#fluff soon I promise

[z0mbie2b0y]

Dark (yandere???) Severus but he's more secretive about it- like I can imagine him being the type to like be very 'normal' about Lily and James (he acts like he hates him) but turn around and literally will hide in the dark corners of hogwarts and start acting crazy about them, like he will literally be hugging himself while trembling and biting his lip about them and literally acting like a desperate mutt-

I also like to add that he would definitely be the type to like have one of their clothes and just hold it close and nuzzle into it only to be disgusted by himself- (he gets comfort from there smell and from anything of theirs may that be touch, smell, seeing or hearing them) so I can imagine him spiraling when the 'prank' happens because first he almost died, second one of his crushes saved his life but is friends with the one who almost killed him so boo, thrid off his other crush is ignoring him after he lost control of his feelings and called her a mudblood- like he differently was going crazy, and I can imagine the other slytherins weren't helping because they most likely act the same (yes I'm doing the 'yandere!slytherin' shit) so I can see some of them comforting him while others say he had it coming for liking Lily and James-

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn’t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[sincerelybubbles]

It's a Date part 2

warnings: fluff, descriptions of being touch starved (? idk) not really edited oopsies

synopsis: things go well after f!reader and spencer's date, spencer helps reader see that she's wanted and deserving of affection

part 1

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

“Sorry, it’s messy,” you say, wringing your hands as you walk through the door. You hear Spencer laugh out through his nose, a quick burst of air that has you spinning around to watch him latch the door. 

He’s shaking his head, hair falling in front of his eyes, nose bridge crinkled. 

“What?”

“You’re acting like I’ve never been here before.” He twists the deadbolt and walks over to you, shaking his head one more time before slipping off his shoes and heading into the kitchen. 

“I don’t know, I guess it feels different, somehow, now that …” Neither of you has tried to put a label on this. It’s been weeks, coffee dates squished between hectic work schedules, yawning absences while he chases cases with the team, and one movie night at his place that had you listening to him rant about the inaccuracies of a historical drama you picked out. It’s been lovely, you adore his tendencies to go off on tangents, enjoying simply watching him light up and trip over his own words to get everything out. It feels like he’s racing to say whatever he can before you interrupt him. You never have, something he commented on during your second date. 

“You know you can just tell me to shut up when I go off about stupid stuff like that. Everyone does, I’m used to it, I don’t want to bore you.” “Why would I? It’s not boring or stupid — it’s stuff you care about and I like hearing what you care about.”

“Now that, what?” Spencer asks, settling his back against your counter and resting his hands on the edge behind him. 

He’s still in his work clothes, tie loose, gun at his hip, hair behind his ears. 

One thing you didn’t expect from him? Confidence. You knew he had to be confident in some ways — he’s never doubted his intellectual ability that you could tell ��� but it only took a short time for him to gain his comfort around you. No longer did he blush and bumble his way through sentences, struggling to meet your eye. Your first kiss actually seemed to clear that up quickly. 

It happened feet away from where you’re standing, outside of your door, after dinner. He reached forward to brush an eyelash on your cheek as you said goodbye, you leaned into his hand and, after a moment and with a burst of adrenaline that fueled your forwardness, you leaned up and toward him, a hand on his arm, and brought your lips to his.  He was hesitant, fingertips brushing your cheekbone, but he came to life as you pulled away to ask him if this was alright, palm meeting your cheek fully and bringing you in for a proper kiss.  Excitement was evident by the way he pressed closer to you, stepping nearer and putting another hand on your waist, locking you in place. Under the excitement was a tenderness you’ve never felt before. He kissed like he wanted to take all the air from your lungs but he held you with the sort of care that made your lungs ache for a reason entirely seperate from the kissing. 

“I don’t know,” you say, chickening out from asking for the hundredth time, going to meet him in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Spencer says, catching you by the waist and pulling you to come stand near him with one hand on your hip. “Ask,” he says, tucking his chin to grin down at you, nudging your foot with his.

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m afraid to scare you off,” he says with a smile. Behind his eyes, though, you can see the truth in it. 

He called you the morning after your date. Young sunlight caught in your eyes and caused you to squint as you searched for your forgotten phone, spots dancing and dust creating a kaleidoscope as you pressed answer.  “Hello?” you asked, confused. It was Spencer, wishing you a good morning. He went quiet when you asked why he called, if everything was okay.  “Everything is fine, sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” “It’s okay, I need to be up soon anyway. Why’d you call, though?” “I just couldn’t get the thought out of my head last night that I must have done something to mess it all up. I wanted to call and make sure I hadn’t.” “You could never, Spencer.”

You know the uncertainty still rears its head, even with the confidence that’s fostered with time. 

“It feels incredibly juvenile,” you say, rolling your eyes and smoothing your hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. 

“Ask,” he whispers, “I’ll say yes. All you have to do is ask.”

The week after your first date, Spencer showed up at your office, panting, a bag in his hand. You stood up, shocked to see him at the station, and hurried out to meet him in the lobby.  “You said you wanted lunch from the Chinese place down the road because you forgot to pack something,” Spencer said by way of explanation. You had mentioned it, briefly, in a text. “I was just complaining, you didn’t have to spend your lunch break on this,” you said, eyes welling up with tears. You reached forward, ignoring the bags, and pulled him into a hug. “You’re entirely too sweet to me. This was too much.” “Nothing is too much, all you have to do is ask.” 

“When I call back my friend later,” you start, determined to ask while looking in his eyes, drowning as you do it, face heating, “can I tell her my boyfriend came to spend some time with me?”

It’s sort of a cop-out, of course, and Spencer catches it — you’re not directly asking, but he nods anyway, then laughs, leaning forward to kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, he’s laughing and you’re smiling, but you appreciate it all the same. 

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, leaning back and catching another kiss on your nose and then your cheek. 

“There’s a few reasons. I never thought I would have this, for one, and I guess I’m just happy.”

“You guess?”

“I know.”

You wind up in bed. Nothing nefarious, not yet — both of you understand that space to breathe and grow together is much more important and that awkwardness needs to settle into comfortable familiarity before crossing that specific line. 

Spencer drags his finger across your cheek, tracing your bone structure. His other hand is tucked under your side, holding your hip and keeping you close. 

The feeling in your chest is heavy, pressing up into your throat and capturing any words you could dare to think. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, voice a whisper, breath fanning across your face and causing little hairs to prick up across your arms. 

You nod, looking him in the eye and signaling the truth. His nearness wasn’t causing you distress but the unfamiliarity of it is hard to not become consumed by. 

You squeeze your eyes closed, nose scrunching and fight tears. 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, voice hesitant, fingers leaving your face and arms pushing to give you space. Space you don’t want. Space that makes your eyes snap open, searching for him, afraid he might waltz off any moment. 

“Yes,” you say, voice certain and hand snapping out to grab him before he can go too far. 

Tears well up in your eyes, against your internal fighting. You huff out an embarrassed laugh, leaning forward to press your forehead into his shoulder. His arms tighten around you, hesitant around your waist and cradling the back of your head. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, please,” he asks, voice soft, begging, an undertone of a demand that you adore. The sense that he would do anything to ensure that you feel better washes over you. It makes the sweetly-sick feeling well up into you further, drowning your senses. 

“Nothing is wrong,” you say, cuddling into him, slipping a foot inbetween his and tangling yourself tighter, “it’s just been a while since I’ve felt … wanted. And I do, now, with you — feel wanted. At least, I hope I am.”

“You are,” Spencer interrupts, reassuring. 

“It’s nice but I don’t really know what to do with it.”

“It?”

“The feeling, I guess.” You shrug. “I suppose touch starved is the right word, but it feels like more than that.”

His grip tightens as your tears come with a faster frequency, to your own annoyance. 

“I’m sorry, this is a really nice moment, I’m beyond happy, I don’t mean to ruin it.” You attempt to pull away to wipe your face but Spencer doesn’t let you. 

“Did you know that some studies show that a lack of connection socially is more detrimental than obesity or smoking? We literally need to feel connected to other people. And that’s just social connection — when left alone without any type of physical connection, specifically physical connection from someone you care about, depression, stress, and physical health can deteriorate. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed when you’re finally getting what you need — what everyone needs.”

“Touch starved,” you whisper, allowing him to hold you tight, relaxing further into his hold.

“Sorry?”

“Touch starved — I’ve heard people call it touch starved.”

Spencers hand moves to stroke your hair, picking up strands and twisting them before smoothing it down again. 

“That feels like an apt term for it.”You fall asleep like that, warm and pressed into his side, listening to him softly tell you about his week, feeling secure and wanted in a way you never have before.

taglist: @0108s22m @bowerfeithwk @screechingphantommaker @cultish-corner @doigettokeepyou @izukuwus

note: i really intended on this being more so please forgive me -- let me know what you think! i welcome constructive criticism as well as any and all thoughts you have!!

now that i've finished this, i might attempt another part to give u guys more but i also am taking requests/thinkin' of new things to write!! more spencer to come, as well as possibly some hotch, so keep an eye out

ily all and tysm for the support <3

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

idk if this has been done yet

[momonyu]

the one that (almost) got away

roronoa zoro x fem!reader

it takes him 12 hours to realize

3.6k words

a/n: ok listen, i think i started writing this like 6+ months ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts bc idk how to commit to endings so y’all are gonna have to take this as it is. also i have no concept of how sailing works or how long it takes oops

9:00 pm

“y'know, there's really no point to a farewell party if the one leaving isn't there.”

you look up from your spot on the library floor. your eyes land on the green-haired swordsman leaning against the doorframe and you smile.

