your aim at the door. To your surprise, they were messing with the keypad that locked your house down, inputting codes with a subtle click and then beep of a correct code. No one should know the code except for two people. Laswell and yourself. 

As soon as the door revealed moonlight and a silhouette, you fired your gun. A warning shot. Grazing right past neck. The men stopped and immediately aimed their own rifles, but the one in front held his hand up in surrender. Following orders, the rifles were lowered. You were the first to speak, your voice dripping with venom. “State your purpose and maybe I won’t kill you all where you stand.”

A gentle yet deep Liverpudlian accent voiced back. “Easy now. We don’t mean harm. Laswell sent us here. Code Swan.”

“Song?” You replied, your muscles still tense, unwilling to lower your defenses until the full code was complete. It is what ensured both yours and Laswell’s safety.

“Black Death.” He replied back. You stayed in position for a few moments before finally sighing and lowering your weapon. You turned on a table lamp next to you to get a better look at the intruders. Four men stood in your doorway. One with a fishing hat, one with a mohawk, one with a baseball cap, and one with a skull mask. They were all tall, big with muscle, and seemingly not American from their patches. An interesting bunch to say the least. 

“Fucking Laswell.” You cursed Kate’s name. She should have contacted you about this. You were just about to paint the porch with her mens’ brains. You hated surprises. You often killed them before finding out the intentions. 

With a wave of your hand, you invited the men to come into your cabin. They cautiously came in, surveying the layout and now understanding what Kate meant when she said that you were “belligerent.”

You turned on the main lights and tried to get a fire going to relieve some of the autumn chill that had crept through the house. Their leader began to unload his things on the kitchen table, sighing from the weight relief. His men joined in, save for one. You could feel his eyes on you as you encouraged the fire. You didn’t even have to look back to know that he was watching your every move. 

“It’s rude to stare.” You warned curtly as you stood and turned. The man in the skull mask and balaclava didn’t avert his gaze.

His voice was rich and gruff like gaboon ebony. His Manchester accent came clear as day. “You’re half naked.”

He was referring to the large band shirt and boyshort panties that you were wearing. What did he expect from someone that thought that enemies were breaking in? You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “I’m in my pajamas. Besides, a good soldier shouldn’t get distracted by any amount of nudity.”

His blue eyes narrowed at your dig. He was a good soldier. An excellent soldier actually. One of the best. But excellent, good, or bad, no one would be able to resist staring at your figure. The exposed thighs, the large neckline of the shirt hanging off your shoulder, various scars scattered across skin like an abstract painting. He’s never seen anyone like you before. 

Too bad you had a combative mouth. 

Before he could get a word in, you had walked off into the kitchen, not bothering to go get pants on. It was your home for fuck’s sake. Besides, there were more pressing matters than your clothes or lack thereof. 

You began to pull out all the food you had out of your fridge. Everything from deli meat to leftover lasagna was being laid out on the large quartz island. You weren’t going to heat anything up or make something new, but the laid out spread would be enough. You weren’t a completely heartless host. Just a bare minimum one.

Once the food was out for pickings, you headed back near the dining room, leaning against the doorframe. The boys had maps, blueprints, and laptops covering every surface of your table. Your beautiful, hand-made pine table. This was to be their new safehouse for now. Hopefully not for too long.

“Captain, it’s connecting now.” The one with the mohawk called out. The captain came right over to greet the screen.

“Laswell, can you hear us?”

“Loud and clear, John. Did everything go well?” Kate chipperly asked. You haven’t heard her voice in a long while. You almost forgot how nice her voice actually was.

“She nearly shot my fuckin’ neck off.” Mohawk-guy grumbled. 

Kate gave a light, short laugh. “Sounds like it went smoothly then. The best that it could be. She there?”

All four men looked up to you, expecting you to come over and face Laswell through the screen. However, you stayed where you were. Instead, you spoke loud enough for your friend to hear. “Kate Laswell.”

“Hex, I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn you about this beforehand. You know I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t an emergency situation.” She began to apologize and justify. It was always an apology followed by a justification. You wondered if she even ever means her apologies, but in the end, you never really cared enough. However, now it is different.

“I don’t exist, Kate. And now four new people know that I do. . .” You retorted back.

It was silent for a moment, the tension in the air thick. She was on the other side of the screen, but it felt like you were going to get into a physical fight with her anyways. “They’re trustworthy. I trust them with my life and the lives of millions upon millions. Just like I trust you. And as the only people that I trust, I need you to help them.”

“They have already taken over my home. What more do you want from me?” You clenched your jaw, trying to prepare yourself for an answer you probably wouldn’t like. Like hell were you going to play dorm mother to them and like hell you were going to just move out. The last thing you wanted was to take care of these men longer than necessary. This was already pushing that line for you.

“Athame.” She bluntly said. That was the worst answer she could have said. The confused looks the men gave each other made you grateful for a fleeting second. They didn’t understand your secret codes and languages. But they will soon.

Your jaw was clenched so hard that your teeth ached. You damn near cracked them. While your voice before was dripping with venom, it was now drowning in it. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Hex, I-”

You finally came over, nearly pushing the captain out of the way in your warpath. Through the screen, Kate could see how angry you were. Not just angry, furious. She steeled herself, ready for your onslaught of curses, stopping herself midway through her explanation. “I don’t do this shit, Kate! I work solo for a very particular fucking reason. And now you want me to work with four strange men?! Now you want me to play nice?! I’m not a fucking soldier that can just be ordered around!”

“I know! I know. . . But. . . we’re desperate. I’m desperate, Hex. Please, this is the last favor I will ever ask from you. This is an awful target we’re talking about. Someone that is better off in this world dead.”

“You mean Makarov, right? Why should I clean up your government’s fuck-up? Again, might I add.” You spat. You lived off the grid and weren’t a citizen of anywhere, but you still watched the news. You always knew what was going on in the world among other secrets. Makarov was a threat to the world, but as far as you were concerned, it wasn’t your problem. If anything, the government needed this lesson as a direct consequence of their negligence and incompetence. 

“Because Chalice.” She simply stated, knowing that her final word was a last ditch effort. Chalice was an agreement that you two had made long ago. It could only be used once in your lives, a truly desperate resort for help. If one of you uttered it, then the other would have no choice but to help, no matter the request. That was the law between your friendship, among other things. The other code words were favors, but this was the ultimate one. Life or death.

You considered punching the laptop in anger. Right at Kate’s face. You didn’t like her call for Athame or Chalice, but now you didn’t have a choice but to comply. It didn’t mean that you weren’t still furious though. “Fuck you, Kate.”

“Thank you, Hex.” She breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to tell you more about what she needed from you, but she knew that you had to cool off first otherwise you would burst into flames. That would've made things harder for all of you. So, she nodded as a signal for dismissal which you gladly took. You retreated to your room, locking the door shut and basking in the darkness. 

You could feel the blood boil within you. It burned your insides and choked you. Grabbing your pillow, you pressed it against your face and screamed out your frustration. When that didn’t help, you punched the exposed logs of your cabin wall until your knuckles were splintered and bleeding.

~

Ghost sat on the couch, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. The rest of the meeting with Laswell was brief, wanting them to try to decompress for the next several hours. Sleep, eat, process. All in the comfort of an assassin’s home. 

Compared to your personality, the cabin was decorated warmly. Everything was cozy, earthy, and fresh. The fire crackled comfortably, the plush couch was broken in, and every wooden piece of furniture looked hand-made. Bookshelves were filled with classic books and another shelf collected various music records. The only thing that seemed out of place was the lack of real personal mementos. No pictures, no art, not even knick-knacks. The others didn’t seem to notice or care as they picked through the food left in the kitchen. But for Simon, it left him uneasy.

He recalled the briefing before they were sent to the middle of nowhere to you. Kate said that you were an old friend of hers from high school. You have been friends ever since, but you were different than most people. You were a deadly assassin unknown by the world. No records, no pictures, not even a birth certificate. You handled delicate problems with grace and grave justice. You always worked alone, you didn’t trust others, and you were deadly. Everything about you was a secret until Kate made the crucial choice to ask for your help. Hell, they didn’t even know your call sign until Kate said it over the video call. 

“You should eat, Lt. There’s a lot of options, but they’re dwindling fast.” Soap patted him on the shoulder, awakening him from deep thought. Ghost looked up at the sergeant, watching him stuff a sandwich into his mouth. It looked like all the deli meat from one packet was in between the bread. No lettuce or tomato. 

“In a bit. I’m gonna talk to Hex real quick and ask some questions.” He replied and got up from the couch. 

Soap swallowed nervously. “Kate said that she’s gonna need time to cool off. . .”

“Our new member is part of the team now. She’s gonna have to get used to us even if she wants time for herself.” He justified it with a shrug of his shoulders. Soap shook his head and walked back into the kitchen, knowing that what Simon was about to do was most likely going to be a bad idea.

Ghost walked down the hall, observing each door as he passed them. Most of them were slightly open revealing extra bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom. Only two of them remained closed, both locked with keypads. For a second, he wondered which bedroom was yours before he could hear the sound of light music behind one of them along with swearing. It made him wonder what was behind the other door that was locked down.

Deciding to let it go for now, he approached your door and knocked. “Hex, open up.”

He heard you let out a frustrated groan before the door opened up. It was only just enough to see you, the pure darkness behind you, and the blood dripping down your fists. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and quirked a brow that you couldn’t see behind the mask. It didn’t take a genius to realize what you had done. “Are you done throwing a temper tantrum?”

You scowled at him, a fire in your eyes that made Simon’s heart skip a beat which confused him. He wasn’t afraid of you, so why would his heart alter its beat for you?

“If I knew that you were just going to insult me, I would’ve shot you dead on my porch.” You bitterly snapped, moving to close the door in his face. However, Ghost stopped it from slamming and took your hand in his, observing the damage you’ve done to yourself.

Your breath caught in your throat. Electricity ran through you at his touch. When was the last time someone has touched you? You attempted to pull back, but his hand firmly gripped yours. “Hey! What the fuck? Let go of me!”

“Calm down and let me see. It hurts, doesn’t it? Stings?” 

You narrowed your eyes, but eventually nodded. It did sting and the dripping blood already stained your carpet. However, you could take care of it yourself. You didn’t need some man coming in to try to fix you. “I’ll be fine. I can tend to it myself.”

“First aid in the bathroom?” He asked, seeming to ignore your clear hint that you wanted to be alone. 

Understanding that he probably wouldn’t drop this until he saw gauze around your knuckles, you headed to the hall bathroom with a huff, opened up the cabinet, and took out the first aid kit. You then took a seat at the edge of the tub and began patching yourself up. Every now and then you looked up towards the doorway, making sure that the skull man was watching you take care of yourself. Without his help. Without anyone’s help.

