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[jollyrogerparrysound]

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[taoriyu]

Let's stay like that [Mizu x Reader]

============= Rating: E Pairing: Mizu x F!Reader Warnings: explicit 100% nsfw content under the cut; also mb awkward nsfw content idk Description: you and Mizu were going to train but things were escalated quickly bc you are a cute when angry short sweet bun.

To be honest I hesitated about this fic and rewrote it couple of times. It feels like something isn't there yet. But anyway who cares right? Let's go.

=============

Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting a dappled mosaic of light and shadow upon the forest floor. A heavy, concentrated scent of pines weighed down the air, as if the trees themselves were closing in on the surroundings. In the distance, you heard the soothing sounds of a nearby stream. Mizu's athletic form seemed to merge with the shifting shadows as she faced you, her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. With practiced grace, she swept her hair into a samurai bun, standing tall, preparing for the duel.

You both exchanged bows, as your father had taught you. This was how a new type of conversation should begin, he had said. One that spoke through actions and unspoken thoughts instead of words. Assuming a stance, you held your wakizashi slightly raised, its tip directed toward your opponent, poised for defense. You studied Mizu, attempting to discern her intentions. If I charge recklessly, she'll cut me down, you thought. I must wait for her move. But instead of attacking you right away, she moved to the side, pulling you both in circling motion.

Mizu's voice was a low, resonant hum that echoed through the clearing as she teased, "Do you need me to kneel down to make it a fair fight?" You couldn't help but frown, though a smirk threatened to form at the corners of your lips. This mixture of annoyance and laugh was exactly what Mizu aimed for. She’s pretty when she’s angry, Mizu thought, settling into her fighting stance.

In the serene isolation of the forest glade, Mizu and you squared off, the anticipation crackling in the air. Mizu, her katana gleaming in the dappled sunlight, moved with fluid precision, her every step a testament to years of disciplined training. You faced her with a wakizashi, its shorter blade a contrast to Mizu’s blade, demanding swifter, more agile movements. The duel commenced with a swift and silent motion; Mizu's katana arced gracefully through the air, the swing a blend of power and elegance. You dodged and parried an immediate second strike, the clash of steel ringing loudly in the quiet peace of the forest.

With a smirk playing on your lips, you parried Mizu’s teasing with a quip. "I may be vertically challenged," you began, your voice light yet edged with determination. Two swift slashes from Mizu’s katana whistled past, narrowly missing their mark. "But I can still kick your ass," you continued, diving under her extended arm with graceful agility. In a single fluid movement, you struck her side with the hilt of your wakizashi, feeling the satisfying impact reverberate through the metal.

You dodge out of the katana's deadly reach, swiftly getting back on your feet with a smirk. "See? That could have been the end for you," you tease, watching Mizu rubbing her side. The words lingering between you as you both readjusted your postures.

Mizu's wry smile showed she understood your point. "Maybe so, but my height granted me another skill" she begun as she placed her sword on the ground. “Swiftness“. In one powerful jump, she closed the gap between you and grabbed your waist, causing both of you to fall to the ground in a flurry of laughter. As you tumbled across the grass, playfully trying to gain control over each other, Mizu's genuine laughter mixed with yours in the warm summer air.

The two of you erupted into laughter, a harmonious symphony of heavy breaths and pure joy. Mizu watching from above with pride as she held both of your wrists in one hand. Your cheeks flushed with a familiar warmth, spreading like the sun rising across your entire body, as if your heart was being gently caressed. The sweet scent of Mizu's skin fills your nostrils, a mix of sea salt and sunshine that envelopes you in a sense of comfort and desire.

So close, you thought, forgetting how to breath, seeing all at once: her striking eyes more roundish then yours of ocean colour that your loved the most on sunny days, a gentle movement of her stranded hair caressing by breeze, a bird that took a flight from tree behind her, her lips, their shape with touch of recent laughter, her slightly raised eyebrows that added a touch of glitter to her shifting gaze that made your heart to flip, her lips again and yet it felt like you have never seen a thing that could move your heart more.