“i’ll be there in a second. i just have some more stuff to go through.”

zoro eyes the mess of books surrounding you, recognizing a few of nami’s atlases and robin’s textbooks. “you haven’t finished packing yet?”

“i’m mostly done. i’m just trying to decide which books i want to keep.” catching his eye, you joke, “why? you want me gone that bad?”

crossing the room, a scoff leaves his lips. nothing could be further from the truth.

“you got me. i am so sick of you,” he says with a grin. “can’t wait to get rid of the annoying librarian invading my napping spot.”

zoro plops down on the bench behind you, catching a whiff of your shampoo as he lies down. you sit with your back to him, sorting through your piles, but zoro can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

“you’re such a pretender, eh?”

zoro puts on a look of overdramatic offense, a hand on his chest. “me? you’re talking about me?”

at his poor acting, you turn around. you rest your chin on the bench, your face so close to zoro’s that one could only describe it as a kissable distance.

“you act like i'm all in your space, but nami told me that you never used to spend any time in here at all!”

“pfft, why would you ever trust what that con artist has to say?” zoro pokes your forehead. “you see it with your own eyes. am i or am i not here every day?”

you purse your lips as you think back to the last few months; he’s right.

you’ve spent most of your days in the ship’s library, and zoro has almost always stopped by. in the beginning, it would be for a few minutes, but over the last little while, he’d be in here as long as you were.

zoro smiles as he watches you think, eyebrows furrowed as you replay the last few months in your head. little do you know that this is exactly why the library is his new hideout. watching your pretty little mind work — doing what you love, thinking and studying and reading — is a far better use of his spare time than anything else he could be doing.

“anyway,” he says. “i guess your silly star stories have been a good trade-off.”

now it’s your turn to be mock-offended.

“silly star stories? you’re the one who asked about the constellations in the first place!”

“only because you kept talking about these fictional gods like they actually did something important.”

“says the guy who's completely enthralled by hades,” you roll your eyes.

“king of hell, god of the underworld,” he grins. “that’s my kinda guy.”

zoro laughs when you shake your head at him. he’ll never tire of teasing you; you are far too adorable with your little sigh and a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“did you know,” he says with a playful look. “that you still owe me about ten more constellation stories? d’you think you could squeeze in one more before we head up?”

zoro smiles at you, and you can't help but smile back. 

you have so many treasured memories with zoro in this library; ones of just the two of you (him napping while you studied), ones with nami and robin (and sanji until nami kicked the boys out for their incessant bickering), and ones where the night listens in as you recite the history of the stars.

whether you were telling the story of another righteous deity enacting justice, or the tale of mere mortals who insulted the gods, zoro would listen with his eyes closed, lying across the bench as he is now, and you’d sit in front of him as you are now.

everyone’s waiting for you upstairs and you hate to disappoint, but some things are more important — like telling a silly star story to a silly swordsman.

“of course i can.”

12:00 am

raucous laughter and cheering that’s loud enough to deafen anybody; empty plates, once piled high with food, now scattered around the room; bottles on bottles of sake and rum and whiskey and every liqueur that one would hope to find on a pirate ship.

these are zoro’s requirements for a good time, and suffice to say that your farewell party has them all in spades.

zoro watches his friends’ tomfoolery from his spot at the table (currently, luffy’s trying to get franky to see how far he can slingshot him) when you plop yourself into the seat beside him.

“this,” you say as your arm knocks against his, “is the best party i’ve ever been to.”

zoro takes a swig from his glass, “you haven’t partied until you’ve partied with pirates.”

“seriously! you guys are insane!”

as if to prove your point, franky chooses that exact moment to show off a juggling sequence involving a barrel of whiskey, a giant potted plant, and a squealing chopper.

you gasp at the spectacle but quickly dissolve into laughter when nami saves chopper, and it’s with both awe and pure excitement that you turn to zoro. laughter is etched into your lips, your cheeks are flushed, and zoro can’t help but marvel at how you’re even cuter when you’re having fun.

“what, you’ve never seen a cyborg man toss a speaking reindeer in the air before?”

you nudge him with your elbow, “well, excuse me for leading such a mundane life where animals don’t speak and men don’t tinker with their bodies.”

“ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

you look at zoro quizically.

he takes a sip of his beer, “most men do tinker with their bodies.”

it takes you a moment to catch his innuendo and zoro roars with laughter when the realization hits you. embarrassment tinges your pretty face and you shove him with a loud “ew, zoro!” but he can’t stop cackling.

“you’re disgusting!”

you make to swat zoro across the chest but he quickly catches your hand. he leans in to waggle his eyebrows at you, “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

you groan loudly, which only makes him laugh again.

perhaps it’s the alcohol that let his inhibitions go, or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t have much longer with you, but when you hastily change the subject and there’s no longer a reason for him to still be holding your hand, he doesn’t let go.

when nami joins you two, his fingers slips between yours and to his surprise, yours do the same. sanji joins your threesome, then franky and robin, and in no time at all, it’s no longer just the two of you at the table.

but zoro doesn’t care.

drunk, carefree, and more content than he’s ever been, zoro closes his eyes and smiles. he lives in the moment, and in this moment, he’s happy — happy with a full stomach and a full glass, happy to be surrounded by his favourite people, and happy that, under the table, you’re still holding his hand.

3:00 am

“and what’s that one?”

hands swinging between you, you and zoro dodge the tide as you roam further and further from the thousand sunny. the sand is cool under your feet and the tide kisses your toes with each step. your other arm is stretched above you, pointing at a constellation in the distance.

“what is this - a pop quiz?”

you smile, “i want to make sure you don’t forget about my ‘silly star stories.’”

zoro groans, “has anyone told you that holding grudges isn’t healthy? keeping going and you’ll turn into a bitter old thing some day.”

you stick out your tongue, “you’re just afraid you’ll get it wrong.”

“wrong?” zoro scoffs. “i’ve gotten the past six right.”

walking along the beach, you and zoro fall in step with each other and your footsteps match the ebbing waves in perfect rhythm. you smile in his direction and his chest is flooded with a warmth that has nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed.

“alright, let’s see what we got here.”

zoro follows your gaze at the cluster of stars you’ve chosen, and he grins when he sees the constellation. “really? at least try to make this hard for me, please.”

his cocky attitude leaves you speechless, making zoro laugh. 

“you’re so annoying!” you shove him with your free hand and the force of his stumble pulls you along, and you shriek as he drags you into the ocean with him. he doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second — not when water splashes your legs, not when zoro’s pants get soaked as he spins you around. 

your laughter is warmth in its purest form, the kind that you can feel all the way down to your cold toes. when he sets you back down, you give his hand a little squeeze, to which zoro answers back with a tender smile.

now with wet feet and a distance between you that’s even smaller than it already was, zoro continues to walk alongside you.

“moving on from your pathetic distraction attempt,” — you let out a dramatic gasp — “i’ll tell you exactly who we were looking at.”

pointing at the starry zodiac sign, zoro speaks with complete confidence.

“virgo the maiden, otherwise known as persephone, wife and muse of the best god of them all, hades—”

“fanboy much?” you tease but zoro pretends not to hear you (the little tug of his lips tells you that he does).

“—who snuck her a pomegranate seed because he couldn’t bear for her to leave him.”

zoro puffs his chest with pride, relishing in this one niche study of which he is now an expert. it’s incredibly endearing how pleased he is with his answer and you almost feel bad for correcting him.

almost.

“good answer,” you grin. “but you left out the little detail about how she was kept in hell against her will.”

zoro gasps, “are you accusing my idol of being a kidnapper?”

“your idol!” your cheeks already hurt so much from smiling but another giggle slips out. “first of all, these aren’t my accusations. historians have told their love story this way for years—”

“slander is what this is.”

“—and secondly, why would you want to look up to hades? he’s literally the antagonist in every story.”

“he’s the king of hell! that’s so bad ass.” zoro winks at you, “don’t be surprised if you hear them calling me ‘zoro, king of hell’ some day.”

“what’s wrong, demon of east blue doesn’t go hard enough for you?”

embarrassment rushes to zoro’s face and he’s never been more grateful for the night. “who told you that? was it usopp or nami? i bet it was nami.”

“i might hold a grudge but i don’t snitch,” you flash a mischievous smile. “anyway, let’s get back to how you want to be just like devil who tricked a poor girl in returning to the underworld.”