Finally, your hands were wrapped and the bleeding had stopped. You held up your hands towards him. “Happy now? Will you leave me alone now?”

“Hex.” Ghost simply said as a warning. God, you were infuriating. An attitude problem was something he would normally be able to snuff out immediately. He did it all the time when training new soldiers. Not you though. New soldiers were like little candles, easily blown out of their fire with just a breath. You? You were like a raging forest fire. One that clearly had its own traumas over years of service that the world may never know. 

You didn’t like how he studied you. How his eyes trained on you were a mix between hatred, curiosity, and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A magnetic pull that begged for you to look at him too. You also didn’t like how he was trying to treat you like one of his rookie soldiers. The only thing you wanted to do to make it all stop was to push him away. “Don’t talk to me like some new recruit straight out of school. I’ve already earned my place in the world with the amount of scars I have. So, don’t treat me like I’m under you. I won’t even let your captain talk to me like that.”

After putting the first aid back where it belonged, you attempted to leave the bathroom and retreat back to your bedroom. Yet, Ghost wasn’t giving up just yet. His hold body blocked the bathroom exit. He was tall, strong, and sturdy. It wasn’t hard for him to completely fill up the space. However, that didn’t intimidate you. You got up close, and looked straight into those icy blues. Even with the black warpaint, you could tell that his lashes were meant to be blonde. Some of the paint had flecked off revealing some true color. You wondered what the rest of his face looked like for a second. Just a second.

You stood your ground, engaging in a heated staring contest. It was like lightning crackling between the two of you. After a while though, Simon finally gave in and held his hand up like a handshake. “Lieutenant. They call me Ghost.” 

Hesitantly, you took his hand and firmly shook it, refusing to back down from a battle of wills. “Hex. That’s all you will know me by.”

Suddenly, he pulled you in closer, your chest almost touching his. On instinct, you pulled a knife from the waistband of your underwear. It was the one you took with you earlier for the showdown at the door. You held it to his neck, blade dipping in until you could feel the push back of skin. Ghost didn’t flinch or jump back at your defense. Instead, he whispered into your ear that he wanted to get close to in the first place. “As hard as you may try to fight it, you’re going to know me. And I’m going to know you.”

You bit back the shiver that went down your spine from the whisper, aching to slice his throat in retaliation. Chalice had you pinned, though. You had to avoid killing the people you are going to be working with at the very least. 

Ghost slowly backed up and headed back towards the kitchen for some food, leaving you to process what just happened. You silently walked back to your room without looking back at him, ears turning red and heart racing unnaturally. You didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by giving him any more attention. However, Simon was already somewhat satisfied. 

Yet, there was a part of him that wanted more.

Soap was eating a piece of lasagna when he walked in. Gaz and Price were quietly conversing at the other end of the island. It took a lot of food to fill up men like them. It wouldn’t take long for them to eat you out of your house and home unfortunately. 

“So, how did it go?” Soap nosely inquired. As Simon surveyed the food before picking out a tupperware full of stew, he shrugged casually.

“She almost sliced my head off.”

Soap suppressed a chuckle and did his best impersonation of Laswell. “Sounds like it went smoothly then.”

[invisible-lint]

Everything Could Be Okay: Prologue

Andras x Reader

Summary: a prologue for what will be a Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Warnings: angst! very brief mention of pregnancy loss

Word Count: 1,078

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You knew you were already too late. You could feel it in the ache of your legs. The pounding of your heart. The breath panting through your lips as you race through the trees. He had made his decision, sending another to tell you, worried that seeing you again would change his mind. You knew that you couldn’t stop him, but perhaps you could at least say goodbye. 

Your dress catches on a branch, tearing, but you heed it no mind as you keep running as your destination comes into sight. Two sets of eyes fall upon you.The green eyes of your brother, filled with pity. The gray eyes of your husband, filled with regret.  Your brother nods before stepping away, giving the two of you the moment you so desperately need. You throw yourself at your husband, clinging to his tunic, the silver that had been rimming your eyes finally spilling over. 

"Don't do it. Don't leave me," you sob.

He says nothing, gently brushing the tears away from your eyes, somehow managing to keep his own at bay. 

"Andras. Please," you beg.

He speaks finally. "You know I must. For the Spring Court. For Prythian."

"To Hell with the Spring Court! To Hell with Prythian! I need you!" You pause for a moment, voice growing soft as your hand finds your stomach, cradling the babe growing inside. "We need you."

He places a hand over yours. "That's why I must go. There is so little time left and I will not let my child live in a world that's been corrupted by Her. I cannot bear the thought of it. It may be a fool's errand but it is the only thing that I can think of that might save our child. Save you."

You nod, a fresh wave of tears leaving you unable to speak. 

He holds you for a moment, wishing it could be different. Wishing there was a way he could protect you without sacrificing himself. A way to live and see his child born.  But there was not and so he must. He breathes in deeply, taking in your scent for the last time and kisses you on the forehead before stepping away and nodding at the other male. 

Somehow, you manage to stay on your feet as he leaves you, watching the magic that transforms your love. You walk over to the wolf that stands in his place, placing a hand on either side of his muzzle before pressing a parting kiss there. The wolf gives you one last longing look before slipping through the hole in the wall. 

You drop to the forest floor as your legs finally give out, sobs wracking your body. Your brother sinks down next to you, pulling you into his arms, holding you tight. As if by holding you he could prevent the shattering of your heart. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking.  "I tried to talk him out of it. Tried to convince him to stay..." 

You ignore him, too focused on your own broken heart to listen to him try to make himself feel better. He picks you up then, standing to carry you home. If you can call it that anymore when such a vital piece of it is now gone forever. 

You were in the gardens the day he died. Wandering aimlessly, fiddling with the gold ring hanging on the chain around your neck. You felt it as he drew his dying breath. Perhaps you had been mates after all. Perhaps this was as close as you'd ever get to feeling that bond, that golden thread that would never be, emptiness filling your chest as you sink to the ground amongst the roses. If it had snapped, could you have convinced him to stay? Could you have convinced him that you needed him, needed the other half of your soul? A hollowness fills your chest where you had always imagined the bond might form linking you to him. But it never did. Emotions burn in your throat, and somewhere someone screams. It’s a raw, primal sound filled with grief. Could that be you? You’ve retreated so far into yourself that you don’t even know anymore. Your hand falls to your stomach where it will swell with child, curling around yourself  to protect the babe, as if this grief is an enemy you need to protect them from. 

You’re not sure how long you lay there, curled in on yourself, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. You knew this day was coming. He may as well have been dead the day he crossed the wall and went into the human lands. You press his ring to your lips, the gold band cool from the night air. 

It is not your brother who finds you, but Lucien. He picks you up, carrying you into the house that no longer feels like a home. He carries you to your room, tucking you into your bed. He sits next to you, stroking the hair back from your face just like your mother had when you would wake from a nightmare as a child. But there was no waking from this one. He tells you how Tamlin is already going to find Andras’ killer to see if his death has brought the hope we so desperately need. You pray to the Mother, hoping that it hasn’t all been for nothing. And as your eyes grow heavy, the grief finally dragging you down into sleep, you hear as Lucien softly sings a lullaby his mother sang to him as a child.

Months have passed when you wake with a start, tears streaming down your face. You'd dreamt of the forest again. Of losing your love, your home, your soul. Your dream followed him into the mortal lands, to where the human girl had shot him with the ash arrow. You had asked her about it, needing to know. Needing to know if he had been in pain. If he had suffered. 

 Your hand falls to where your child should be growing, letting the tears stream down your face as you stare up at the canopy of your bed. He had done it. Andras had been successful and now the rest was up to your brother. He just had to get the human girl to fall in love with him and your husband's sacrifice would not be in vain. Everything you lost would mean something. And maybe, one day, everything could be okay again.

Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fic with more planned! If you liked it feel free to send a request!

Thanks @azsazz for inspiring me to give fic writing a try!

divider by: @tsunami-of-tears

[nhlclover]

wish you were sober pt.2 | mark estapa

summary: mark works up the courage to finally tell you his long kept feelings. part one here!

request: yes / no

warnings: the second part to a previous story, i recommend reading the first part before this one. semi proof read, couple instances of cursing, little bit of angst + fluff

a/n: sitting here pretending he didn't just get hurt yesterday😃 also sorry for lack of posting it’s midterms and i’ve got lots of school work so bear with me!

word count: 1.08k

It had been a full day and a half since you’d heard anything from Mark. Although you had told him off, saying you were done, you had hoped he would’ve come to some sort of senses sooner. You missed him. You missed having him in your life, to the point you wished you’d said nothing. You honestly would’ve rathered staying in your limbo of friendship as long as that meant keeping Mark in your life.

The past couple of days had been miserable for you as you were stuck in your dorm room, doing homework and getting ahead on readings. Normally, over a weekend, you would have a hockey game to go to. You’d watch Mark play, and hopefully watch Michigan win. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go to Saturday’s game, so you instead watched online from the comfort of your bed, missing Mark's hold.

When your phone buzzed, you’d expected a text from you and your friends' group chat. Your heart did a leap when you read Mark's name on your screen. A text from him asked if he could come over. You wondered if it was just going to be Mark pretending as if nothing happened, as per usual. The smart and right thing to do would be to say no or ignore his text. But the prospect of having Mark back, hanging out with him in your dorm again, made you blindly pick up your phone and agree, telling him to come over. 

He was there within a few minutes, a soft knock signifying his arrival. When you opened the door, his appearance was not one you’d expected. His normal smile-dressed face, eyes lighting up with excitement even if it was just another normal day, was absent. He looked somber.

You stepped aside, allowing the boy to walk into your room. He sat in your desk chair, leaning back. The space was void of any words.

You stay by the door, wanting to maintain the distance between the two of you. You know that if you’re within reaching distance and you fall into his arms, Mark won’t need to say anything because you’ll succumb to his touch.

“How was your weekend?” He asks. It’s suddenly as you feared, with Mark brushing past what had happened on Friday.

You scoff at his question. “Uh, it was fine, Mark. I did some homework.” You answer bluntly.

Mark nodded, picking at the skin around his fingernails. “We had a game on Saturday. I was hoping you’d go, but I kind of figured you wouldn’t. We won. Four nothing. Rutger had this awesome play where-”

“What’re you doing here, Mark?” You cut him off.

He licks his lips, looking away from you. He’s silent as he looks out your window, the orange leaves slowly dropping from the tree just outside.

“I thought about what you said…on Friday.” He finally says. 

Your mouth goes dry, anticipating what his next words will be. You figure it goes one of two ways; he tells you he feels the same way or he tells you he doesn’t feel the same way and it’s the end of your friendship as you know it. You pray it’s the first.