You took a breath and felt like Mizu shifted and press against your lower body, making an audible involuntary breath. The movement, unintended as it may have been, drew a hot sensation tugging low beneath your belly and a sweet low moan along with it.

And that was it. She leaned in closer, her lips parted slightly, drawing in a sharp breath before pressing against your own. Her mouth moved slowly, expertly, as she brushed her lips against your bottom lip and then sucked it in gently. Her thumb caressed your cheek, her eyes closed in pleasure. Suddenly you felt Mizu tense up and she swiftly broke away. You saw her heavy breathing, mouth agape, a sudden fear and regret inside your eyes. A flicker of uncertainty flashed in her eyes, opening a new shade that it seems was never there before for you: vulnerablety. A shadow of fear darkened their depths, reflecting the turmoil of her heart. They darted nervously, as if searching for reassurance.

She had already let go of your wrists and was about to leave, but you held onto her kosode tightly, knowing that if you let her go it would be a grave error. With a gentle touch, you caressed her face and brought your foreheads together. "Please," you whispered hoarsely, not wanting to let go of her. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, in disbelief. You leaned in closer to her, not quite kissing yet but gently brushing your lips against hers. "Stay," you whispered, your words mingling with her breath as you pulled her into another kiss. You felt the tension leaving her muscles with a deep breath.

With her hand on your cheek, she gently brought her tongue into your mouth for two measured strokes before pulling away to enter once again. And leave again. And again. You felt how this agonizingly slow kiss filled your mouth with moan and made your body ache. To touch, to rub, to lick, to kiss, to suck, to bite, to hold.

She reached for the waistband of your hakama, untangling and loosening it with skilled fingers. "Hang on," she whispered, moving you into a seated position with her behind you. Her fingers traced along the waistband, gliding down to your folds and softly caressing your most sensitive spot. A shiver coursed through your body as you let out a deep sigh.

Her finger traced along your folds, gently parting them and gathering your wetness. A satisfied chuckle escaped her lips as she playfully nibbled on your ear, before giving you a loving lick. Her fingers danced over your sweet, sensitive bud in rapid, gentle movements, sending delightful shivers throughout your body.

“You like that?“ she whispered into your ear, her warm breath causing you to let out a louder gasp as you grasped for her neck with eager hands, trying to find more leverage.

Her fingers danced in circles over your clit, igniting a fire that spread through your body with each touch. Your anticipation grew with each passing second as she pressed harder into each circle, sending through you sparks of arousal. You could feel yourself surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, unable to resist as she pushed you further and further into the depths of desire. Your legs opened wider in response to the intense sensations, as if you were falling into a bottomless pit of precious madness under her touch.

Your moans got quicker and louder with every stroke. “Fuck you sound so sweet” she growled into your ear as she picked up the pace, making you squirm and press against her skilled fingertips, unable to contain yourself any longer. She bit her lip moaning. Her fingers made a long stroke down and pressed against your entrance twice. She drives you wild, anticipating all sensations that you craved.

Your muscles tighten and quiver with anticipation as she sled inside her fingers, pressed them inside your walls just right there where exactly you wanted her. Your hands clutching at her neck and hip as you try to control the intense sensation coursing through you with every thrust. Each breath feels like fire in your lungs, and your moans escalate into near screams as desire consumes you. Until finally, with eyes shut tight, you reach your peak with loud cries of pleasure.

She eased her movements, each one creating a ripple of sensation that traveled through your body in continuous waves. Your muscles gradually relaxed as she held you close, kissing top of your head.

As your heart rate slowed down, you took a deep breath and confessed, "I believe I am in love with you, Mizu." Her smile widened and she seemed pleased to elicit these confession from you. Without hesitation, she replied with certainty, "I know I am in love with you," pressing a tender kiss on your neck.