“come on, can you blame a man for doing whatever it takes to stop his beloved from leaving him?”

it sounds like an innocent question — harmless banter, really — but something in the way he says it makes you stop dead in your tracks. a silence falls and in its wake, all you can do is stare at the man you’ve spent the last several months with, the same man that you have to say goodbye to tomorrow.

moonlight falls unto the both of you and bathes zoro in soft light. it illuminates his eyes and when you meet his gaze, you see a sense of longing there that you feel in your chest. a longing for what, you don’t know — or rather, you don’t want to know.

at least, not yet.

so you hold his hand a little tighter, and underneath the watchful eye of the gods and constellations, muster a smile,

“i guess not.”

6:00 am

if this was any other morning, zoro would be awake and working out already. he'd be done his fourth set of bicep curls or, at the very least, working on his form. he could even be in the middle of deadlifts (because he knows not to skip leg day), but he definitely wouldn't still be in bed the way that he is right now.

the thing is though, if this was any other morning, he wouldn't have you sleeping next to him, curled into him like you were made to be a perfect fit.

he's never been more glad to still be in bed.

your breath matches the rise and fall of zoro's chest, perfectly in rhythm with the waves outside his window and the beat of his heart, like the universe meant for all these things to be in harmony at this one singular moment in time.

your lashes flutter in response when he shifts his weight.

he takes a peek at you, “psst, are you awake?”

eyes still closed, you manage a noncommittal grunt but your body says otherwise.

zoro can’t help but smile as he watches you start to wake up. your toes wiggle beneath the covers and you rub your eyes before looking up at him with an adorably sleepy look that he would love to wake up to every day. 

if only he could.

you focus your gaze on zoro like he’s an anchor in a sea of slumber. the way that you look at him, as if he’s the only thing that you see, fills his chest with a golden warmth akin to the breaking dawn.

you offer him a soft smile, and zoro wonders if the sun knows that you glow brighter than it ever could.

“why are you up at this ungodly hour?”

he chuckles, low and tender, “’m used to it. i’m usually up by now.”

“freak,” you mutter. zoro laughs, and you can’t think of anything else that sounds more beautiful at six in the morning.

you’re not usually up this early but what you notice is that, at dawn, time has a habit of moving slowly. it’s as if the morning casts magic upon those who rise with the daylight — and you’re so thankful for that.

because if time moved any faster than this, you’d have to say goodbye that much sooner.

“are you going to miss us?” zoro puts his arms around you.

you murmur into his chest, “of course, i will.”

“who do you think you’ll miss the most?” 

you give pause and zoro’s almost certain you can hear his heart beating a little louder — he can definitely hear it. he doesn’t typically get nervous like this but, then again, nothing about the way you make him feel is typical.

you seem to have come to a conclusion because you look up at zoro and he holds his breath. 

“sanji.”

he blinks.

“wait, are you serious?”

you’ve never seen zoro looks so wonderfully scandalized before, and you burst into a fit of giggles. as soon as you start, he knows he’s been had. he scowls but only for a moment; for who could be upset in the presence of such twinkling laughter?

 “silly man,” you snuggle closer, "of course i’m not serious.”

“okay, good.” you can hear the smile in his voice. “i don’t know if my ego could handle losing to him.”

zoro holds you close, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. his movements are slow, steady, comforting — ‘round and ‘round, in the same spot, like he’s drawing an invisible mark that is only known to the two of you.

"but, you know,” you hum, careful not to disrupt the peace. “you wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t what?”

“lose.” and after a beat, you quietly add, “you wouldn’t lose to anyone.”

and just like that, zoro’s on cloud nine, airborne and weightless. he’s always known that he has a place in your heart, but this is the first time that you’ve ever hinted about where that place may be. if he allowed himself to be hopeful, it almost sounds like a confession. 

but almost isn’t good enough for him. zoro wants more — wants to find out exactly where he belongs in your life, wants to know if he can make himself at home there. 

it’s a shame that he’s out of time.

you interrupt his thoughts with a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the ocean and his aching heart,

“will you miss me?” 

more than anything.

9:00 am

surely, zoro’s dream to be hades has been granted. otherwise, why would it feel like he’s in hell, standing on the deck, all alone and watching your dinghy sail away from the thousand sunny?

zoro’s had his fair shares of farewells while aboard the ship, and to be honest, yours wasn’t any more emotional than anyone else’s. you left with a smile as beautiful as the morning sun and with far less tears than he expected (which he’s thankful for because he would hate to see you cry). as far as bittersweet goodbyes go, yours was definitely more sweet than bitter.

and yet, here zoro stands, with a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t explain. he can still see you from where he stands, and watching your little boat in the distance is the only thing that seems to settle his uneasy heart. 

should he have bid adieu privately? maybe he should’ve left you with a memento of some kind? should he have done more than offer you a quick hug? was it his imagination, or did you hold onto him just a beat longer than you needed to?

zoro’s so occupied by these messy thoughts that he doesn’t even hear sanji approach him.

“well?”

startled, zoro can only stare at the blond cook. ignoring the dumb look on his face, sanji continues.

“what’d she say when you told her?” sanji nods in the direction of your boat.

“told her what?”

“that you love her,” sanji takes a drag of his cigarette, looking at zoro directly now.

he speaks so frankly, so matter-of-fact and candidly, that it takes zoro a second to really register what it is that he’s saying. 

he loves you.

and as soon as he thinks it, the truth comes barreling through all the doubts clouding his head. clarity floods his chest as he comes face-to-face with what his yearning, pining heart has been trying to tell him this whole time.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you-

fuck.

he loves you.

and he never told you.

epilogue — 9:30 am

sails closed, your boat floats with the current and the salty breeze reminds you that your adventure with the strawhats has come to a close. compared to the never-ending bustle of the crew, it’s almost too quiet being at sea alone. the silence lends itself to your overactive mind, working full time to unravel the tightness you feel in your chest.

you’re lost in thoughts of what could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve been — so much so that you don’t even hear the commotion behind you. it’s not until you hear zoro call your name that you hear the frantic swimming and you whirl around.

“zoro! what-”

“can you help me first?” he splutters.

you pull yourself together long enough to run to the side of your dinghy, pulling a sopping wet pirate on board. zoro leans back, trying to catch his breath as you rummage through your things.

“are you crazy? do you know how far we are from the sunny?” you throw a towel over him before reaching for another. you start drying off his hair, frantically fussing over him.

“you think that just because chopper gives you the clearance that you can push yourself over the limit-”

“y/n.”

“this is why you’re always on house arrest! you’re actually insane, you know that?”

“y/n.”

“i know you work out, but for goodness’ sake, zoro, you’re only human-”

“y/n.” zoro holds your wrists, forcing you to stop with a start.

in all your worrying, you didn’t realize that you’d been gravitating closer to zoro until you’re staring into his dark, obsidian eyes. there’s clarity in the way that he looks at you. his eyes are shining with a fierceness that you’ve only seen in his worst fights, and you brace yourself for whatever comes next.

because you know that this will change everything.

“hades and persephone.”

“huh?“ you blink at him. “did you hit your head-”

“ask me if i think hades loved persephone.”

you stare into zoro’s eyes, desperation reflecting back at you. there’s a hidden question there and you understand immediately.

quietly, you ask, "do you think hades loved persephone?”

“i do,” he whispers. “i think he loved her and he would've been stupid to let her go.”

your breath catches. zoro places a hand over yours, surprisingly warm as his fingers find their home between your own.

the heavens watch on as the two of you finally open your hearts and give way to the stuff that myths and legends yearn for — a connection that can only be described as fated, destined, purely and resplendently magical.

the gods smile at the two lovers who find themselves falling into each other, laughing as you confess, over and over again,

i love you.

[its-the-sahara-out-here]

projecting the depressive episode on my favs again <33

Headcanons about how bud handles his depression:

Not sure if he gets the Dread™ like I do but I like to think he has a bad reaction to his own wings when he's going through it. That and the frantic searching for something that'll make the numbness go away.

He'd curl up in a ball for most of the day staring blankly into the wallpaper and during the night he'd be drafting duck designs until he passed out.

He'd definitely shut down at the thought of the hotel and/or any of his duties. He would be able to fake being okay better than usual on those days. Just, so dissociated that he can go through the motions without overthinking things. He'd probably be on the verge of a panic attack all day.

I don't think he'd cry much unless he started spiralling about Lilith and Charlie, though. That's when he'd curl up under the covers and shatter.

close ups beneath the cut

[dreamsinmoonlight]

May I lay my head on Adams lap?

(I should be asleep and DEFINITELY should do the three other asks but I like me some stupid fluff with my stupid man so sure, have this before I fall unconscious because it's like almost midnight here)

Adam let out a snort as you plopped down next to him and opened his mouth to say something he would swear was witty or cool, because he was Adam the Dick Master and he was entirely both of those things. But his train of thought was derailed most effectively as you moved sideways and he suddenly found your head resting in his lap.

He was, for once in existence, speechless and just stared at you for a good few moments with wide eyes, as if trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, and with far more deliberation than that brain of his was really normally capable of, he spoke carefully, "Babe? You alright?"

"Shut up and be my pillow," you mumbled, your eyes closed. God he could be noisy and you just wanted to rest.