“I was a douche.” He says. “I like you. I do. I really do.”

His words seem sincere but you don’t feel wholly convinced. “You said that, Mark.” You say. “But I don’t know if I believe you.”

“I understand that, but please try to.” He says softly. You stay silent, going to sit on your bed, giving Mark the chance to speak. 

“Okay…I’ve liked you for a while now. Like, last homecoming, y’know?”

You do know. It was the first time he’d kissed you.

“That…that was…sober thoughts becoming drunk actions,” Mark says. “Y’see I liked you a lot but I was scared…I didn’t know what to do. So when I got drunk, I wasn’t scared anymore so I just kissed you. And then the next morning, I was sober and the fear was back.” “Okay but Mark, I don’t understand what you were scared of. You say.

“I was scared you wouldn’t reciprocate, y/n.” He says. 

You can’t help but chuckle at his reasoning. “Why would you think that? I did reciprocate.” 

Mark bows his head, shrugging his shoulders. “Y/n… you’ve been in my life for too long. If I fucked up our friendship…I don’t know what I’d do.”

You run your hands over your face, processing his words. 

“And you’re you! I mean, y/n, you’ve always been this straight-A student, and you’re so god-damn smart and I’m a fucking fourth liner with more penalty minutes than shots on net.” Mark says, chuckling as he reaches the end of his sentence.

“Mark…” You say. You finally lock eyes with him, his brimming with tears. You hop off your bed, standing in front of him.

“And I’m not trying to give excuses I’m just trying to explain why the hell I’ve been the way that I am.” He tells you.

You reach forward, running your hand through his hair. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. His hands find the back of your thighs, his head resting on your stomach. The pair of you stay there momentarily, holding one another close. 

“Y/n?” Mark finally says. You pull back slightly, looking at Mark. “I want you. I want to be with you. Please.”

He pulls you down so you’re sat on his right knee. “If you’ll have me.” He adds.

You chuckle, bringing a hand to his cheek. Mark doesn’t hesitate to close the space, pressing his lips against yours. The comfort of his lips swaddles you as his hands grip your hips to hold you on his lap. The lack of sloppiness his sober kiss brings realizes the truth of his words. You’ve also known Mark since grade school and you’ve come to recognize when Mark is being genuine and not. And right now you have no doubt in your mind of how genuine he is.

When you break apart, you wipe away a stray tear that had escaped Mark's eye. “So, you’ve liked me since last year?”

“Maybe more like high school…” Mark says.

“High school? You’ve been hiding this since high school?” You ask.

“Yeah, well you didn’t like me then!” Mark defended.

You chuckle, brushing back a piece of hair that fell over his face. “Honey, I’ve liked you since the day you destroyed my sandcastle in the sandbox.”

[daniellewritesfr]

𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

Chapter two

Paring: Robb Stark x f!Reader

Summary: After avoiding Robb for a few days you decide taking a short ride through the woods wouldn't hurt, but you find yourself once again in an unexpected encounter with The King himself.

Warnings: Plot building lots of plot building

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: I forgot to mention this is kinda a slow burn (sort of not really) anyway find series master list here.

It had been days since the last time Robb even caught a glimpse of you, he found himself frequently thinking about the conversation you two shared any chance he got. He understood he had more important things to focus on besides a woman he barely knew, for gods sake he was fighting a war yet, you had his mind running in circles. 

He was lost in thought when he was interrupted by Ser Brynden clearing his throat, Robb looked up from the map in front of him, staring at the knight waiting for him to speak, when he doesn't he turns to his mother who is watching him intently Catelyn motions her head down towards the table he quickly understands her look turning his focus back to the task at hand sliding a wooden figure across the map signifying where the Lannisters will strike next. The talk of battle plans and strategies rang throughout the large tent for hours before finally Ser Brynden excused himself biding both him and his mother goodnight. 

Catelyn stayed her eyes fixed on her son. “You’re distracted.” 

Robb quickly lifts his head looking at his mother. Was he truly that transparent? 

“I'm not.” he states looking back down at the map faking his focus. 

Catelyn moves to stand next to him “don’t lie.” Her tone shifted forcing Robb to look at her.

Her eyes were bearing into his in hope he’d reveal his troubles but he didn't. He just stared at her, slightly praying she wouldn’t ask anymore questions.    

Catelyn tilts her head looking at her son “we can not afford distractions.” She says, reaching her hand up briefly placing it on his arm before pulling away. He nods, “No, we can not.” His voice was quiet, his hand fidgeting with the pommel of his sword. 

His prayers were answered when she sighed “get some rest, gods know you'll need it” she says looking at him with a sympathetic smile as she left. 

Robb watches his mother leave, before turning around running a hand over his face with a groan, he sits down in a chair next to the table looking up at the ceiling of the tent. He needed to get a grip. 

You woke in the early morning, the sun not yet visible. The thin cloth walls of the tent doing very little to keep the cold at bay. You had been informed yesterday that you and your remaining men would be moving camps to one between Riverrun and Oldstones and that you were to begin preparing as soon as possible. You knew your men were in no condition to travel anyone with eyes could see that. Yet, an order is an order.

You don't move staying as you were for a while staring at the ceiling of your tent, till you hear the muffled voices of tired men as the rest of camp begins to wake, you groan managing to drag yourself out from under the warmth of fur blankets and throw on your clothes and some light armor you then secure your belt and pick up your sword and dagger sheathing them both before leaving the tent grabbing your cloak on the way out pulling it over yourself while walking. 

The sun was finally beginning to rise as you make your way to a tree which you’d secured your horse to for safe keeping, a beautiful Friesian horse stands tall pawing at the ground with one hoof as you walk up to him extending your hand running it along the side of his face, you lean close resting your forehead on his cheek for a moment, deciding a small ride wouldn’t hurt seeing that it was still early and it would be hours before the men were ready to move.  

You pull away grabbing the blanket and saddle that rested against the tree, gently draping the blanket across his back, then taking the saddle and hosting it on after. You secure the reins pulling yourself up on to him, giving him a pat on the side of his neck before bounding off into the woods. 

The cold morning air rushed past your face, the trees all but a blur as you pass them. You ride for a while before slowing to a halt, looking up you stare at the huge canopy of trees watching the branches sway in the wind, their leaves beginning to change from the green of summer to vibrant shades of red and orange, leaving a sea of fire throughout the forest floor. You bring your horse to a slow walk admiring the world around you when the faint sound of rushing water fills your ears bringing a smile to your face, you drive the Friesian to a gallop heading in the direction of the noise, as you near closer a sharp breeze whisks through the air causing you to pull the hood of your cloak up and over your head sheltering your face from the cold.  

It's not long before you find yourself face to face with a large river, the water rushing and hitting rocks in its path. Dismounting your horse, and securing him to a nearby tree you walk to the bank crouching down on one knee dipping a hand into the icy river you pull your hood down exposing your face. Staring at your reflection in the rippling water the bruise on your temple was beginning to fade from a violent purple to a brownish green, the cut itself self nothing more than a scab. Although it would scar. You take a deep breath, lowering both hands in the river cupping them, letting the water collect in your palms before splashing some on your face, hoping it would clear the lingering sleep. 

“It can be quite dangerous for a lady out here all alone”

The voice made you jump almost falling head first into the water, luckily you catch yourself quickly standing and turning around to face the voice, you draw your sword half out of its sheath before you realize who it is, the one and only Robb Stark.   

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, letting your sword fall back into place, before looking at him. 

He's seated atop a stocky brown horse, a heavy fur lined cloak wrapped around his broad shoulders, gloved hands resting on the reins in front of him with a grin plastered across his face. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you” He says, you could tell he was amused with your reaction based on the small laugh that fallowed the words causing you to look down as you feel a slight tinge of embarrassment you hoped to hide.

Robb leans back slightly before dismounting the horse holding the reins in his hand leading it to a nearby tree close to where you’d left yours.

“You’re up early” He says while securing the reins to the tree, turning his head to look over his shoulder flashing you a small smile. 

“As are you.” You quip walking past him with your hands clasped behind your back glancing at him as you make your way to your horse. His eyes were glued on you as you passed.

“Seems we both prefer mornings.” You hum in response running your hand along the neck of your horse adjusting the reins before turning to face him. His eyes rake over you before settling on your face sending a rush of nerves flooding through you causing your hand to fidget with the hilt of a dagger attached at the front of your waist, that seemed to catch his attention his eyes fall from your face to your hands, he motions his head towards the dagger.

“May I?” He asks, taking a step closer leaves crunching underneath his boots.

You nod, removing the dagger from its sheath twirling it in your hand before passing it to him. The silver blade is not more than nine inches complete with a brown handle littered with intricate designs. He examines it closely tilting the knife watching as it catches glints of light, he softly runs his fingers along the blades edge careful not to cut himself.   

“It’s a beautiful blade.” He pauses for a moment looking up from the dagger to meet your eyes “Valyrian steel?” You nod.

“It was a gift from my father.” Your voice was flat not a tinge of emotion present.

In fact it was the only gift you’d ever received from him. It was one of the rare nights when he wasn’t in a foul mood. He had sat you down drunk as ever rambling on about great houses and their Valyrian weapons, when suddenly he revealed the dagger quickly shoving it into your hands, motioning at it telling you “go on look at it.” Carefully you had unsheathed it, releasing the blade admiring its beauty just as Robb. That was one of the few seemingly "decent" memories you had with your father if you could call them that.

The shift in your voice didn't go unnoticed by Robb, and for a moment he thought to ask you about it, but ultimately decided not to. So instead he nodded looking the dagger over once more then handing it back to you hilt first, you take it sliding it back into its sheath.

He couldn't help but stare, the dim morning light reflecting off the side of your face making you seem unreal. He seemed to be caught in a trance.

You cleared your throat snapping him out of the daze.

"I-" He paused for a moment collecting himself "I'm sure you were informed of our plans."

"If you mean me and my mens departure, then yes I was" You look at the sky behind him, the sun now well above the horizon filling the forest with light. "And by the looks of it I should take my leave."

Robb had insisted you let him accompany you on the way back, so here you were, the morning sun beaming down as the two of you ride into camp you were aware of the eyes lingering on your backs but you pay no mind. You both slow your horses to a stepping pace leisurely making your way through the sea of rushing soldiers. When you arrive in front of Robb's tent he dismounts his horse letting a young squire take the reins, Robb tips his head as a ‘thank you’ while the boy leads him away.

He turns his attention back to you. “M’lady.” He says, giving you a half smile.

“Your grace.” You bid him farewell, bowing your head returning the smile before bringing your horse to a trot heading off to prepare your men for travel.

Robb watched you leave, shaking his head as he turned walking through the opening of the large tent.