“Why did you stop back there, while we were kissing?” you asked, fixing and adjusting your clothes.

"I've been in a similar situation before. Things seemed fine, or so I thought but then he rejected me and called me a monster. I thought…", she paused, “I was afraid that I was making the same mistake again.“

You took her hand, kissed the back of her palm and softly said, "You're not a monster, Mizu. You're brave and maybe angry, but with me you’re kind, and anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you." Drawing closer, you fully embraced Mizu's hug. "Do you want me to..." Your voice trailed off as your shyness took over before you could finish your thought.

"Not right now," Mizu chuckled, amused by your sudden bashfulness. "Let's just stay like that until Ringo finds us," she whispered, resting her chin on top of your head. "Being short does actually has its advantages. You fit perfectly," she smiled, feeling content and comforted embracing you.

[avocado-writing]

HI IT’S THE CHILLY ANON, first off thank you sm that fic/drabble was absolutely tasty, very delicious

secondly !! if requests are still open (I tried to scroll back on your page to double check) could I perhaps! Request another astarion x tav/reader that’s afraid of the dark ?

giving you big hugs and a glass of water ^^

notes: thank you anon I am slurping it down mwah xx if you like my work, please reblog!

words: 1.1k

rating: T

pairing: astarion x reader

He hates the Underdark. 

More than anything because it reminds him of his life before, chained into the shadows without the possibility of being free in the sun, and he hates the idea of returning to that voluntarily. But the group insisted that it was the safest path to the Shadowlands - and gods know that sounds like a barrel of laughs, too - so here he is. Trudging. 

The excursion itself was bad, with its exploding fungi and minotaurs charging from nowhere, but things got catastrophically worse when that damned Bulette had appeared. Astarion is never a fan of enemies he can’t keep an eye on at all times so that thing surfacing scared the un-life out of him, and when you called a retreat the damned group got carved into two halves: Shadowheart and Karlach headed one way, towards the wide open mushroom fields, and the two of you another - into the shadowed safety of a cave. 

And then there was a bloody rockfall. 

It closed you off from them, splitting the bloody party like fools. Both of you trapped in a tunnel, covered in dust and dirt and feeling incredibly stupid indeed.

Alone together. 

Luckily Shadowheart had used a Sending spell to let you know they were attempting to find a way out, but it might take a while. Looks like they’ll have to source some explosives from somewhere in order to clear the debris from the cavemouth. With little else to do, you stayed put.

So here the two of you are, waiting for your rescue to be sprung with no real idea of a timeline. Astarion has been pacing, complaining as loudly as he can about the situation and listening to the echo of his own gripes, but you’ve been oddly… still. Sat against the rocky wall with a torch gripped so tightly in your hands that it’s changing the colour of your knuckles. The torch which, now he comes to think of it, you haven’t let go of since you climbed down that ridiculous ladder into this wretched place.

“We should have risked the damned mountain pass is all I’m saying. A handful of githyanki are hardly the worst choice when you compare them to all this bloody… gloom. I mean gods, I’ve not seen the sun in two hundred years and now we are actively choosing to hide from it. What’s the point of this damned tadpole if I’m hundreds of feet beneath the earth?!”

“Can you not?” you say, voice so quiet he almost misses it. For a moment, Astarion pause, turning with his whole torso to look at you. He inspects you through narrowed eyes.

“You’re the one who led us down here,” he sniffs, as if this justifies his bitching.

“Yes, because the group voted. Everyone but the two of us and Lae’zel chose Underdark.”

Your eyes don’t meet his when you speak. They’re locked solidly on the flame in front of you, a flame which is beginning to dwindle. A gentle sheen of sweat has broken out on your face and Astarion doesn’t think it’s from your proximity to the heat.

You’re right. You didn’t want to come down here either. A couple of things click into place for him, and his eyebrows raise as Astarion uncovers a secret about you.