God knew when He made Adam He'd made the comfiest living pillow. The robe was a nice plus, it was soft and silky, but honestly you were usually just as happy to just lay your head straight into those squishy thighs. He wasn't bony in any way whatsoever, a plus in your book, and he was usually pretty warm on top of that. All together 10/10, would recommend as a cushion if you happened to have a long day or just wanted a good nap.

You didn't need to look up to know he was pouting; he hated it when you told him to shut up but after multiple discussions about the fact you meant it with love and not contempt, he had eventually gotten that. But he still pouted, because he was still Adam. You listened to him grumble and you thought up caught some choice words but whatever they were were pointless and quickly lost.

He started playing with your hair after all and that wasn't playing fair. Your head in your favorite lap, your idiot favorite angel playing with your hair? It was a combination you were absolutely powerless against and he knew it damnit. That was probably the point, his little revenge against you.

"Fine fine, I'll be your pillow, bitch, but you better be ready for payback later." That wasn't much of a threat; Adam's idea of "payback" when it came to you usually came down to doing the things God put him on Earth to do in the first place.

You mumbled but couldn't do much more than that. It was just too much. You nodded off and Heaven's most annoying angel watched you with a smile that could only be described as "how the hell did Adam learn to look soft".

Answer: that's what being wanted and loved does to someone. Yes even him.

[mafesti]

In sickness and in health, remember?

Pairing(s): John Price x GN! Reader

Summary: Your husband gets sick and he doesn't want to admit it. Luckily, you're there to help him, even though he's being stubborn about it.

Word Count: 5158

Warning(s): None, pure fluff

A/N: I'm sorry if it's bad or short, or anything else in the matter :( I'm still new to this fan fiction stuff (as in my first blown one-shot that I didn't abandon), and English isn't my first language too. But please enjoy! I'm sorry once again if there's potentially any other fanfics like this, I have no means to copy them. 🫶

⋆ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

You and your dear husband, John, have been married together for 4 years, and it has been a truly beautiful relationship for both of you. Although you have always noticed that John tends to get sick from time to time, especially when he's getting older (don't say that to him though, or he'll be terribly mad at you).

But this time was different.

You noticed that he was hiding something from you, most likely because he didn't want to worry you (even though you were already worried and soon-to-be developing a mild heart attack for him whenever he was out for deployment anyways).

You walked into your shared room, deciding not to knock, just this once. Noticing your presence, he looks up from his stack of never ending paperwork that was on his table.

"Love, what did I say to you about knocking?" He tried to answer you in his typical, gruff voice, but you knew him well enough to notice a hint of exhaustion behind those words.

His face was pale, and his breath seemed shallow. You could tell something was wrong.

"John, are you alright?" You ask with a frown on your face.

"No, I'm perfectly fine!" he said, refusing to admit anything. "I'm just a little tired, that's all," he added, hoping you'd let it go.

But you knew him too well even before marriage, and you knew something was seriously wrong with him.

"No, John, you look like you're about to pass out. You look sick since when? Yesterday? You're way beyond 'just tired," you argued back.

"I'm fine, really, it's nothing serious at all!" he tried to convince you, but you were having none of it.

"John, you're pale and sweating, and you've potentially got a fever. You're not 'fine."

He huffed a bit, but then admitted, "Alright, maybe I am a little under the weather, but it's really nothing serious. Just a small cold, nothing I can't deal with."

You let out a very desperate sigh (which shows your current condition with Price) while shaking your head. 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯. You thought to yourself. You got behind him and placed your hands on his shoulder, and he immediately got the memo of what you were going to do.

"Sweetheart, you really don't have to.." He sighed, but you ignored him. You began massaging his shoulders, pressing the knots out while chastising him.

"John, c'mon, let's not pretend this is a small cold." You chastised him gently.

He lets out a groan and gave in into the soothing feeling, dropping everything that he was doing earlier. 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰�� 𝘣𝘢𝘥. He thought with a small sigh leaving his lips.

"Okay, okay.. maybe you're right." He admitted. "But I'll just lie down for a bit and I'll be as good as new."

You knew it was for the best, even if he was being stubborn and tried to protest. You led him over to the bed, helping him lie down as he gave a few soft murmurs of thanks. You checked his temperature, which came up at 39-40 degrees celcius, a moderate grade fever.

"See," You showed him the thermometer.

"It's clear you're way beyond this 'small cold' you've been claiming," you scolded him with a satisfied look on your face after you've proved him wrong. He muttered something under his breath, but eventually conceded that he needed some rest.

You carefully drape the blanket over his chest, making sure to keep him warm and comfortable. You left him alone for a bit and came back with a bucket of water with a small towel in it. You then took the damp towel and gently placed it on his forehead, trying to lower his fever as much as possible.

"Now rest, and let me get some soup for you," you instructed him. He grumbled something yet again, but finally nodded and did as you said.

You did as you promised, returning to the kitchen shortly after to make a soup that would be sure to help his recovery. You also added some hot tea with honey and lemon juice, a classic remedy for whenever someone is sick.

You returned to the bedroom with the soup and tea on a tray. Seeing the tray full of supposedly filled medicine, John slowly sat up and leaned his back to the headboard, getting into a comfortable position. You made sure John kept drinking and eating it, and when he was done you put the tray on the nightstand beside the bed.

Slowly but surely, his fever dropped and his color returned. After a short while, he began to fall asleep from exhaustion.

You were just about to head out of the room, but John gently grabbed your wrist with the last ounce of strength he had left, mumbling a quiet "Stay."

Even though you knew he needed his rest, your heart melted at the way he held your wrist so gently. For a moment you hesitated, but if it meant him getting the rest he needed, you'll happily stay with him till' he gets better.

"I'll be right back, love," you whispered softly, giving his hand one last lingering squeeze.

You closed the curtain and turned off the lights, creating a comfortable and low-lit atmosphere. Then you gently climbed into bed with him, finding a cozy spot and wrapping a blanket around the two of you. You leaned close to him, nuzzling against his shoulder and pulling him into you, feeling his presence and feeling comfortable and safe.

Finally, you both closed your eyes and rested as you slowly fell asleep together.

[kiyoumie]

featuring: kuroo tetsurou.

note: why is this so specific help (sorry if its bad lmao)

fiancé!kuroo proposed to you romantically. he opened the red velvetly box while kneeling on the gritty sand with the waves resonates in the background. it was night time as well, he set up some candles to make it romantic. he took you to the beach you both always go to when summer came.

fiancé!kuroo bought a new house for the two of you early. you were baffled when kuroo told you to choose a design for the new house. it was so fast, literally two days after the proposal. you guys discussed how the house will be arranged while giggling about scenarios that would happen to the both of you in the new place. hell, the house was made in less than 6 months

fiancé!kuroo took you to a special date a week after the proposal. he said that the date is to celebrate of you saying "yes" to his proposal. you shook your head at his idea, but accepted anyways. who doesn't want to spend with their love of their life whilst eating free food?

fiancé!kuroo peppered you with kisses as you explained on what you guys should do about the venue. god, he said yes to everything you said. down bad i must say.

fiancé!kuroo is so polite. he went to your parents' house and his voice turned soft. he made dinner with the help of your mom, helping the single details. hell, your parents are swooned by your man.

fiancé!kuroo was nervous when he saw the whole altar being built. he thought whether he'll say the vows correctly, will he stumble? he gulped, but then he took a glance of you, maybe he'll do just fine.

fiancé!kuroo cried in the dressing room just before his wedding. you could see drops of tears on his attire. yaku had to stop him from crying even worse saying that he's making the stylist's life harder. the said woman just chuckled.

fiancé!kuroo almost teared up when he saw you in the long, flowy, white dress. fuck, you were so pretty right there.

fiancé!kuroo is definitely glad that he married you. it's the same for you, you're very thankful that he chose you.

fiancé!kuroo is the happiest. he has a pet cat, live in this big modern house he bought, and what's he's most content about is that he gets to experience his happy ever after with you.

[shiningstarr15]

Nothing too grand, just a doodle I did while waiting for my therapy session today

Thought we could all use the comfort today 💛

[kate-the1975]

Here’s a lil look at all the exciting things I have stocked up in the drafts.

Once I actually have a break from work I’ll post them 😭😭

[switch-writer]

i request some law hcs because i say so👹

Trafalgar D. Water Law Tickle Headcanons

A/N: Thank you both to my bestie and lovely anon for the request, BECAUSE I LOVE THIS FELLA. Law honestly is a very ominous character until he meets Luffy, so honestly, I love seeing him go from horrifying to goofy and panicked when Luffy is around. BUT THANK YOU. I have a lot of fun writing for him, and though it took awhile to get around to this, I appreciate the request. This is a little warm up since I’m about to finally write my squealing Santa fic at some point, but I’ll quit rambling! Thank you for the patience, and last of all. Enjoy!

• Out of the gate, Law is a man who prefers to tickle than to get tickled, mostly because his reactions are very silly when tickled and it ruins some of his image. But despite this, he gets tickled more than he tickles.

• When he does tickle someone (mostly Luffy) it’s out of retaliation usually due to the strawhats.