[weirdsht]

I really love characters with the tendency to bleed and be some human sacrifice. Tysm kdj and krs. 😭 i have a new idea altho I'm not sure if somebody's already done this. Cale and the group with someone who coughs out blood everytime they spill spoilers from the tcf novel? Like she's been transmigrated/reincarnated (whatev you desire (⁠^⁠^⁠). Bro is trying to help so bad bc they hate war so they do it subtly and carefully (imagine having to be careful with your wording, I can't even--) but can't help but shit out blood sometimes or most of the time cos they forget and get frustrated

Forgive me for i love miserable characters...

Hardbound (Paperback pt. 2) - Cale x Reader

notes: I decided to link it to another oneshot I did before because I think it fits. I hope that's okay!

tags: blood, like the whole fic is blood, heavy cursing, Cale might be ooc, NOVEL SPOILERS (near the end of book 1)

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

Buy Me Dessert

Paperback Navigation Masterlist

Crimson, the colour of Cale’s hair.

That was the colour Cale can see right now. However, he is not looking at his hair.

“Ugh!”

Instead, he was looking at the blood dripping from your mouth.

“Stop speaking. This is not good for you.”

“Why not? You cough up blood all the time. Why can’t I do the same?”

You joked lightly but Cale didn’t like how weak your voice sounded. Indeed, he always coughs up blood. Especially whenever he overuses his ancient powers. But the blood he coughs up is dark red. Dead blood from his regeneration powers cleansing his body.

Not the vibrant crimson blood dripping from your chin. Blood from a beating heart, a sign of vitality as Eruhaben would say.

“I need to continue, you need to know about this. We must hurry up so just- ugh… so just listen.”

When you told Cale you were going to pull a “World Tree-nim and a Cale combo”, he didn’t know what he expected. 

It certainly wasn’t you trying to give out spoilers from your beloved book and coughing out copious amounts of blood.

“There will be monsters. Ones too hard to– Ugh! Fuck! I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

Drip

“That’s two out of five. Those things will be in a pit. It’ll look like statues, you will also see… you will also see an altar there…”

Drip

Drip

“You don’t need to speak anymore. Please, the rest of us will figure it out.”

“No, no. I’m fine really… Bear bastard, you know who it is, hostages. He’ll– Ugh!”

Drip. Drip. Drip

“It’s Tasha’s people. For a summoning– Fuck that one really hurts! I'm trying to speak as vaguely as possible already, what the hell…”

“Please… I’m going to tape your mouth shut if you don’t shut up.”

Drip

Drip

Drip. Drip. Drip

“I’d like to see you try. The tape won’t stick with all– with all this blood.”

“Haaa”

“Enough jokes. The fourth and fifth ones are connected. In Endable, watch out for bears and black– watch out for black mages. And avoid– Shit! Avoid using instant. But I'm not sure if it's… if it's possible… I need to speak… to speak to Raon. The last spoiler is for him– ugh..!”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Cale wanted to refuse. He wanted this to end.

At first, it was just from your mouth.

The blood that is.

Then it started dripping from your left eye. Naturally, your right eye was next.

Then your nose. Then your ears.

Before the commander knew it, your entire face was covered with blood. He tried to wipe it, but they were dripping so quickly that it did nothing.

Cale doesn’t know how are you still conscious. He isn’t even sure if you’re still breathing. That was why he wanted you to shut up. That was why he desperately wanted this to stop.

But it can’t

Cale can’t refuse nor can he end this.

It was because you already made up your mind. And since you did, there’s no stopping you now.

So he gets Raon. Warned the toddler that the sight inside the room would not be pretty, but he must listen. Because their futures are resting upon the words you are about to say.

Upon the words written in your beloved book.

“Human…”

“I know… If you can’t listen I’ll listen for you and rely on the message.”

“No… I’m great and mighty. Because I’m great and mighty I shall listen to this conversation myself.”

Raon flew over to where you were. Placing himself on your lap as he uses his stubby paws to hug you.

“Ah, it feels comforting to have such a great and mighty being comforting me. But you’ll get blood on you– Ugh..!”

Drip. Drip.

The black dragon didn’t care about the blood. He just hugged you tighter at the sound of you coughing up more blood.

“Raon Miru-nim remember this well. Things might get messy and despite my meddling things might still go awry. So I’m telling you right now. In Endable, Cale might become incapacitated to fight– Fuck! Ugh, I promised to not curse in front of you…”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip…

Drip..

“It will be hard, you will need to do everything yourself, without Cale. In fact, you will have to do his job– ugh… but you must do well. Remember, the first thing you have to do is have Mila-nim on standby. She can heal him.”

Cough

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip

“I want to say more… but I’m reaching my limit…”

Raon tightened his hug and you weakly reciprocated it. You aren't sure if the wetness you feel in your shirt is from your blood or the dragon’s silent tears. Nonetheless, you still tried to hug Raon tighter.

In the meanwhile, Cale was already calling for servants and healers to attend to you as soon as you admitted your limit. His voice was laced with unusual panic. It made the others who didn’t know what was happening move with urgency.

“Raon-nim…”

“Yes?”

“You are strong, smart, great and mighty, always remember that.”

You weakly stroked Raon’s back, trying to comfort him in advance for the things about to come.

“Young master what’s going on–”

Beacrox and Ron stopped in their tracks when they saw the condition you were in.

“Ahahaha, you guys are right on time. I think… I’m going.. To…”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence for you already fell unconscious. Your body dangerously swaying to fall off from your sitting position on the couch. Luckily, Cale was nearby and managed to catch your falling body.

Cale glanced at you, then he glanced at the open book on the table.

As usual, he couldn’t see what was written on the pages. He could only see the cover title at the front and the synopsis at the back.

But that doesn’t stop him from hating that damned book that put you in this state.

If only you haven’t read that book before coming here.

If only there wasn’t a restriction placed on you by that damned book.

If only…

“Fuck, after this war is done I’m going to try and burn that shitty book one way or another. I don’t care anymore if it’s your favourite.”

note: in case it wasn't clear, the placement of the drips signifies how fast the reader's blood was gushing out

[s-cordelia-mae]

How dare you

[fried-peaches00]

“Neteyam Standards”

Neteyam Sully x Human!reader

Ratings: SFW, Fluff

Word Count: 800

Notes: Man wtf why do I gotta indulge like this. This is me dipping my toes into the world of posting fan fiction, let me know what you think. Also I can’t figure out how to add a read more option help.

“You must’ve been the most beautiful creature on earth.” Neteyam murmurs into the crown of your head, his hand slipping into your considerably smaller one playing in the grass. You always admired the contrast of your skin tones next to each other. You scoff, “Hardly, but I appreciate the sentiment Teyam.” You left your voice drift off into the forest sounds, you prefer to let them speak for themselves but Neteyam has a different idea,

“I don’t think I could imagine anything more beautiful than you, Navi or human,” He ponders for a moment, “I wouldn't be surprised if you would rival the personified beauty of Eywa herself.” You laugh at this, sitting up to face him behind you only to be met with a drowsy, lovesick smile painted on Neteyam’s face as he listens to you with undivided attention, ”Do not say these things!” He catches your hand as you lightly shove him in the chest,

“ I can’t have Eywa upset at me, can I now? It’s hard enough just surviving on this planet without an ethereal deity out for me.” He laughs heartily, pulling you down to rest against his chest looking up into the canopy and at the sun shining through. It’s nearing eclipse, just close enough to see the first sliver of Polyphemus through the trees but not enough to worry about your return yet. Either way, you know that Neteyam could protect you against anything you may find in the dark. Out of the corner of your eye you see Neteyam’s ears twitch. Picking up all the chirps, hoots and howls of the forest. Two Atokirina dance between each other, floating down just far enough to tickle the finger tips of your outstretched hand.

“And besides, Eywa is much too beautiful. I don’t think I’d want to rival her. Nothing would seem beautiful to me if I was the most beautiful.” You add, only for your lover to squeeze your shoulder, his hand reaching out to join yours against the backdrop of the sky,

“I would like to believe Eywa thinks we are beautiful…” He murmurs before rolling on top of you, deciding he would much rather look at you than the leaves of the trees,

“Either way, you must be the most stunning creature on earth at least.” His bright eyes gaze up into yours. You can’t seem to find any hint of playfulness or doubt, he's fully sincere. So sincere it almost makes you tear up,

“Not particularly, I’m not exactly conventionally Earth beautiful either.” You give him a shaky smile, But he perseveres, cupping your face in his large hand, pressing his forehead to yours,

“I don’t buy it, my love. The way you speak of earth, burnt and devoid of life. I can’t imagine the people must be any better. All of the Humans I see here on Pandora are destructive and violent.” You hum, feeling the light rumbling of a purr in his chest against yours. You think for a moment, it might be nice for Neteyam to keep thinking that you are so beautiful that the Earth should weep for forgiveness for ever letting you leave, but you feel like you should tell the truth. That for earth standards, you were really, quite below average. Even though you don’t have to feel the pressure to look the way everyone wants you to look anymore, you would like to be able to be vulnerable with Neteyam, your mate,

“Earth… Has a very steadfast expectation on how you should look. So many humans would do anything to look that way,” You smile for a moment but it fades fast. “We would kill our planet for it. The plants and animals,” Neteyams huffs, pulling back for a moment,

“They did. Not you. This is not a matter of we.” He pouts. You will not bear this guilt alone, not on his watch. This makes you smile again,

“Whatever,” You roll your eyes. Never have you met anyone so stubborn to let you know how cared for you were, “I don’t meet that standard, Teyam, I think you would be stunned by those who do.”

Neteyam’s face softens. He can’t even fathom how you perceive yourself. To him you were the most empathetic, intelligent, caring person he’s ever met, not to mention the very love of his life. He moves to sit on your outstretched thighs,

“I don’t care about ‘Earth standards’.” He creates bunny ears with his fingers,

“In Nettayam standards, You are the most stunning being in the whole galaxy.”

[lucky-clover-gazette]

The Big Picture

(Four Swords Manga Adaptation)

Chapter 6: Stone Arrghus | 5818 words

The gang fights a giant rock. Vio learns something about himself. Shadow tries his best.

Read it on ao3 or under the cut:

As the solar eclipse reaches totality, Stone Arrghus’s power swells. Its form begins to vibrate and expand, unimpeded by the natural light that normally suppresses it. It extends this power to about a dozen nearby rocks, beckoning them to orbit its body.

And then it turns to Shadow Link

“An eclipse?” the shade asks, slaw-jawed as he stares directly at the black sun. Arrghus had only wanted to please his master, back when its thoughts had been simple. But without the sun’s oppressive effects, it has found itself newly enlightened. 

Show me some real power, Shadow Link had told Stone Arrghus. Hell, kill the heroes yourself and Ganon will probably give you my job.