“Are you… are you afraid of the dark?”

“Fuck off, Astarion,” you sigh. This is totally unlike you. Usually you’re willing to parry his teasing with your own, engage in a little sharp-edged banter. It’s one of his favourite parts of the day, actually - when he can volley back and forth with you. But right now you simply lack your usual gumption. When he attunes his attention to it, Astarion wonders how he was so obtuse; he can taste the fear in your blood without a drop of it needing to hit his tongue, the way it courses round your body, flooding you with adrenaline.

He hesitates. Part of him wants to slip back into pettiness and attempt to goad you into an argument, at least that way maybe you’d be a bit distracted. But another, far larger part of him, a part which he knows is going to win out, wants to reach out in genuine kindness.

“Ignis,” he mutters under his breath, and a Firebolt appears in his hand, flooding the cave with light. He doesn’t launch it at anything, and the flame is hot and uncomfortable against his palm - but not enough for him to care when he sees how you let out a held breath at the sight of it. The cave is bathed in warm light which illuminates every crag and cranny, a couple of spiders skitter away into splinters in the rock, but you don’t seem to care - quite the opposite. This is the most relaxed he’s seen you in a while.

“Better?” he asks. You nod, grip finally loosening a little on your torch.

“Much better. Thank you, Astarion.”

He saunters over, back against the wall and sliding down the stone as carefully as he can. Your eyes soften in the light he casts. From this close, he can admire every inch of your face. It’s a nice face. He’d like to admire it more.

“Didn’t pin you as the type to be afraid of anything. Well, except for the whole possibly turning into a Mindflayer thing, but that’s a given,” he reasons. You groan in frustration.

“I know. It’s silly, really. I’ve hated it since I was little, and as I got older… well, it became less about the dark itself, and more what might be hiding in the dark,” you sigh. Astarion nods. It’s a simple but honest explanation. It seems that, around every corner in this damned place, there’s another beast waiting to jump out at you. He’s been surprised more times in the past few days than he’s been in his entire life. 

“Well, we’ll be out of here soon. Here,” he nods at the cave-in, “and here,” he gestures widely with his free hand, as if to indicate the Underdark itself.

“Yes. And into a place literally dubbed ‘the Shadowlands’.”

“Exactly!” he agrees, and then, “...oh. Right. Shit.”

His genuine reaction of regret makes you laugh, and he realises he hasn’t heard that in days, either. You let your head fall to the side until it lands softly onto his shoulder. Astarion is filled with warmth, and it isn’t just from the fire.

“If I was going to be stuck with anyone in here, I’m glad it’s you,” you mutter. He’s worried it would show too much of his heart to reflect the sentiment, so he just lays his cheek against your scalp, and waits for the others to find you.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling@wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdousnugget @somethingblu3 @hopeful-n-sad

[hotaru-no-yume]

loyalty to the raging tempest

CW: This contains spoilers from the new archon quest. Read at your own discretion.

"You can start a new life here if you want to."

The God of Wisdom's words echo in your mind as you watch your Lord's unmoving figure on the hospital bed. You saw his fall, from the proud and cruel harbinger to a lifeless puppet who had its heart taken away. With Scaramouche's defeat and the Fatui branding you a traitor for refusing to return with the Doctor, you had nowhere else to go… until the Dendro Archon offered you sanctuary in her region.

"Gravedigger… You will regret this." The Doctor spits with the promise of your death.

"I'm sure the matra would be willing to take you in. Creating a final resting place for the dead is also necessary." In contrast, the Dendro Archon's kindness promised protection.

She was right. Under her watchful gaze, no one will be able to lay a hand on you in Sumeru. You can leave everything behind; even the pitiful puppet in front of you. Truthfully, Scaramouche was an awful person. No one in the Fatui liked him and your colleagues would often give you pitying looks once you got summoned to his side. You've lost count of how many times you were punished for not following his orders perfectly.