• His fingers are very fast and accurate, so any spot that maybe sensitive, he will find and he will make sure there isn’t any secret place where it tickles all the more

• He will smirk the smuggest smirk in the world whenever he tickles someone.

• “You know, doctor’s usually have the occasional sensitive patient, but you certainly are a exception.”

• He’ll occasionally tickle Bepo by rubbing his belly, and because of this, it became a habit. So sometimes when Luffy leans or lays nearby, he’ll mindlessly tickle him on his belly or somewhere else.

• That being said, if he wants revenge on someone, he’ll simply call out ‘room!’ And then he’ll be behind someone tickling them because he isn’t gonna let someone get away with tickling the surgeon of death.

• He over all is gentle.. unless provoked. Then he’ll go for any spot necessary and tickle it. Sweet spots and all. All in good fun however.

• He’ll usually stop once someone learns their lesson, then smirk as he watches whoever he tickled giggle before calming down. Although, he’ll occasionally pat their back or sit with them as they relax.

• As for the other side of things, he will be very defensive and flustered, asking what in the world whoever is tickling him is doing.

• This is a Habit he’s had since he was with Corazon, there was a occasion where Corazon would tease him by tickling him and Law would get defensive and pouty as a child. But that’d always be his first question.

• He’ll often try and bat at the hands tickling him, but in most cases, Luffy is tickling him and he finds it difficult to actually catch his hands.

• His laugh usually starts as a snicker, but he has a over all quiet, soft laugh, but a warming one. He does however have a hearty laugh when someone gets a weak spot.

• After the tickling stops, he will have a wobbly smile on his face for a minute, probably some light blush too. The smile goes away faster than the blush however since he tries to straight up fast for the sake of appearances.

• His legs will also kick a fair amount, which is probably also a habit from never getting tickled much since he was a child, so he just… reacts completely like how he would as a child.

• Law finds someone tracing his tattoo designs relaxing over all, but he’ll occasionally let snickers out because it’ll slightly tickle. Nothing too bad, just a snicker and a squirm.

• His weak/worst spot is just his torso as a whole, but especially around his belly and ribs, but at that point his sides share the same weakness. However, a honorable mention is his back.

• Traffy will often gasp when someone touches somewhere like his ribs and stare as if they just offended him to his core.

• But to end it off, unless there’s trust and he’s comfortable, you’ll have a hard time getting him to humor it. Sly when tickling, a little more bashful and stubborn when tickled.

• However, if it’s a close friend or a lover, or even someone like family (Corazon), he’ll… humor it. Maybe even enjoy it at times.

Hope you enjoyed!

[cowgurrrl]

Kiwi

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: as I was writing this, I proclaimed in the most southern accent, “now we’re cookin’ with peanut oil!” so do that with that

Summary: Joel goes home for a month. You stay in California to work. What could possibly go wrong? [3.8k]

Warnings: HEAVILY implied casting couch culture, brief allusion to creepy Hollywood producers, yearning, I can’t think of anything else!!

Boarding my flight now.

Thanks for letting me know?

Well, I texted my mama to let her know, and she told me to text "that girlfriend of mine."

Doesn't sound like she's a huge fan.

She'll live.

You like the message and go to put your phone away when it buzzes again.

Is it weird that I kinda miss talking to you?

You smile and ignore your name being called over the intercom for another beat.

There are a lot of weird things about you, Joel Miller, but that one feels the most normal.

Text me when you land in Austin. Tell your mom I said hi.

You tuck your phone away, fighting the stupid smile on your face, and look up to see a pissed-off PA walking towards you. You apologize and half jog to the sound stage where Ryan is waiting. 

"The perfect punctual queen is late for once? Is the world going to shit?" He asks, and you slap his arm.

"People are allowed to be late."

"Does your lateness have anything to do with your boy toy?"

"Are you ever gonna call him by his name?" You ask. He senses that you're stalling his question and take a deep breath. "Joel is flying home to Texas today to visit family and get some work done. He'll be gone for a month."

"Oh, how will you ever survive?" He pouts, and you give him a look. The director calling for places stops you from responding, but you threaten him with the promise of picking up the conversation later. 

You don't ever get to tell him off for suggesting that you can't live without Joel being in the same state because of how late shooting goes. It might've been exhaustion, but you swore that you saw the sun starting to rise over the horizon by the time you finally got to leave. You knocked out a good chunk of the scenes you were still working on, which is great news, but you were mentally and physically drained. You slept most of the next day and missed Joel's messages from one whole time zone away. 

Landed.

Jesus Christ, I forgot how hot it is here.

My mama told me to ask you if you go to church since she doesn't believe me.

Attached: Two photos

You laugh as you sleepily scroll through his texts when you wake up mid-afternoon, feeling a little bit better from your long night. One of the pictures he sent is of him sitting in the cab of an old truck with the caption, "This was my first car. I can't convince my dad to sell the damn thing." The second is a blurry photo of a blue-looking weed on the side of the road surrounded by what looks like thousands of other blue weeds. "Turns out the state flower will literally grow anywhere besides in a pot in my house."

A) I'm glad you made it in safely. B) Isn't Texas the armpit of the South? C) I don't go to church, and I never have, but please feel free to lie to her. D) I can imagine a young, emo Joel Miller driving it now.

He reads your messages almost as soon as they deliver, and your screen lights up with his initials as he calls you. You yawn as you pick up and hear chatter in the background of wherever he is.

"First of all," he starts in a determined tone. "Texas ain't the armpit of the South. That's South Carolina." He says. He hasn't even been in Texas for forty-eight hours, and his accent is already thick again.

"My mistake," you laugh. "Did you have another point, or was that it?"

"Second of all, why d'you sound so tired?"

"Obviously, I was out partying with strange men all night."

"Really?" He asks, and you scoff.

"No, Joel. Filming went really late yesterday. I don't think I got home until six this morning."

"Sounds intense." 

"Not as intense as being interrogated by your mother," you say, and he hums. You hear someone laughing in the background and relish in the joy that you're not there to witness. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and you wonder if the line dropped, but when you pull the phone away from your face, you see the call is still active. "You really miss me so much that you called me just to sit on the line?"

"Maybe I did." He says. You take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. He's two hours ahead. The sun must be setting by now, casting gorgeous rays onto his skin and making his eyes look amber. You wonder what Texas air does to Joel's soul. Maybe it soothes him like only an old baby blanket can. Maybe it makes him jumpy, like he's waiting for a clap of thunder that never comes. Maybe it makes him wonder why he left in the first place. You wish you could be there to read his expression and try to decipher what he's thinking. Someone calls Joel's name in the background, and you hear him shuffle with the phone, probably covering the microphone with his hand because the voices become muffled. When the phone comes back to his ear, he takes a deep breath, and you do the same. "I gotta go. Can I call you tomorrow?" He asks. 

"I'm counting on it, Miller." You say, and he laughs before mumbling a good night and hanging up the phone. 

After that, it becomes a habit for Joel to call you every day from Texas. He'll tell you different stories about his parents, how Austin has changed since he left, and update you on how the newest album is coming. He listens to you rant about work, how tired you are, and how frustrated you always get toward the end of a project. Sometimes the conversations last ten minutes, and sometimes they last hours. One night, you fell asleep on the phone with him because he was trying to get your opinion on a new song, but you had spent the day filming the scene of your character giving birth, which was tiring in its own right. He doesn't chide you for it. He just sends you a goodnight text and promises to call you the following night.

You hate to admit it, but production speeds up with Joel out of town. You end up wrapping your scenes a week early while Ryan still has another couple of days of filming his scenes. You'll probably get called back in for reshoots in a few months, but you feel really good about the work you put out there, and you finally get the chance to rest before Melanie sends you more scripts to read over. You send Joel a photo of your open laptop and a glass of wine next to it as the California sun sets over your balcony. 

Wrap parties are looking different as I get older.

Don't worry. I'm sure you'll still be a drunk, no matter how old.

Asshole.

Lashing out is the first sign of a bigger problem. I think I should call Melanie.

You laugh and search for the middle finger emoji when he sends you another text.

Paul got me on the list for some charity event this Saturday. Want to come with me? He said it'd probably be better to get some more dates in sooner rather than later.

The reminder that this is all fake shifts your entire mood. Of course, it's always lingering in your mind, but the texting didn't feel fake. The late-night calls didn't feel fake. He didn't feel fake. In fact, this is the first time you feel like you have a sliver of an idea as to who Joel Miller actually is when he isn't selling out world tours and recording platinum albums. It's stupid for you to feel this way. You have no reason to. No right. You take a deep breath and type out a message.

Sure.

On Friday, you drive to the airport to pick Joel up, creating an over-the-top scene of you running and jumping into his arms. His hat falls off his head and onto the ground as he catches you and kisses you sweetly. When he sets you back on the ground, he doesn't let you go right away. He lingers in your arms, and even though your feelings are still hurt and you're still trying to remind yourself that this is all fake, you let him. He smells like a detergent you don't recognize, but underneath that, you catch a whiff of the cologne he always wears. You rub his back as you hold him in the middle of the airport. 

"'S really good to see your face," he says into your neck, and you nod. 

"You too."