“Master,” it says in an unfamiliar voice. It sounds chilling and monstrous, a far cry from its previous simple repetition.  

Shadow Link turns to face Stone Arrghus, his jaw dropping again at its transformation. “What the—” 

An orbiting stone knocks the shade on the side of his head. Stone Arrghus chuckles as all five feet and two inches of Shadow Link crumble to the ground. 

─────────────────

“Erune… she’s gone!” 

Vio sighs and places down his journal. 

Green’s shouts are clear as day through the window. Clear as… not day. It’s dark outside, Vio realizes, as he gets to his feet. It’s not supposed to be dark. And the shadows beneath the trees, they’re shaped… 

An eclipse, Vio realizes, drawing from his own basic knowledge of natural science. 

“Search the grounds!” Green hollers, as more footsteps pound against the wooden porch. “Look for clues!” 

Vio stretches and grabs his sword. This should be interesting. 

He makes it downstairs, following the same path both Red and Blue appear to have taken to speak with Erune. And there they are, all three of them, on the porch—but Erune is nowhere to be found.

“It’s dark,” Red whimpers at Vio’s arrival.

“I noticed,” he responds. Vio turns to Green. “What happened?” 

“I was right there with her, but then Blue had to pull me away—” 

“Don’t blame me,” Blue huffs. “How was I supposed to know the world was gonna get all freaky?”

And to his credit, Vio can confirm that the world looks rather freaky. It’s not just the eclipse anymore—there’s almost a visual distortion to the town square surrounding them. Ripples in reality itself, dizzying and surreal. 

“It looks like the village,” Vio says, “warped through a bad dream.” 

“Through a nightmare!” exclaims Red. 

Vio narrows his eyes, scanning the area. “It’s a lot like the real thing, but subtly different. Sort of like we are.”

Before they can ponder that notion any further, the heroes are distracted by the sound of laughter. Children’s laughter, echoing through the village, leading back to a group of distant silhouettes. 

“The missing children,” Green says under his breath, and then he’s off. Reluctantly, Vio follows him with the others. Green reaches the children first (“Hey, kid!”), reaches for an oddly stiff arm, and—

“Yes, Mister?” 

Vio stops himself in his tracks. The children’s voices come from painted mouths, belonging to life-sized toys. 

“This is a land with no adults,” the toys say in unison. There’s a stuffed bear, a clown, and a soldier, as well as a brightly-colored toy box beside them. “Just us kids, and we get to play all day long. All play and no work means we’re just like toys.” 

“You never get hungry or tired,” says a different voice, this one much more familiar. “You can play forever. It’s fun!” 

Erune sits against a tree, her eyes vacant and her limbs stiff. She has been transformed into a doll. 

Vio feels sick to his stomach. 

Green draws his sword. “Show yourself, Shadow Link! You’re behind this!” 

A large figure emerges from distant fog, and it is definitely not shaped like Shadow Link. It’s a giant circular rock, with a bloodshot eyeball in the center. Gleefully, it taunts them from… the eye? Is that its mouth too? 

“Shadow Link should be the least of your concerns!” the monster exclaims. “I am your enemy now!” 

“Tell us what happened to Shadow Link,” Green demands. “Is he dead?” 

The monster seems annoyed by the question. “He has been… neutralized.” 

Ah, Vio thinks with mild disappointment. Just unconscious, then. 

Blue raises an eyebrow. “What, did you hit him with a rock or something?” 

The monster does not respond to this question at all, which must mean… 

“Wait, really?” Vio smirks. “That’s all it took?” He imagines that overconfident freak getting knocked out by a paperweight, and he smiles. 

“Guys,” Green scolds his teammates. “Focus.”

And it’s good that he said something, because Vio has just enough time to prevent a small rock from knocking him out too. It clangs against his shield, shaking him where he kneels, and then retreats to its orbit around the monster. There are about a dozen of these smaller rocks at its command, and a single hit to the head could probably take any one of the heroes temporarily out of the fight.

“We’ll never get near the main eye this way,” Vio tells the others, who also kneel behind their shields. He would judge their poor show of heroism, if he wasn’t also doing the same exact thing. 

“Everyone grab a weapon,” Green commands, inching backwards towards the toy box. He pulls out a bright yellow boomerang.“Start with the smaller eyeballs!”

“But they’re just toys,” Blue says, grimacing at the box’s contents. 

Vio is quick to grab the bow and arrows, giving the string an experimental twang. “I’ll take this one,” he announces with a grin. He likes the idea of himself as an archer—Link hadn’t been skilled with a bow, which makes Vio all the more interested in proving himself superior. 

“Oh, I see!” Red exclaims, reaching into the box. He withdraws a slingshot. “Dibs on this!”

Blue shoves him aside and begins rifling through the remaining items. He finds an insect net, some flippers for swimming, and then finally… 

“This’ll do nicely,” he says, raising a gigantic mallet in the air. Vio narrows his eyes at the comparatively small toy box, wondering how the hell the hammer could have fit in the first place. 

His thoughts are interrupted by another volley of flying rocks. 

“Let’s get ‘em,” Green tells the group, throwing his boomerang at the orbiting stones. It targets each of them in an arc, locked onto their precise locations. A hit from the boomerang seems to stun each projectile, keeping it still enough to—

Green slices his Four Sword through one of the tiny rocks. His sword’s blade glows as the two halves drop to the ground. 

Force energy, Vio thinks. Green seems to realize much the same, and begins slashing at several more stunned rocks. Vio has to hand it to him—in this kind of environment, Green really does thrive. Between his stunning-and-slashing and Red’s slingshot volleys, the orbiting rocks don’t stand a chance.

The big eye appears to be reaching the same conclusion, darting frantically between the heroes surrounding it. 

“There’s nowhere left to hide!” Blue taunts, already raising his mallet. The eye begins to tremble—surely not from fear? 

It bursts into gushing tears. While Vio, Blue, and Green are able to sidestep the flood of murky liquid, Red slumps right beneath its torrential downpour. 

“I m-made all those little r-rocks,” the monster sobs, “and now they’re gone!” 

Red sniffs, his hat acting as a sort of umbrella. The rocky tears pool at his feet. “Really?” he asks the creature trying to kill him. “That’s so sad… now you’re making me cry!” 

Vio puts his face in his palm. 

“Huh?” Red gasps “The tears!” Vio watches as the rocky water solidifies around his feet, essentially rooting him where he stands. “They’ve dried like cement!” 

The monster laughs, and rears itself for an attack. “I’ll crush you, hero!” 

It doesn’t get the chance. Vio jumps in front of Red and unleashes an impressive hail of arrows upon the eyeball’s soft flesh. It’s almost like he moves in slow motion, perfectly focused in a way he hardly ever is. There’s just Vio, the target, and his weapon. He has one goal, and he possesses the skill to succeed. 

Take that, Link, Vio finds himself thinking. I’ll do this my way. 

Maybe he might enjoy being a hero, after all. 

“Ow!” the monster actually cries, its eyelids swollen shut. The arrows poke out between them, like really bad artificial lashes. “I can’t see!”

In its confusion, it slams itself down on the same cemented substance keeping Red in place. “I’m free!” Red cheers, as Blue lifts his hammer above his head.

“Look out!” he warns the others, launching himself into the air. “Coming through!”

Vio watches in awe as Blue slams the hammer down onto the stone monster, splitting it right in half. 

And just like that, the monster is slain. They did it, together. 

“Look,” Green says, holding out his hands. “It’s raining force crystals!”

Vio glances up at the eclipsed sky. Well, what do you know. As the others fight over the tinier shards of force, Vio watches carefully for a larger crystal. Just as snowflakes vary in size and shape, these seem to come in varying degrees of power.

He spots his target and catches it effortlessly. 

“Shut up, I fought too!” 

“Guys, can’t we all just share—” 

Behind Vio’s back, someone is definitely punching someone else. He just smirks and studies the giant force gem in his hand. 

“Hey, give it back!”

“Do you wanna die next?” 

What an ugly display. 

Vio smirks and shakes his head, more than satisfied with his own prize. 

─────────────────

Shadow regains consciousness just as the eclipse ends. He grimaces as he gets to his feet, his hand reaching for the welt on his forehead. The shot of soreness at mere contact with the injury makes him hiss. 

The town square is back to normal. The sun shines brightly in the sky. Rock dust formerly known as Stone Arrghus litters the ground. What a fool, Shadow thinks of the creature. Not a very touching remembrance, he knows, but the stony bastard did try to outrank him. 

And the heroes… they must be alive, if Stone Arrghus has fallen. Even in its most powerful state, brought on by the solar eclipse bridging the dark and light worlds, the monster had been no match for its opponents. Shadow is almost grateful for the heroes’ swift defeat of his former servant—after all, he can’t have someone else succeeding where he himself has failed. 

Shadow Link retreats into the darkness from whence he came, slightly battered but not nearly beaten yet. 

─────────────────

The Eastern Temple smells like sandalwood and fresh grass. Vio breathes in deep as Red, Blue, and Green hack away at the crystal containing the Yellow Maiden. The ethereal woman emerges with a bright smile, opening her arms to them all. 

“Link!” she exclaims, which Vio supposes is not an inaccurate thing to call them all. “You must have defeated the terrible monster, Stone Arrghus!”

Green steps forward. “Yes, we did. The Village of the Blue Maiden is now safe.” 

“Do you have a village, too?” Red asks the Yellow Maiden, eyes wide. Blue elbows him. “Sorry.”

She makes a weird face. Clearly it’s a sore subject. But then her eyes land on Green’s sword, and she’s all smiles again. 

“And the Four Sword shines as it did before,” the maiden observes. “But it’s still not powerful enough to defeat Shadow Link.” 

Vio smirks. Maybe a pebble would do the trick.

The Yellow Maiden extends her arms, revealing an object that does actually resemble a pebble. “Please,” she says, “take this Moon Pearl.” The glowing orb floats into Green’s hand (of course), its coloration milky-white with flashes of yellow and blue. “When struck by moonbeams, it opens a gate to the Dark World.” 

Oh, shit, Vio thinks. Now we’re getting somewhere.

“About that,” he says, as Blue rolls his eyes. “When the village was overtaken by evil, and we fought Stone Arrghus… were we in the Dark World?” 

The Yellow Maiden eyes Vio curiously. “Yes, Link, I suppose you were.” 

“It’s Vio.” 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Green asks Vio, clutching the Moon Pearl in his hand. 

Vio shrugs. “It was just a theory.” He turns back to the Yellow Maiden. “You suppose?”

“You were not fully transported to the Dark World—that would only be possible through a very powerful gateway. At most times, even the Moon Pearl is unable to sustain a connection strong enough to transport a person between the worlds.”