But still, for some reason, you can't leave him alone. Perhaps it's because of the way he looked at you when you first met. The look of recognition, fury, and something else. You remember him looming over you, staring at your dirt-covered body - the result of digging tirelessly in the cold mornings of Snezhnaya, all in an effort to create a tomb for a soldier you hardly know. Once you lock eyes, you see a raging tempest and you wonder what he's seeing when he looks at you.

"Pitiful. What's with that look in your eyes? Are you merely a doll who knows nothing more than to roll around in the dirt? Perhaps I should call you a rat."

You nod, but that seemed to make him angrier. As insulting as his words are, you really don't know anything else. In a distant memory, you see the blurry faces of your mother and father, hear their whispers of your duties and how it is important to create a final resting place, you remember the old shovel they handed you before you dug your first grave and the sight of their backs as they left for a mission and never returned.

You feel his attack before you see it. Your vision glows and you parry the blade of electro he sends towards you. You get thrown back, and you feel the air get knocked out of your lungs as you slam into a tree.

"...Good. It seems you're not entirely hopeless."

You stand up on shaky legs, tensing as he steps closer and closer. He scoffs as you raise your weapon defensively. He probably thought fighting you was mere child's play.

"Work under me. I'm sure I can find some use for a little rat like you."

And he did find some use for you. Before you knew it, you became his right hand… or maybe "errand runner" was a better description for your job. "The Balladeer's Servant", others would whisper behind your back as they see you tailing the Harbinger's figure. You were at his beck and call and usually the one that bears the brunt of his anger (or as you like to call it in your head - his temper tantrums.) It was exhausting work; trying to keep up with his demands.

But sometimes, you would see the eye of the storm. He was calm in those times, his voice losing the sharp edge it always seemed to have - like a storm temporarily diminishing into a gentle, soothing rain.

"What are you looking at? …The cherry trees?"

He hums, tipping his hat up as he stares at the lush pink trees, not minding the rain of petals falling on him due to the strong gust of wind. You think that he looks very beautiful.

"I don't need anything. Just stay there and don't make a sound."

You watch him collapse in pain after enduring the Doctor's experiments. Regardless of his protests, you help him get settled on his bed. You silently question why he doesn't see himself as a human. After all, he feels pain and suffering, just like everyone else.

Your current situation reminded you of those quiet nights with only the candle light to keep you company. But instead of seeing your Lord's eyes open the next day, he's been asleep for more than two months. Just as you think he's never going to wake up, he stirs from his slumber one morning, jolting you awake.

"...My Lord?" You call, making his pretty eyes focus on you.

"You're still here?" He mutters in disbelief, like he expected you to be gone from his side.

"Why wouldn't I be? I pledged loyalty to you, didn't I?"

Your honest words stun him into silence. He narrows his eyes, looking for a lie, a hint of deception and desire for personal gain.

He finds none. Just an honest fool that he picked up from the dirt littered with flowers and concrete.

"Idiot."

.

.

.

"̵͉̐̈́S̷͍̜̓c̶̱͎̈ặ̸̪̕r̴͚͎̉̍ă̵̤m̴̻̃̀ö̴̤̣́̈́u̷͍̙̽c̷͓̘͠h̷͈̟̉̀ė̸̗"̷͚͍͒̚ ̶̲̈ǎ̸̲͋ń̶͖̥̐d̷͉̒ ̴̤͍͗̀"̸̬̳̈K̴̤̤͝ả̵̰̈͜b̶̦̱͝u̶͖͚͋ķ̷͆̀ì̵̦̙̓m̸͓̥̑ô̸̠̥͝ṉ̴̦̀͆o̶͖̘͑́"̵̟͂ ̸͖̆̀ͅw̷͕͆̊ǐ̶̺̮l̷̦͋̅l̴͔̹̈́ ̴̫͗̾ç̵̖͋́ẽ̶̯̺ả̸͎̒ş̴̪͒e̶̳̼̍ ̵͍̱̿t̸̬̍̀ọ̸̩̒̍ ̶̻̯̿̚e̷̤̎̚x̵̼͗ì̷͉͈s̴̯̈̈t̸̡̻́.̸̬̏

.