As you drive him home, he brings you up to speed on how the album is coming along and how different Texas was when he was there. You tell him about the last few days on set and an upcoming press junket in New York City. He lights up when you tell him the dates as you maneuver through LA traffic.

"I'm scheduled to go to New York to work with my sound mixer that same time. He's got his own studio out there now and knows more about it than I do," he says. "Maybe we can fly together? Make it look like a couple's trip?"

"Sure," you say. He furrows his eyebrows at your lack of excitement, and you scramble for something else to talk about. "How are your parents?" You ask. The rest of the ride to his house goes off without a hitch, and he kisses you again as he gets out of the car, both of you highly aware of the car full of paparazzi that's been tailing you since you left the airport. He promises to pick you up at five the following night, and you just nod. When you get home, you walk calmly into your house, lock the door, and scream.

Joel's hand is in yours as you wait for your turn to walk the carpet. You're not sure why there's a red carpet at a charity event, but you're not about to throw a fit about it. Joel is wearing a sleek black suit, and you're matching with a long black dress. It's a low-cut backless dress, and a sparkly necklace your stylist picked out rests against your sternum. Joel taps your hand, and you look at him.

"You okay?" He asks. He looks worried as he steps between you and the wall of photographers waiting for you to stand and pose perfectly for their photos. "You've been quiet the past few days."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I think I'm still recovering from that last week of filming." 

"Are you sure you're not gettin' sick?" He asks, raising his other hand to your cheeks like he's checking your temperature. You smile half-heartedly and swat his hand away.

"I'm sure," you say. He tries to say more, but someone with a clipboard gets your attention and asks if you're ready. You nod and step onto the carpet, holding Joel's hand. The press erupts into a cloud of noise, startling you and making Joel laugh. You slap his chest and plaster on your rehearsed smile. You do your best to look where all the photographers are yelling at you to look and try different poses so they can get what they need. Everyone has to make a living, you suppose. You just wish their salary wasn't at the expense of your privacy. 

You get halfway down the carpet, taking pictures as a couple and some solo shots, before one of the photographers yells a new command. "Can we get a kiss?" He shouts. You pretend not to hear him and show off how the dress dips down your back, hugging you in all the right places. Still, the photographer is demanding a kiss, and now others have joined in too. It feels very "dance, monkey, dance," but you do your best to grit your teeth and smile. You catch Joel staring at you when you turn. It could be the flashing bulbs of cameras or how he's looking at you, but his eyes are sparkling, and the creases in the corners make you melt just a little. 

You hold out your hand for him to join you, which he happily obliges, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close enough for him to kiss your temple. "You alright?" He asks against your skin as you rest a hand on his chest and look up at him. You nod and glance between his eyes and his lips. The chorus of people practically begging for a picture of you two kissing is growing, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"You gonna keep them waiting, or are you gonna kiss me?" You ask, the playful lilt reserved for him returning to your voice. He gives you a look and smirks before leaning down a pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Everyone ooh's and aw's at you two, but you only care about how fast his heartbeat is against your palm. You want to blame it on the anxiety of walking the carpet and having people scream at you to do whatever they want. No, you have to blame it on that. There's no other option.

When you finally get inside, Joel gets you a glass of wine and a mixed drink for himself. The event is sweet and goes by quickly as you listen to people talk about something they're so passionate about. You decide to donate some money under an anonymous name once you are all excused to the reception, where there's food, more alcohol, and dancing. Joel leaves your side to catch up with some musician buddies, kissing your cheek before disappearing into the crowd. 

You nurse your wine as people you've never met start conversations with you. They're all polite and ask about your newest project, how LA's been treating you, and what's up next for you. You can't reveal much due to the NDA you signed at the beginning of shooting, but you tell them how excited you are for them to be able to see it and admit you've got some auditions lined up in the coming weeks. You've probably given the same answers to a handful of different people when you realize you're out of wine and Joel is still missing. You scan the room for him, but you can't find him. That's fine, you think. It's not like he's obligated to stick to my side at all times. He can have his own life.

You sigh as you belly up to the bar and order another glass of wine. You almost make it a double when someone taps your arm, making you turn. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you look exquisite tonight. I just thought you should know," ultra-famous producer Richard Pike tells you. You blink at him, your brain struggling to catch up with the fact that one of the men who's made the most award-winning films in the past twenty years just noticed you. "I know everyone has probably told you that tonight, but-"

"Oh, no. Thank you. I'm sorry. I was just a little starstruck right then," you apologize before holding your hand out to introduce yourself. He takes your hand and kisses the top of it. It's very dramatic, but this is Hollywood we're talking about. Your glass of wine arrives, and he pays the bartender before you can even reach for your purse. 

"Women as gorgeous as you should never have to pay for a drink. Ever." He says, and you laugh.

"I mean, I won't argue with you on that," you say, taking your glass in your hand to clink it against his glass of scotch. "Thank you, Mr. Pike."

"Please, call me Richard," he insists. "You just finished another movie, didn't you? You're a very busy girl."

"Yes, sir. I'm already looking for new projects to audition for." 

"Oh, I remember when I had actors audition. See, that was before I started writing roles for specific actors. Some people call that crude or playing favorites, but it hasn't failed me yet." 

"No, sir, it hasn't."

"So formal! Yes, sir! No, sir! Are you like this with everyone?" He asks as he takes a big swig of his drink.

"Just people who can cast me," you say. You're partially joking, but it's enough for him. He laughs, and his hand lands perfectly on your exposed back as he cackles loudly. You force yourself to laugh along with him and suddenly get that sinking feeling in your chest. Everybody seems to strategically look away from you two at the bar, and you want to be anywhere but here. 

"You know, I've seen a few of your movies," he says, getting close to your face like he's telling you a secret. "I think you've got a lot of potential. With just a little coaching and one great role," his hand dips lower down your back, and you freeze. Ice water runs through your veins, and everything is screaming at you to run away, but your heels stay planted against the expensive hardwood. "We'll make an Oscar winner of you yet."

"Excuse me," a familiar drawl says behind you. You both turn and make eye contact with Joel. "May I steal my girlfriend for a dance? I promised her one on the way over." He asks, but he's already wrapping an arm around your waist, ready to pull you away. The hand on your back disappears and claps Joel on the shoulder.

"Of course! You take good care of this one!"

"Yes, sir," Joel says as he pulls you to the dance floor. Your heart is still beating in your throat, and you feel like you could cry, but Joel's looking at you with such kindness. You find safety in him as you wrap your arms around his neck and slowly sway with him, the soft material of his dress shirt calming you down. He waits until Pike is out of earshot to lean down to talk in your ear. "Now, I know you don't need me savin' you like that. Are you sure you're okay?" 

"He's one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He could tank my career in a single email. You want to be the one to yell at him?" You ask. "If I said or did something, he would've doubled down, but he respects you more. He backed off because, in his mind, I belong to you."

"How do you know?"

"I've dealt with people like him before. They're all the same old men who think they can offer you a legacy on a silver platter if you fuck them. I've gotten enough advice from other actors to know how to handle them. Let them get touchy but find an out before it can go too far. Stroke their egos so they feel good about themselves. Basically, do whatever to keep you and your career safe."

"I thought stuff like that didn't happen anymore."

"You and everyone else in the world. Things don't just magically change because one guy goes to jail." You sigh. 

"I'm sorry," he says, and you shake your head. 

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It was one of the first things people told me when I started. They said it was something I might just have to… endure but that the weight would get easier to carry. One actress even told me that it was the price we have to pay because everyone wants to be us," you chuckle. He doesn't interrupt you; he just stares at you with apologetic eyes like he would take this burden from you if he could. You almost believe him. "I don't think that's true. I think most people would hand this lifestyle in the second it got too real."

"What would you do if you weren't an actor?" He asks, and you shrug.

"I always thought about being a teacher. Sure, the pay is shit, and the work is thankless, but kids are our future, you know? There's something really special about shaping young minds."

"Sounds nice."

"What about you? What would you do if you weren't doing this?"

"Probably something with my hands. I worked as a mechanic for a while, and I really liked that. I liked how it was a big puzzle that needed to get sorted out and fixed up."

"Why'd you stop?" You ask. 

"I needed to grow up. My dad owned a contracting company, so I worked with him until I saved up enough to record my first album. And that was that."

"It's crazy how we fought so hard to get to where we are, and now that we're here, it's..." You trail off, trying to figure out what you want to say.

"Terrifying?" He suggests, and you nod. "Yeah, I'm terrified every second of every day."

"You don't act like it." 

"I don't act like a lot of things that I should," he says. He stares at you so intently that the rest of the world fades away. You don't hear the song die down or the applause erupt around you as the band takes a bow. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You know how crazed it is. He wets his lips before stepping back and trailing his eyes down your dress and back up to your face like he's taking you in for the first time. "You really do look beautiful tonight." You swallow around the lump in your throat and smooth your hands down your dress, suddenly self-conscious. 

"Thank you." You mumble. 