“But it blurs them together,” Vio guesses, remembering the way the town square seemed to fluctuate before his eyes. “It messes with the realities, making it easier for us to comprehend dark forces.” 

“And kick their asses,” adds Blue. 

“Also that.” 

“But we didn’t have the Moon Pearl when we fought Stone Arrghus,” Red says. “How were we able to beat him, then?” 

It’s a good question. Vio tries to answer it for himself. He retraces his steps, placing himself back inside the room with Red and Blue. He’d been writing in his journal about… something… and then there was a rock, and Blue went to heckle Green because he was talking to Erune… but that was all normal. That’s not what made things weird. Things only got really weird when— 

“The eclipse,” Vio realizes aloud. He looks to the Yellow Maiden for confirmation. “It has something to do with the eclipse.” 

She nods. Vio feels smug. 

“During certain solar and lunar events,” the Yellow Maiden explains, “the dark and light worlds blur together. Non-native creatives reach full power, and denizens of both realms can more clearly perceive each other.” 

Vio glances at the Moon Pearl. “And that thing produces the same effect on command, in any conditions.” 

“Exactly, young hero.” 

He sours at the name, but at least she didn’t call him ‘Link again. And actually, you know what—Vio is a hero! He shot that monster in the eyeball, and it was fun!

Blue looks from the pearl in Green’s hand, to the maiden, and then back to the pearl. “Okay, fine, I guess that makes sense.” 

They turns to leave, but Blue isn’t quite finished speaking. “But, like… why does he get it?” 

Vio rolls his eyes. 

─────────────────

Vio finds Red, Blue, and Green outside of the tavern with Erune. After their visit to the Eastern Temple with Stone Arrghus, the heroes had been finally free to enjoy some well-earned sleep. Now, at the break of dawn, they’re just about ready to hit the road again. 

Just about. 

“Has anyone seen my journal?” Vio interrogates the group. “I’ve searched everywhere. It’s gone.” 

Green makes a placating gesture. “Calm down, Vio.” 

Vio grits his teeth, balling his hands into a fists. He is being calm, he’s just—

“Are you suggesting that one of us took it?” Blue asks, roiling his eyes. He’s probably trying to act all cool in front of Erune, that piece of—

“It’s okay, Vio,” Green says, taking him by the arm. “We can get you a new one.” 

Vio rips his arm away. “It was a journal,” he hisses. “You can’t just replace it.” 

And there are things in there I don’t want anyone to see. 

Green sighs. “Okay, Vio. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying my name!” 

He doesn’t even know where that comes from. Doesn’t he want people to use his name? Green is only trying to help—albeit condescendingly—yet Vio still gives him hell. What is my problem?

“What was even in there,” Blue says, “to get you so riled up?” 

Vio turns to him sharply. Normally his words are quick and clever, but for some reason he feels a need to be cautious around the subject. He has experienced many sensations, since becoming himself—but this kind of shame is something entirely new. 

It was stupid of him, to put anything in writing. His thorough investigations and reflections, things that make him feel vulnerable and raw. Now, they’re just… out there. Somewhere. And he can’t even explain himself, or the things he wrote, and Hylia knows what someone would make of the hero—

“I’m sorry,” Erune tells Vio, glancing up at the room above the tavern. “I keep a diary, too. It would make me very sad to lose it.” 

Vio can’t bring himself to dislike her. He may not be smitten like the others, but he admires her persistence and desire to help the children of her town. It’s his gut impulse to diminish anyone who makes him feel unsure of himself—but just like Red, Erune is simply too earnest to deserve his ire. 

Whatever frustrations Erune represents to Vio, aren’t her fault at all. 

“It’s fine,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll get a new one.” 

He’ll work through… all of that… as soon as he can put pen to paper again. He’ll figure out his problem. There has to be an answer, and Vio is confident that it lies somewhere within himself. 

He just has to know where to look. 

“Heroes!” calls a new voice from within the tavern. A man, about Arcy’s age, bursts onto the front porch. For one fleeting second Vio thinks he might be holding his journal—but it’s just a box of baked goods. 

“For your travels,” the man says, handing the box over to Green. Then, he turns to Erune. “I hope you know that we’re very proud of you, my dear.” 

She blushes and looks slightly away. “Dad…” 

Something happens in Vio’s heart. Would the Captain even like him, knowing that he’s one of four strangers who replaced his beloved son? 

He shakes his head. Save it for the journal. 

“He’s right,” Vio tells Erune with a smile. “Without your determination to find the true cause of the children’s disappearance, I’m pretty sure everyone would still be trying to break down the knights’ door. You saw past their panic and figured things out for yourself.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Erune protests. “I just got myself turned into a… well, you saw.” 

“Of course you did stuff!” Red exclaims. “You gave us really important information, even though you were nervous to share it. And you showed us hospitality. Thank you.”

Before Erune or her father can respond, another man bursts onto the porch. He wears an apron covered with various food stains, suggesting to Vio that he must work at the tavern. “I found this,” he says, revealing another object—not Vio’s journal, damn it—from behind his back. 

“Rosie!” Erune exclaims, running over to claim the doll. She kisses its forehead and holds it close to her chest. “Where did you find her?” 

“Behind the tavern,” the man says. “She was resting against a tree. She says she missed you.” 

Vio finds it sweet that he brought the doll to his boss’s daughter. That’s definitely not in his job description. 

“Thought you were too old for such childish things,” Green teases Erune, kind-heartedly.

“Nope!” the young woman chirps with a smile. “And we both are very grateful for your help.” 

She doesn’t seem to be referring to all the heroes. There’s something more to it, Vio thinks, something he isn’t quite catching—but Green appears to understand well enough. He smiles back, a bit of blush spreading onto his cheeks. 

It’s happening again, Vio realizes, as he watches the fond interaction between them. Just like before in the tavern, and when he was talking to Red and Blue… there is just something that Vio doesn’t get, that everybody else somehow naturally does. He can still be a hero without it (which is all he’s been made to do anyway), and he does admittedly tend to overthink, but still— 

“Good find, love,” Erune’s father tells the other man. And then he kisses him on the mouth. 

Vio’s jaw drops. 

Red gasps. “Erune, is that your other dad?” Erune nods, and Red beams. “Hi, Erune’s other dad!” 

Vio desperately searches his memory—Link’s memory, whatever—to try and connect the dots. He remembers two knights in a supply closet, deeply annoyed with Link as he attempted to retrieve a mop. They had been kissing, too. Link hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but right now Vio… Vio thinks quite a lot of it, actually. 

And then he realizes that he doesn’t have to think at all, because this just makes sense.

Something inside of Vio, in this moment, seems to just fall into place. But it can’t possibly be that easy, right? It doesn’t solve everything inside him, not even close—he’s still missing his journal, and unsure where he belongs, and there is of course the matter of what happens when he outlives his heroic purpose… but this. This, at least, is a start. 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Vio tells Erune’s dads, standing with better posture than before. Normally he doesn’t care what people think of him, but right now he feels a sudden and irrepressible urge to be understood. 

“Thank you for protecting our daughter,” one of the men tells Vio, reaching for his husband’s hand like it’s a reflex. Vio’s eyes linger on the gesture for perhaps a second too long, and then he looks away. 

“Yes, thank you!” calls another voice from behind Vio. And then there are several more voices, expressing their appreciation. Vio… could get used to this part of heroism. 

Townspeople crowd the main square in droves, eager to see the heroes off on their travels now that they’ve left the inn. Vio watches as the adults of the town keep their children close, visibly shaken by recent events. The children, meanwhile, just smile at Vio, Green, Blue, and Red. Vio wonders if they even remember what happened at all. If he had no concern for social niceties, as opposed to the minimal concern he normally has, he’d probably just ask. 

Erune smiles back at the children and then turns to the other heroes. “I’m glad you visited our village. It was very nice to meet you all.”

“Us too!” chirps Red. 

Blue rubs the back of his neck, trying to be aloof. “I guess it was nice,” he tells Erune, and Vio has to hold back a smirk.

“Thank you for your help,” Vio tells Erune. He extends his hand for a shake. She seems a little bewildered by the gesture, but happily obliges. 

“Oh! And please,” Erune tells the four heroes, “do try to get along. It’s dangerous out there, and you need to look after each other. If I’ve learned something from the past twenty-four hours, it’s that the world is a much scarier place than I ever could have imagined.”

Vio’s smile falters at that. Is Erune, like… okay? 

“We always get along!” Red lies, before Vio can weigh the merits of asking. 

And then Erune’s eyes fall on Green. He steps closer to her, extending a hand—but it’s not exactly professional, like Vio’s had been. It’s more familiar, more natural. Just like Erune’s dads. 

“Looks like this is goodbye,” he tells her, and his words make Vio’s feel… something. Green seems to fully accept the nature of his existence, which includes the inevitability of his own dissolution. That statement, coming from him, carries a surprising amount of darkness—in all likelihood, this really is goodbye. Not just for Green, either, but for them all. 

Vio shakes his head. Save it for the journal. 

“Link,” Erune calls Green, and he doesn’t disagree. 

Save. It. For. The. Journal.

“Yes, Erune?”

She looks away shyly, and then plants a chaste kiss on Green’s cheek. “Safe travels.” 

When she pulls away, Green wears the strangest expression. He blushes and smiles, but there’s something in his eyes… it almost looks like guilt. And Vio supposes that would make sense, if Green views himself as a mere copy of Link—Erune isn’t Zelda, after all. 

Maybe Green should get himself a journal, too. 

─────────────────

The four heroes travel in contented silence as they exit the Eastern region. The weather today is lovely—not too hot, not too cold, with the perfect amount of clouds in the sky—and even though his journal is probably gone forever, Vio can’t bring himself to feel totally rotten. 

And maybe… he doesn’t need to be so evasive about its contents. 

His mind wanders to his conversation with Red and Blue in their room above the tavern. He’d been so hostile towards them, when they spoke about their feelings for Zelda. At the time he couldn’t even imagine why, other than his usual overall sense of contempt, but now… 

“Hey, guys?” Vio hears himself say, his heart pounding in his ears. 

Green stops in his tracks. “Yes, Vio?” 

“I don’t think I like Zelda, in the way Link liked Zelda.” 

Now Red and Blue have stopped walking too. 

“Oh!” Red exclaims, his eyes wide and sympathetic. “That’s sad. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Vio shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. And it’s not important, not really—“ 

“Does it have something to do with your journal?” Blue groans, his typical bluntness earning Green’s measured disapproval. 

Vio defaults to Red as his primarily point of contact. Red is the kindest of them all, even if he’s a little… simple. If Vio has to make himself vulnerable to someone, it makes the most sense to focus on him. 