.

.

"Do you… do you remember him?"

A floating fairy that carried the scent of stars asked you as she gestured to the man in blue. Four pairs of eyes stare at you in anticipation as you gaze at the man with a frown. He crosses his arms as he waits for your answer. You weren't expecting this strange turn of events at all. Your life was finally becoming peaceful under the kindness of the Dendro Archon. She gave you a home and a place to work. You needed nothing more. And yet, you feel like things are about to go upside down again with the presence of this strange man.

"I'm sorry. I don't know him." You said. Their gazes turn uneasy and the man in blue's neutral expression breaks for a moment.

"...But I feel like I should." You added, stepping forward to get a closer look. Not expecting the close proximity, he flinches and moves back, as if electrocuted.

"How dare-!"

"What's your name?" You ask, not paying attention to the spark of anger and embarrassment that appeared in his eyes.

"...Give me one." He says with a sigh.

"Pardon?" Did this familiar stranger really ask you to name him?

"How fascinating…" The Dendro Archon mumbles, placing a hand on her chin as she regards you with curious eyes. "Their memories were definitely erased… but somehow, the connection you formed with them was so strong that it resisted the data deletion process. There is a saying that the heart and mind are two separate things. In this case, the mind may have forgotten, but the feeling is still there. It seems you've garnered someone's loyalty regardless of your lack of divinity."

"...I suppose that's enough." The man in blue looks away, tipping his hat over his eyes.

"Well? Have you thought of a name yet?" He addresses you and you find yourself at the center of attention once again. They were actually serious about naming him…

"How about…"

The man in blue closes his eyes. You think you see the corner of his lips twitch upwards into a small smile.

[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 ˊˎ -

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You walk as calmly as you can through the narrow alley, not daring to lift your eyes from where they look straight ahead of you and glance towards the rooftops that cast darkness over you, the silvery moonlight gleaming just ahead as the streight leads to the main road. This place is out of sight of the sparse public that might wander past at this time of night, your vision is limited in the darkness it provides and there’s ample opportunity for an overhead ambush. 

All of this puts you at every disadvantage, perhaps, but that’s exactly what you want the man tailing you to think. You keep your eyes straight because Assassins like rooftops. They provide coverage and blindspots, hidden in plain sight as most people simply don’t find themselves looking up with their eyes to the sky as they go about their day and all the tasks that come with it. It’s precisely why you’ll always find an Assassin stalking you from above and never from upon your own level. 

In short, you’re baiting the Assassin above you who has gone to so much care to silence his footsteps and conceal his shadow from your sight. But you’re a Templar. You’re trained to know your enemy. You spotted him not long ago, lingering around a crowd outside an inn, trying to blend in. But your purpose for going out at all today has been to bait him, those are your orders. 

Your ears are kept vigilant for the sound of something small flying through the air and in a moment's notice, you lunge forward to dodge the rope dart that had been aimed at you. There’s a hissed curse and you draw your sword as the Assassin makes his leap down to you, using a ledge of a windowsill garden to lessen his fall. He stands tall in front of you now, white beaked hood up and hiding his face. His hidden blade shoots out as he parries your offensive blow with his gauntlet. 

You’re still not entirely sure what material it is that Assassins make their gauntlets from. Your mentor Haytham has one and he claims that it’s an alloy from a precursor civilization but when your higher-ups start talking like that, you sometimes begin to wonder if you’ve really overstepped your depth as an ex-mercenary and have accidentally joined a cult. 