Pictures of you two kissing on the carpet and dancing inside are circulating online before you even leave the event. You wake up to a huge batch of texts— one from your mom, two from Joel, six from Ryan, and one from Melanie about your trip to New York that you barely read. You would've stayed in bed wallowing in your own bad luck if there wasn't a sharp knock on your door. You groan the whole way down the stairs like it will help you greet whoever has decided to show up at your house at eight in the morning, but nobody's there when you open the door. 

Instead, a bouquet of flowers in a lovely vase sits on your mat with a note sticking out. You glance down your street and barely catch a delivery truck turning down the block. You carefully take the flowers into your kitchen before plucking the note between the petals. 

Pretty flowers for a pretty girl - JM 

(PS bought these of my own volition)

"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath as you think about his lips on yours, his soft shirt, and his stupid fucking, "I don't act like a lot of things I should."

[miscellaneoussmp]

I'm normal, I swear! (<- a lie of the highest degree). I have some fluff ideas I'll write soon. Anyways, here's Mike trying to watch through static (cw/tw: implied/referenced mental health issues and referenced drug use):

It's the cold or some Federation bullshit that's keeping Mike out of his side of the link between him and Pac. He's tried to reach out more than once, but nothing has come of it. He wonders if Pac has done the same. He hopes that's the case. What he manages to get from the link is full of static. Like watching an old television that only just barely gets any signal.

It had been a while, or at least Mike thinks it's been a while before he gets something through the static. Forever is acting weird, off almost. He presses his palms into his eyes, for a gentle pressure, hoping it would make the image clearer in his head. Mike is caught off guard by what he could make out of a too wide smile and pure white suit. He doesn't understand. He can feel Pac's anxiety mixed with the static. Though, it's an oddly welcome feeling. Pac's anxiety already felt like static because of his attempts to keep it away from their link. He tries his best to reach out. It doesn't work. He loses what little he could see. It's all static now. It's cold.

Pac's anxiety has always felt like static to him. Sometimes, it's barely noticeable background noise. Other times, it feels like an electric shock. Mike has to calm his own breathing down. He doesn't have the energy. The question becomes how close is he to absolute zero, where all motion stops? All he can feel is pinpricks of cold numbing his extremities and the electric shock of his other half's anxiety. Mike closes his eyes again, hoping to see something through the static. What he sees is Pac leaving a note for Cellbit. That's not a good sign. Mike tries to reach out for Pac. It doesn't work. It's back to pure static. He gets closer to absolute zero.

The next time anything appears in the static, Mike's stomach drops. In Pac's hand are two white pills. The pills are familiar in the most awful way possible. He knows the recipe to those pills. He knows the effects won't be good. Oh, and suddenly, it hits him. The Federation must have given Forever, and now Pac, the pills. He tries again to reach out for Pac. It was more of a pull, trying to yank him away. Pac pauses for only a moment, but only a moment. Mike can taste the pills on his own tongue, plastic, and the artificial cherry-grape-strawberry of children's cough medicine. Pac swallows, and Mike loses to the static again. He can't do anything about it.

Everything is great, perfect even. That's all Mike gets now, though the static. He doesn't want to look. He doesn't want the visual to the emotions he gets through the static. The high of the pills and hysteria induced borderline panic attack is an unpleasant combination through the static. He can only imagine Pac feeling it at full force. Mike has to keep his breathing slow and shallow if he wants to survive. It's cold, freezing, and close to absolute zero.

[alexsoenomel]

Hugs (Sam Winchester x Reader drabble)

Sammy’s hugs were more powerful than you thought. His hugs kept you sane and in place whenever you’d felt like the world was falling apart (which in most cases it was). The best thing was, he was always there when you needed one. He would rest his head on top of yours while you would bury your face in his chest feeling the warmth through his flannel. Sometimes he would even place a light kiss on your forehead. He was comforting, plus hugs from him were the best because he was so tall and full of love that needed to be shown. 

[malulurivers]

To the Wind | Link x Reader

Word count: 3.1k Summary: you've long travelled with Link. now having a small rest between travelling and aiding Hyrule, you find yourself facing a vast expanse—of questions, and the possible future. the hero speaks so little, so many things go unsaid. but is it right that they do? Warnings: unnecessarily flowery description? none

AN: this is an old piece i had lying around that i always meant to fix up a lil bit and i finally have! it's not really what i'd write for here (i did it more as a writing exercise years ago, so it's a bit... dense lmao) but i still think it's quite cute! {Gender Neutral reader} Link does talk, but only rarely (if i was to write this now, i would write him signing as i much prefer that interpretation!)

☾ ₊ ˚ ✩ ˚ ｡ ☽

the rain had long passed but the two of you remained huddled beneath the stone canopy of an overhang you’d found. the evening was cool, the clouds slowly clearing to reveal a dusk sky adorned with stars. the moon was peeking above the lanterns of a stable below in the valley, and though it promised warmth, you knew you were heading in the opposite direction.

relishing in the peace and quiet, you leant back on your cloak, which was sprawled upon the ground to offer a protective layer against the cold stone and the odd crumpled leaf.

the small orchard across the path bristled in hushed tones, melding with the crackle of the campfire by your feet. their crimson leaves shivered in the night, knowing that there was no relief for them. as a shimmering trail cut through their branches high in the darkness beyond, you couldn’t help but grin. 

“hey, did you see that?” you asked quietly, not looking over to him. you’d been travelling for so long together alone, that there was never any other person you could be talking to. despite the odd occurrences that led up to your strange companionship—things you perhaps regret but would not change for the world—the two of you made a seamless team, and an inseparable one at that.

you’d forgotten to count how many days your time together was supposedly overdue moons ago; caught up in the excitement and awe of visiting new places and meeting new people. as well as facing monsters so gruesome your nightmares could never have festered them. even now, you didn’t even consider beginning to trace it all back, despite the lull in the pace of your travels. 

after he remained still in the corner of your eye, you glanced over as you spoke louder this time. “there was a shooting star! not too far from here i bet…”

your words gradually became quieter again. of course he had heard you. 

Link was without a doubt shorter than you, by quite a bit too: you could lean on his head with a slight stretch and you knew that from playful experience. but he wasn’t small—he never appeared to be. 

whether it be how he charged into battle, a force to be reckoned with. how he glowed when he cooked, and practically cackled when he soared into the air on a fiery updraft of his own making. or how he rose to any challenge put before him, clambered up cliffs for absolutely no reason other than because he could, or how his eyes would glint so mischievously to the point that you wouldn’t dare turn your back to him, lest he spring chuchu jelly on you again. Link was never small. 

and yet here he was, eyes glazed over as he stared into the glowing embers, gold dancing across his face and casting his hunched form partially into pure shadow. his rough hands were pressed into the pebbles and dirt by the wooden pyre and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was a more accurate descriptor than you first thought. 

despite how long you had spent in his company, you hadn’t heard his voice anywhere near as much as people thought you had. they would ask you in fake-sweet tones what he sounded like, how much he actually spoke, why he withheld his voice from them, as if there was something malicious in his silence. you never spared them your time and at most offered them an underhanded comment before following after him.

and so it remained that Link rarely spoke, and you did much of the talking for him. you didn’t expect him to speak, and never wished him to, and he seemed relieved by this. but as you felt an unfamiliar pang in your chest, you began to wonder if there could be an exception.

there was a lot of weight on his shoulders—not only the fate of the kingdom and its future, but the past as well. there were an awful lot of words on those lips that were never spoken. the thought of the sheer weight of them worried you, and carrying them around without respite even more so. but you reminded yourself that the two of you were inevitably different. perhaps that’s why you worked so well together. although, it remained that talking problems out wouldn’t help him in the same way as it helped you.

frowning for a moment, you had an idea and shuffled across to sit on the edge of his cloak. he didn’t register your movement, so you carefully placed your hand on his shoulder. 

Link snapped out of his stare, eyes meeting yours before the air that had been caught up in his chest slowly left him. he was trying to be subtle—you knew that before he offered that small smile he always used to cover stuff up—but you didn’t mention it. 

“back in Hateno, when i was younger… my mother used to help me cope with my worries and fears, even though she didn’t know what to do,” you began, avoiding his gaze to look at his dirty cheek. there you met the familiar sight of the scar levied across his jaw.

you always found yourself gravitating to the lines of his past, now light and melded with his skin near perfectly; so many were invisible until his cheeks reddened in the cold or he stayed out in the sun for too long. you could never work out what drew you to them. whether it was astonishment, in how they were etches of a century ago, trapped in the skin of a living being. or if it was curiosity, to know every detail he was willing to spare, even if they were morbid.

whatever the reason, you ignored it and pushed yourself to look him in the eye once more. 