“I think I’m like Erune’s dads,” he tells Red, and by extension the rest of the group. “If that makes sense.”

Blue raises an eyebrow. “You want to own a tavern? Sorry, man, but we’re on a mission here.”

Vio pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, that’s not what I—what I mean to say is… the way Link felt about Zelda, and you guys acted around Erune… I’m like that too. Or at least I suspect that I could be, except for me, it’s… different. I don’t think I feel that way about girls.”

Vio watches as Red’s brain works overtime. “But if you don’t feel that way about girls, that means you…” 

Vio nods. “Just like Erune’s dads.” 

The kitchen timer inside Red’s skull finally reaches 0:00. “Oh!” he repeats, this time with a smile. “That’s so sweet!” 

“But how would you even know?” Blue asks, furrowing his brow. “We’ve only been… ourselves… for like a month. And I’m pretty sure we would have noticed, if you were taking detours during our quest to flirt with boys in the woods.” 

Vio isn’t sure how to answer that, because it’s true—he hasn’t kissed a boy, or even met a boy he’s felt specifically drawn to during their travels. Which, to be fair, have been very insular and brief thus far. His most consistent male company has been his current company, and the idea of kissing any of these idiots makes him want to gag. 

But when Vio thinks of the way it made him feel to see Erune’s dads together, or to remember the knights in the closet, or to fluster slightly at the handsome vampire in his book… there’s definitely something happening there. 

“It’s just different,” Red had mused yesterday, “when it’s a boy and a girl, I guess.” 

And Blue had immediately agreed—“It’s only natural that he felt that way.” 

Vio has an idea. “Okay,” he says to Blue, “but have you flirted with any girls on our quest?” 

He scowls, blush flooding his cheeks. “Of course not, we’re on a quest.” 

Vio could easily argue that he has, given the Erune of it all, but that isn’t really the point. “Then how do you know you like them?” 

Blue flounders at that. “I,” he begins to say, but then stops. Vio finds himself smirking, just a little bit. I’m waiting…

He doesn’t have to wait for long. Visibly resigned to his own confusion, Blue meets Vio’s eyes again. “I just do.” 

“Well, so do I,” Vio shrugs. “But about guys instead. Admittedly, I won’t know for sure unless…” his voice tapers off. Unless what?

That, at least, seems to strike a chord with Blue. Maybe he’s more aware of their situation than Vio gave him credit for. “I get it,” Blue tells him. “Not sure why you were so worried about anyone finding out, but it’s cool. Makes sense. Just about as much as the rest of it, anyway.”

“Thanks.” 

“And now that you’ve spoken your truth or whatever, will you stop being such a smug asshole all the time?” 

“Probably not,” Vio admits. “Especially if you’re still going to be a brutish oaf.” 

“Fair enough, I guess,” Blue says, and Vio recognizes it for the acceptance that it is. 

“But I’m still confused,” says Green, scrutinizing Vio like a particularly difficult dungeon puzzle. “Link didn’t like guys.” 

“And we’re not Link,” Vio replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Funny how that works, huh?” 

Green isn’t laughing.

“Let’s go,” Blue tells them both, glancing further down the path. “We should hit the next town by nightfall.” 

“Great,” Vio and Green say in unison. They regard each other for a moment, and then they look away. 

  ─────────────────

A little further down the path, Red falls back from the others to walk with Vio instead.

“Hi,” Red says in greeting, using a quieter voice than usual. 

Vio gives him a lazy wave. “Hey.”

I think it’s really cool that you know that about yourself. It must have been scary to tell us, with the way Blue and I were talking before.”

“Yeah, well,” Vio shrugs. “Triforce of courage, and all.” 

“Still,” Red insists, meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry that we assumed.”

Vio smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring. “It’s really okay, Red. You couldn’t have known. I didn’t even know.”

I still don’t know for sure—and if we continue on our quest, I probably never will. 

“And I just wanted to say,” Red continues, even quieter now, “that, well, me too.”

Vio raises an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Well, kinda. I think I like everyone, not only girls. But I didn’t really notice it, until you shared your thing. So thanks!”

Vio doesn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re welcome?”

His answer seems to satisfy Red just fine, at least for a second. But then he sighs. “You know,” Red says, his volume just above a whisper. “I’m glad that we’re not Link.” He then immediately winces at his own words. “I mean… well. I’m not sure what I mean.”

“That’s okay,” says Vio. 

Red glances at Green, farther up the path with Blue. “Don’t tell the others I said that last part.” 

Vio regards his friend in a slightly new light. “I’m glad we’re not Link too,” he tells him, and means it. “Now let’s go catch up with the group.” 

─────────────────

Shadow wonders how Vaati even writes emails without hands. 

“Stupid windbag,” he mutters, setting his work-issued laptop aside. He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against a hard stone wall. 

His bedroom in the Tower of Winds is not nearly as glamorous as what he’s seen of Hyrule Castle—but it has walls, a floor, his laptop, and the Dark Mirror. There isn’t much else Shadow actually needs to exist. He’s been created for a very specific purpose, after all. 

One he is currently fumbling spectacularly, apparently, according to his direct supervisor. Vaati had made to sure to end his berating email with a not-so-implicit threat: if Shadow cannot manage to be more present and dedicated to the cause, he will tell Ganon what happened with Stone Arrghus. 

Shadow doesn’t even know what that would mean for him. Would Ganon destroy and replace him, or would he simply punish him for his failure? Either way, he does not intend to find out.

There is another item in his room, newly acquired, that Shadow picks up now. A leather journal, looted from the heroes’ bedroom while they were asleep. Shadow had retreated into the darkness after the eclipse for his own safety, but he’d still been able to return in the darkness of night. 

He supposes he could have hurt the heroes while they were in such vulnerable positions, or try to steal the swords they kept at their bedsides, but he didn’t want to risk alerting them all by waking just one. Even in the darkness, he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance against the four heroes as a team. And honestly, he’d already embarrassed himself enough for one day. 

Shadow sighs as he runs a finger down the journal’s spine. It belongs (belonged) to the purple hero, the one the leader had called ‘unheroic.’ Shadow opens it to the first page and scans a few lines, chuckling at the its owner’s handwriting. The messy scrawl suggests that the purple hero thinks faster than he can physically write. If Shadow didn’t hate him so much, he’d almost find it endearing. 

As Shadow subjects himself to the purple hero’s maladjusted musings, he begins to realize what a powerful weapon this book could be in his hands. Violet Link has recorded everything here—his own weaknesses, gripes with his teammates, their travel plans, even the exact way they power up their swords. There’s some personal nonsense too, but Shadow mostly just brushes over it. Although he does pay close attention to the few times the hero mentions his enemy, the Shadow Link. 

With this much free intel, Shadow can almost forgive the purple hero for calling him a “smarmy self-aggrandizing bastard,” and a “floor-crawling cretin,” and a “raucous magpie,” and—perhaps even most insultingly of all—a “thespian catastrophe.” He’ll show this sour grape that his evil is anything but a performance. The only catastrophe this hero will witness is his own tragic defeat. 

What is my problem?, Violet Link had asked himself on the journal’s most recent page. Such a sad place for the story to end—for him, anyway. Shadow is having a great time. 

He places down the journal and rises to his feet. In front of the Dark Mirror, he frowns at the small welt on his forehead from Arrghus’s well-aimed projectile. 

Shadow Link closes his eyes and pictures the purple hero. When he opens them, he sees Violet Link, and not himself, in the mirror.

“You have no idea,” he tells his reflection, “how spectacularly you’ve failed.” 

Shadow leans down and grabs the journal, displaying it to his mirror image like a prize. “What’s your problem?” he asks Violet Link with a chuckle. “I’ll show you your problem.” 

He restores his own image, wielding the journal of secrets with a devious grin. The welt on his forehead has disappeared completely. 

“Sour grape,” he repeats, tasting the insult on his tongue. Violet Link wishes he was half as clever as his Shadow. 

[theendisneat]

"I can't get enough of you, no matter how much time we spend together."

Word Count - 768

Characters - Venti, Xiao, Kazuha, Zhongli

Warnings - Slight angst (Xiao)

Venti

You brushed your fingers through his hair, your own swaying in the breeze as the two of you sat under Lady Vanessa’s tree, his head in your lap. Just looking as his eyes fluttered shut and the little flyaways brushing against his cheeks had love swell in your chest and you couldn’t help but let a cheesy smile light up your lips.

“I can’t get enough of you.” You murmured. You sounded lovesick, but you couldn’t care less. “No matter how much time we spend together.”

His eyes opened while a grin bloomed on his face, a pink blush littering his cheek. “I could say the same about you, my cecilia. I could never imagine my life without you by my side.”

His eyes gained a far away look, small tears gathering in the corners. You leaned down and brushed his bangs away before placing a chaste kiss on his forehead, then to his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and lastly his lips. When you pulled back he was left giggling, the tears gone and his smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

Xiao

“How could you say such a thing?” His voice trembled as you cupped his face. The cold of your fingers crept to the warmth that had bloomed on the apples of his cheeks.

“How could I not?” You replied. There was a sad tilt to your voice, like you couldn’t believe he would question your unending love for him. But could you blame him for thinking such? His aloofness, his tendency to push you away, to stay quiet when he really needed you. How at first he kept his distance because of the fear his karma would corrupt your wonderful soul and he couldn’t bear to see it?

He looked into your eyes, kind and unconditionally loving, understanding of his oddities and defense mechanisms; Helping when he needed it with no question. He took a step forward, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tentative hug, nuzzling his face to the crook of your neck as you circled your arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For always loving me, and being there for me. I’m forever grateful.” He hesitated once more, but as he said it, he found more conviction in his tone than in anything else he’s said before.

“I love you.”

Kazuha

“I think I’m rubbing off on you my love.” He chuckled as his arms wrapped around you from behind, the two of you leaning over the edge of the crux, gazing out to the wide ocean and feeling the spray on your face. “You’re becoming quite poetic.”

“You think so? I’m just saying what I’m thinking.”

He hummed, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “Please say those thoughts more often then, they are quite wonderful.”

You turned in his hold, tracing your fingertips up his arms and to the back of his neck where you played with the baby hairs. “You wish to hear more of my thoughts?” He nodded with a small hum, eyes closing as he melted to your hold. You leaned in close to him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

You whispered to the shell of his ear, feeling him shiver when your breath hit him. “I love you more with each passing day.”

Zhongli

He was in the middle of a lecture, something about the proper way to find high quality noctilucous jade, and you just stared with love sick eyes. Everytime he went on these rants, you listened, always intensely fascinated with the great amounts of knowledge he could spout at the drop of a hat, but this time you had zoned out, eyes trailing over his beautiful face and ears being calmed by his rough, soothing voice.