Regardless, the Assassin stands tall before you now. He is Achilles’ new novice, so you’ve been told. The only member of his ranks as your mentor has told you of how a companion of his wiped out the last generation of Assassins here in the colonies, thus giving your Order ample room to plant its roots. Though you have no name nor face to put to this companion of Haytham’s as he is always very quick to change the subject or to remind you to not speak out of line whenever your curiosity gets the better of you and you start to press for details of this mysterious person’s identity if only to create an image in your mind for all of this information that you are given. 

His free hand takes out a tomahawk and you’re put on defence. You take a step back but make sure to stay in the alley and out of the public space. The last thing you want is nearby law enforcement or civilians to get involved. But the clashing of metal upon metal rings out in the otherwise quiet night. 

He fights cleanly using his sheer strength and towering figure which puts you at a disadvantage. His technique is curated to be quick and efficient but your style often depends on your agility, stamina and tiring out your enemy. You’ve already laid such a foundation by baiting him to follow you from the rooftops – a much more strenuous journey than the one you had taken upon the ground. But there was something to how he was swinging at you with his tomahawk, movements tight to not allow you to get too far, a passion to his every strike and parry. 

You know when you’re outmatched and so you’re now put on defence and wondering what could have happened between intel and being given your orders that could have possibly allowed you to go about this mission alone instead of preparing a sort of ambush in order to put an end to this lone Assassin that has been terrorising the Order once and for all. 

Had you let the higher-ups flatter you over your skills into thinking you were truly capable of this task they had set upon you? Regardless, you’re in this now and your only priority has suddenly become making it out of here alive. You take a risk and do a rescan of your surroundings, looking for anything that might be of aid to you in order to give you just a slither of an opportunity of getting away. But you remain aware of your enemy’s every move, knowing that even a momentary slip up can be the cause of your untimely demise.

But the Assassin trying to cut you down is just as trained as you are – if not more so – and this subtle scrambling of yours does not go unnoticed by his keen, dark eyes. 

“Out of your depth, Templar?” He asks in his smooth and rich tone. 

“You wish I were.” You bite back and manage to take swift steps backwards, enough for you to assess that the risk of lowering your sword in exchange for the gun at your hip is worth it in order to try and create a window for escape. You take aim but don’t fire. You should be firing. You should be killing this man. 

Why did they send you on this mission alone? 

It’s all you can think to yourself as your finger hovers over the trigger. The Assassin knows he’s done for if your finger so much as twitches now and yet he freezes, seeing your hesitation. The two of you are brought to a standstill with you aiming your gun at the Assassin’s head and yet your finger hovers over the trigger, refusing to squeeze. He has no opportunity to strike you down at this moment as in a fraction of a second, hesitation can become a killing blow. 

Your eyes narrow slightly as you repeat that question to yourself: why did they send you on this mission alone? This Assassin is clearly far more skilled than you are and even baiting him here after a journey that should have tired you out has not made a dent in his stamina. He’s been cutting down British soldiers and Templars alike, chipping away at the order for reasons not yet known to you other than the simple explanation of ‘we are Templars, he an Assassin’. Why did you believe your higher-ups when they told you that you could handle this solo mission? Have they sent you here as an execution and if so: why? 

“Why do they want you to kill me?” You murmur. The question is asked aloud and yet you’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself. This seems to make even the Assassin pause in puzzlement. If they want you dead then what are they doing now? Are you merely a distraction? 

“That’s a good question indeed.” The toweringly tall Assassin raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and you slowly lower your gun but keep a good amount of distance between the two of you, each standing at either side of the narrow alley you had originally lured him into. You tap your toes against the ground as you ponder over questions again: is this a distraction or an execution? Either way you’re clearly expendable and it comes as a surprise to you because you were so sure you were in the Grandmaster’s good books. 

So what has changed to make Haytham use you as a sacrificial pawn in whatever game he’s playing here in the colonies? Neither of you are sure what to do now, having both arrived here late at night with intentions to kill the other. But now you see that the true plan behind all of this was for you to die all along. It’s enough to make Ratonhnhaké:ton stand down and wish to spare you. Someone is pulling the strings here and part of their plan includes your death. So what’s to happen when this plan is interrupted. 