“what she did wasn’t… well, I haven��t done it in a long while, but… then again I haven’t needed it.” you smiled at him warmly, knowing full well he was the reason why. “and now that I think about it, it might help you.”

his gaze softened. he nodded silently, and watched intently while he waited for you to show him what you meant. 

shifting behind him, you subtly admired his form. he was sat up straighter now, no longer as still as a corpse, instead poking the fire with a half-charred stick. you readjusted your weight on your knees as you spotted a hole beginning to form by the collar of his tunic. you poked it absentmindedly, signalling to him its presence, before attempting to draw your fingers up to his hair.

at that moment, apprehension rushed through to your stomach and brought your hands to a halt. 

you questioned yourself then, as you studied your weak hands. why would you stop? it wasn’t like you were strangers, far from it. you’d helped adjust his straps and bags numerous times before to save time in the desert. he’d untangled you from your own clothing mishaps when the storm whipped your cloak round your legs, and chased after your hat flung far off in the distance. you’d washed his clothes and he’d washed yours, and upon so many mornings had you awoken to yourself swaddled into his side after the night grew too cold and the fire had cooled.

and yet, nerves began to ripple through your stomach, like the pulses of butterfly wings, at the idea of touching his hair. of running your fingers through it, seeing it loose. somehow, this was different, and you couldn’t put your finger on as to why. 

Link turned to look at you, his head tilting. knowing well what that gesture meant, you chuckled sheepishly. 

“oh, yeah, i’m fine, sorry. nostalgia, that’s all.”

he looked away from you again, nodding knowingly whilst he became focused on his hands. he began rubbing the dirt off his fingers, and with his distracted attention you took the opportunity to recompose yourself. with a brief sigh, you pushed through the apprehension while it was off-guard, and gently pulled the cerulean ribbon out from his hair. the dirty blond tresses hardly caught the wind once they were freed, retaining their tied back shape. too long of a time spent in bonds, you reasoned, and the knots between your fingers seconded that as you gently combed through his hair. you tried to catch a glimpse of his reaction by placing the tie on his knee, though to little success. he was looking beyond into the valley so you would have no trouble, but it meant that whatever he was thinking was an utter mystery to you. delicately threading your fingertips past his ears, you finally spoke up.

“my mother, when i was worried, used to sit me on her lap and get me to think about everything i was upset about. and while i did, she would weave a plait in my hair.” you took a lock of his and split it into three. “it would only ever be small, and we would just sit in silence as she wove.” you followed your own words, beginning to entwine the strands sitting in your palms, paying extra care to not accidentally tug. “when she reached the end, however, she never tied it, and just left it open. and then she would say, it’s all to the wind now.

"the first time she did it, she didn’t explain what she meant, and i didn’t work it out until later that day, when i pushed my hair out of my face one windy afternoon and found it missing,” you chuckled. “the wind had pulled the plait apart naturally without me noticing, just as it was supposed to do. it was supposed to take your fears away with it, though i never felt that it did—i found ranting to Ivee much more helpful personally, which is… hardly surprising.” you waited for him to laugh at that, but your quip was met with silence. you leant round with a faltering grin to see if he was just smiling too, but you found you couldn’t lean quite far enough to see properly with his hair in your hands. all you could note was that his eyes were closed. 

diffused, you continued nonetheless, “she often said things like that. Like, the wind would fix it all, and you just had to wait as the… that patience was the purest trial of them all and… other things that didn’t make a lot of sense. i’ll admit, it never got rid of my worries, but i did always find it soothing.” you pulled a final weave into the plait, your laugh fading into a small smile. “so, maybe it’ll help you.” 

tracing your fingertips carefully over the rises and falls of the new braid, you waited for him to respond.

in the silence your mind wandered, and with every hush of the breeze your thoughts grew louder. Link remained still, offering neither a shake of his head or hum of disapproval. no longer preoccupied, you peered round to see what was wrong, only to find his eyes still closed. his hands were still in his lap, the twig discarded by his knee, while his breathing was steady. 

“Link?” you whispered, amused by how he’d seemingly managed to doze off sitting upright—it would be a first! Though before you could place your hand on his shoulder his eyes flickered open. You barely got the chance to be startled because of the way he was looking at you. And because of how close you were to him. 

“sorry,” you stuttered, suddenly unable to look away from the bright dawn sky of his eyes. you tried to ignore the comments suddenly fluttering about in your head, and the one word they orbited. “i thought you’d fallen asleep, i didn’t mean…” 

he was drowsy, but he smiled nonetheless. it’s ok, you recognised. 

it most certainly isn’t, you thought, the voice in your head flustered. you’d never felt this hazy before, this giddiness in your chest. not when just looking upon someone's face. 

you were about to make an excuse so you could move back to your side of the campsite and catch your breath when he looked back to the valley, frown sweeping across the horizon’s mountains to where that star had fallen. and to your surprise, he spoke. “did you make a wish?”

you thought about it for a few seconds, unable to remember if you had or hadn’t. it had only been a few minutes since you’d seen it arc across the sky, yet it felt like hours had passed since then. “no… no, i didn’t. i guess… i’m not sure what to wish for. there’s so much in the world that it’s hard to choose. greater good, personal regrets, revenge, mercy…” you paused for a second once he had nodded in understanding. “did you?”

“no,” he answered. his lips remained parted as if he wanted to continue, but after a few moments they returned to a sad smile, his eyes dropping back down to the ground.

the crackling of the fire became the only sound to be heard once again as you watched him from the corner of your eye. he picked up the stick and poked at the silvering wood. still knelt behind him, you were thankful he couldn’t see your face. you struggled to hide your emotions, at least with him, and you were aware that your expression was likely one of blatant concern. yet there was little that could be done. there was a reason why he wasn’t talking about it, and it wasn’t tough to work it out. 

in that moment, you felt a wave of powerlessness wash over you. your heart was no longer racing, and instead ached. your limbs felt like they were laden with iron.

the weight that he bore was not something that you could bear with him. there were no words you could offer that would make the absence formed of what little he could remember cut any less deep. your arrow could not pierce the Calamity’s brow, and you could not wield the blade that could. after all that you had accomplished together, it was nothing in comparison to what he faced.

you swallowed thickly, finally pulling your hand away. slipping off your knees, you wrapped your arms around his waist and let your head rest against his shoulder. 

“i’m sorry, Link,” you murmured, voice weak.

you didn’t dare look up when you felt him turn to you. whether it was a quizzical stare or a blush you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. and you were right to think so, because as soon as he leant his head against yours you felt your heart pick up tenfold. you didn’t want to think how he must feel it racing against his back. 

“you shouldn’t be sorry,” he explained quietly, his thumb coming to trace across your wrist, “you’re here. just like the others.” 

the wind picked up and you felt the light dim across your closed eyes as it played with the fire. you tried to commit his voice to memory, gather words and phrases to try and describe what it sounded like, to yourself. just in case the wilds finally did creep back to collect what they once gained and now had lost. there was always that innate fear that gnawed at the very base of your stomach, those ‘what if's' of catastrophe. “i’ll always be here,” you insisted, clutching onto him just that little bit tighter, “no matter how far we go.”

the cool of the night began to seep further into your campsite, the fire beginning to dwindle at the will of the weather, and Link made no effort to rekindle it.

you could see why you had shifted towards him in your sleep these recent nights; he was so warm to the touch, his strength a blanket of security as he cradled you. you did so again now, still holding him as if he was your only shelter. in some ways he was. you almost had the thought to wonder why you hadn’t done this sooner, but you knew exactly why. 

as tiredness began to seep into your eyes, Link shifted. he tapped your hand to gain your attention, and you quickly unwrapped your arms. however, before you could apologise and make your way back to your cloak, he held onto your fingers.

“stay.”

his expression was forlorn, but hopeful. there was a tension in his jaw as he waited for you to say something. his other hand gripped at his knee. 

you didn’t want to leave him hanging but there was a problem with your breath being hitched in your throat. his fingertips were rough against yours, yet still so gentle. they sought your palm, following the lines that were etched into your skin. the lines of fate, as fortune tellers called them. and yours were alight with warmth, now. 

you slowly exhaled as he’d done earlier, trying to be subtle. if he noticed he didn’t show it, simply offering a flicker of a smile. it reminded you of the ones he gave you when he asked for a favour, to be the one to grab the apples off the tree or track down the cuccos yet again. however, this time his favour was quiet, so much so that he didn’t want to ask for it. his grip on your hand could barely be called that, his fingers were so flighty and ready to pull away at any moment.

but he had asked, despite everything. 

silently, you let him guide you back down to earth, into his lap. and there, you curled up in his arms. he leant against your bags as a makeshift pillow, and then pressed you gently into his chest, as close as he could get you. the chill of the wind could no longer reach you, as you were under his protection now. but he was also under yours.

finally, he relaxed, resting his chin on your head. his heartbeat thrummed by your ear, gradually slowing, beat by beat, until it was a soothing rhythm; one of near sleep. the crickets’ chorus began to outsing the crackle of the flames, with darkness having now fully fallen across Hyrule, you spoke up for the final time that night. “goodnight, Link. sleep well." your voice was barely above a whisper, and spoken into his tunic so that you weren’t sure he would hear you. but the hand nestled in your own squeezed your fingers.

a gust of wind blew the remaining flames out, and as shadow engulfed the camp your eyes fell shut, the heartbeat of the hero soothing you to sleep. and with the fire lost, the brightest light upon Hyrule became a fallen star, glowing upon the mountainside above.

☾ ₊ ˚ ✩ ˚ ｡ ☽

masterlist | buy me a hot chocolate <3