“I can’t get enough of you.” You said with a sappy sigh, unintentionally interrupting the god who paused to listen. “No matter how long we spend together, I don’t think I could ever, truly, get enough of you.”

A small smile was on his lips when you snapped from your thoughts, realizing he wasn’t speaking anymore. You clapped your hands over your mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes.” He chuckled, but you could see the pleased blush on his cheeks. “Though I’m appreciative of your interruption, it is not often you share these thoughts with me.”

“That’s because it’s embarrassing!” You covered your face with your hands. His gloved fingers tugged your wrists from your face.

“On the contrary,” he gazed at you, and it was then you noticed the same lovesickness you harbored. “I rather enjoy them.”

[loganwritesprobably]

Reunited

A special something I wrote for @frillsinadress of Shanks and her OC Pearl! Enjoy my lovely..

Content/Warnings: Shanks/OC, OC crew, fluff, soft!Shanks, smut, anniversary celebration, public sex, oral (f!receiving), raw sex, pull out, breast worship

To say their relationship had been anything but normal would be an understatement. Pearl and Shanks were powerhouses on the ocean in their own rights, even if you don’t factor in their relationship, and when they came together it was like a tornado meeting a tsunami, a true force to be reckoned with. It’d been over three years since they’d gotten together now, and finally the two of them were able to get together to celebrate.

Pearl jumped aboard the red force, greeting the various crew members as she passed them, leaving them with her crew to secure the boats together for a while. It was their anniversary, a special occasion, and they deserved some real time together for once. Shanks emerged from the belly of the ship, arm extended for his lover, and in a show of girlish love for her partner, Pearl picked up her pace and ran toward him, allowing Shanks to lift her up from her feet to spin her around with ease, his strength on clear show. They laughed together, bringing a lighter feeling to the air around them. Pearl leaned down and pressed her lips gently against Shanks’, grinning all the while.

“My treasure.” Shanks said softly, hardly pulling away to speak, his lips still brushing against hers as he spoke. He couldn’t bear parting with her anymore than he strictly had to.

“Hey, handsome.” She replied, pressing another gentle kiss against his lips.

And everything was right in the world again.

They spent the day catching up with each other’s crews, spending time together, telling stories of their adventures all while Pearl and Shanks were glued to each other’s sides. It’d been too long, there was nothing on hell nor Earth that could make them part now, before they absolutely had to. As evening rolled around, and the crews became rowdier, eating food and drinking ale, Shanks whisked Pearl away on a small rowboat, to get away from all the noise and rowdiness. Pearl rowed, much to Shanks’ frustration, but at least that meant he got to admire her. His woman. He'd claimed her years ago, and now he has the privilege of being her's in return. There'd been many partners across his life, but none held a candle to his treasure.

“You've told me to row but you've not told me where we're going.” Pearl said with a laugh, nudging Shanks with her foot to snap him out of his stupor, which made him shake his head as if shaking the cobwebs from his brain.

“You'll see. Just keep going in this direction. Have a little faith, dearest.” 

“Do you know where we're going?” Pearl asked with a raised brow, quickly glancing around but still seeing little else except their ships, anchored and tied together in the middle of the ocean.

“Yes, I do. Just keep rowing. You will see.”

And see she did.

Finally, after another ten minutes of rowing, they unexpectedly hit land. She continued pushing until the rowboat was successfully embedded in the sand so it wouldn't be washed away by the waves, then allowed Shanks to help her from the boat, pulling her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

“You really did know where we were going.” Pearl commented and Shanks just sighed, reaching out to haul her up and lifted her over his shoulder. Pearl shrieked and laughed, kicking out with protests.

“If you're going to keep being mean..” Shanks just trailed off and began walking deeper into the abandoned island, Pearl settling on his shoulder purely because she was quite happy to not have to walk after rowing the entire way to the island.

Shanks pushed through bushes and tree branches, careful not to let anything hit Pearl, until he found the spot he’d been looking for. He wasn’t lost, honestly. Mostly. He gently set his lover down, but quickly wrapped his arm around her head to cover her eyes.

“It’s worth it, just hold on and walk with me, love.” He urged, and though she sighed Pearl was grinning, and willing to follow ahead with whatever Shanks was planning. He guided her carefully, stepping awkwardly together and laughing all the while. She never laughed quite as much with anyone else like she did with Shanks. Finally, Shanks stopped and Pearl stumbled slightly, knocking back into his chest.

“Are you ready?” Shanks whispered against her ear, and after that Pearl was certainly ready for something. Pearl nodded and Shanks removed his arm, allowing her to see where he’d taken them.

The island was gorgeous, and Shanks had led her into a clearing in the woods that reflected that. The trees had grown oddly, like there had previously been an object between them that forced them to grow around it, but now it had been removed so there was a perfect window through the foliage that showed the moon shining against the inky waves of the ocean.

“This place is beautiful.” Pearl murmured, taking a few steps from her partner to really take it in. Clearly Shanks had been here before the two had met up, because there was a blanket on the ground and lanterns hung around the clearing that he now took to lighting with some matches he’d pulled from the pack of food they’d brought.

“So are you.” Shanks replied, and Pearl could only laugh, sitting down on the soft blanket at her feet, slipping off her shoes for more comfort.

“All these years, and you’ve still got it.” Pearl said as she reached for her partner, pulling him down to the ground to sit beside her.

The couple sat and ate together, reminiscing of the years they’d spent together. The atmosphere was light and easy, and all the words flowing with only love to be shared. Three whole years, and so many more to come. They had so much in front of them, including the dawn of the world, that they both knew was coming. 

Shanks leaned in and pressed a slow, languid kiss to Pearl’s lips.

“I love you.” He murmured, brushing Pearl’s hair behind her ear.

“I love you too, handsome.” She responded, taking his hand in her own. It was sweet and sappy and it was them. The moments like this were few and far between, so they had to take advantage of the time that they had now. Taking advantage of that also meant using the privacy they’d managed to take care of some more primal desires. It took no extra temptation, no verbal request, and certainly no pleading for Shanks to gently push Pearl backward to lay on the ground, his cloak that had been discarded some hours ago pulled beneath her hair to keep it free from dirt. Shanks’ eager hand explored his lover’s body, teasing and light, watching as she grew increasingly wanting. 

“Don’t tease.” She said, reaching out to tangle her fingers in his hair. She pulled Shanks down for another deep kiss, bending her leg at the knee to press up against his crotch where he was already hard, and Pearl couldn’t help smirking.

“Missed you so much, love.” He mumbled, finally putting his desires into action. Shanks kissed from her lips across her face and down to her jaw, then further downward to her neck where he couldn’t help nipping and sucking, leaving a few dark marks on her skin to show ownership. They were separated so often, and he couldn’t have anyone thinking she was in any way available. Pearl lay below him, hands searching his skin and beginning to unbutton his shirt for further access to his godly body, breathing out in soft pants.

They were so familiar with each other’s bodies, a type of familiarity that only came from years of love, years of being given the chance to explore and memorise. Shanks continued his pursuit downward and deftly unbuttoned Pearl’s shirt to gain access to her breasts. He made quick work of her bra and tossed it behind him onto the blanket to stay clean, and then there was nothing else in his way to stop him. Leaning against his shoulder, his hand reached for one nipple, rolling it between his fingers and gently pulling, and when Pearl gasped out a breathy moan, he took the other into his mouth, sucking on it, swirling his tongue around it, if only to hear more of her precious sounds. While she wanted to return the favour, Pearl quickly paused her attempts to allow Shanks to do as he pleased, unable to attempt to pleasure him with his hand and mouth on her body like that. 

Though, Shanks was usually patient and dedicated when it came to his lover’s pleasure, with so long spent apart he had far less patience to spare, and quickly moved on and down her body further, urging Pearl upward so he could remove her bottoms to get to her core, finding her underwear already wet for him.

“I’ll do it properly after this, promise, just need to feel you.” He mumbled from where he knelt before her, her legs on his shoulders so he could press kisses to the soft skin, nipping gently to leave small red marks behind.

“Please, Shanks.” She urged, far needier and impatient than usual, eager for him to fill her up and pleasure her in the way that only he could.

In an impulsive move, Shanks leaned down and took Pearl’s underwear in his teeth, not tugging them down but rather tearing them, giving him the easiest access he could get. Pearl gasped, body shuddering at the bizarre show of strength and desire, her pussy only growing wetter.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Don’t know how I kept my hands off you so long.”

“Then stop waiting.” Pearl urged, and with a shit eating grin, Shanks used her legs over his shoulders to pull her closer and dove into her pussy like a man starved, pushing his tongue inside her for just a small taste of her, then moving to her clit to bring her pleasure. Pearl moaned loudly, arms raised to grip the fabric beneath her head, thighs tightening around Shanks’ head but rather than making him stop, the increased pressure only made Shanks moan against her clit, furthering Pearl’s pleasure in return. 

Even the temptation of his lover’s sweet taste couldn’t keep Shanks’ attention for long however, with the primary purpose of pressing his tongue to her heat being to make her wet enough to take him. He gently lowered Pearl to the ground and tugged down his own trousers just to his knees to reveal his hard, aching dick, red at the tip and leaking slowly. He spat into his palm and coated his length with the wetness, and then finally pressed himself against her. Both softly groaned, and Pearl wrapped her legs around Shanks’ waist, her fingers already seeking his hair to grip it tightly. Their lips crashed together again, Pearl able to taste herself on her lover’s lips and tongue, and it only made her more desperate to take him inside.

“Fuck me, darling. Please, fuck me.” She panted against his lips, and as much as a tease as Shanks may be, that wasn’t a request he could deny. He took his dick in hand and lined his tip with her entrance, and then pushed inside her in one slow movement.

Both moaned, finally connected in the most sensual way, and Pearl couldn’t help tugging at Shanks’ hair, urging him onward.

“Don’t stop, fuck me, I’m not fragile.” She grunted, and with a soft, airy laugh, Shanks obeyed. He was powerless to do anything else for his girl. So he fucked her. He moved fast and hard, slamming his hips against hers, fulfilling the need they both had to orgasm together, to find pleasure in the other and it took just minutes for the two of them to find the peak they were seeking, Pearl loudly moaning his name and then Shanks pulling out to cum over her stomach, always careful because of the dangerous lives they led.

“One of these days, I’m gonna marry you.” Shanks mumbled into Pearl’s hair while they lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, chest to chest, cum smeared over both their skin. The words caught her off guard, and she shifted backward slightly to look up into Shanks’ eyes.

“You know, when you started that sentence, I was expecting you to say that one day you’re gonna put a baby in me.”

“That too, eventually.” Shanks replied with a smirk, and he couldn’t help trailing his fingers down her body to push inside Pearl’s heat, eager to bring her to peak once again.

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