“I won’t kill you today.” He speaks up after finally making up his mind following a few minutes of thick silence wherein you were both deep in thought, trying with your minds to uncover the obscurity of whatever the bigger picture is here. The best course of action is to disrupt the plans of whoever it is that’s painting it. “But when you fall it will be by my hand, Templar.” You shoot the man a glare where his eyes would be, concealed behind the shadow that the beak of his hood casts over his face in order to hide his identity. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Assassin.” You quip back but you hear him scoff as he puts his tomahawk away when you set your gun back into its holster. 

“You’re right. Your masters seem to be set on beating me to that.” You open your mouth to protest but he’s already making his way up the wall of one of the buildings you’re between and returning to the rooftops. You’re quick to exit the alley and get into the middle of the main street so that he doesn’t have an opportunity to assassinate you from above should he be bluffing or perhaps change his mind and deal with you now before you become a loose thread. But he doesn’t and you’re left standing in the middle of an empty street at night. 

Could you even go back to your quarters now? Perhaps they’ll use the failed mission as justification to finish you off themselves. You need somewhere to stay until you’ve figured out what’s going on and whether or not you’ve been betrayed by the Order that you had sworn your own loyalty to. But where to go? 

Your eyes rise up to the rooftops that the Assassin had disappeared over. You’ve been set up by the people who this man is set on killing. 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend…” You murmur to yourself as you spot a nearby ladder and use it to make your way up onto the same rooftop. It’s a risk you’re taking but it seems that every path available to you now has some degree of risk to it and so you’re left with no choice but to weigh your options and gamble. 

Your foot taps anxiously against the cobble beneath you as you consider your plan. If your Order seeks to erase you, it won’t even be safe to go back to your rented room and pack a bag of your belongings. It’s the first place they’ll go to look for you and with the network of spies Haytham has been building across the city, it won’t take long for word to get back to him that you’ve failed your mission. You won’t get far hiding either. All of your tricks, you’ve learned from your mentor and to try and hide would be to put yourself at a disadvantage by playing the game of the man who had so clearly intended to use you as a pawn in whatever grand scheme he’s hatching; not so long ago, you had thought you knew his plans but tonight has changed your course of events entirely. 

Into the belly of the best it is. 

You decide. Now up on the roof, you look with your second sight. It’s your upper hand and even Haytham has admitted that it was one of his greatest factors in considering you as an advantageous candidate for a Templar. The route he’s taken lights up gold and you begin to follow all the twists and turns he took that would have thrown off anyone else who might have been tiling him. Not you though. 

°:.   *₊    ° .   ☆ ☾　 °:.   *₊  ° . ° .•

You find yourself outside a manor upon a homestead. It wasn’t an easy journey by any means and you hadn’t expected him to have covered so much ground either. In the forest, you found yourself wishing you had stopped to hire a horse – you still had some money on you after all. You took a break twice, made a camp once after scouting out the area but you admittedly slept very lightly. You weren’t a wilderness girl and the anxiety of being found by a wolf or bear had kept you from falling into a truly restful sleep. 

And so you found yourself feeling both tired from a long way’s travel and a poor night’s rest during the small hours of the morning, all while heading right into the den of your enemy who, currently and ironically enough, seems to be your only possible ally. 

The manor standing tall in the clearing above you is built in typical colonial fashion with red bricks and white embellishments. Its large size makes use of the spacious land it is upon and your mind wanders back to the stories Haytham once shared with you about the Brotherhood that once lived and trained here. Looking at the size of the place, it’s easy to imagine so many people living here once upon a time and difficult to imagine that today it only houses the old Mentor and the one and only Assassin who still lives by their Creed here in the colonies. 

Though that’s only as much as your Order is aware of. You keep your wits about you, more than aware that you don’t know what you’re walking to, nor do you know how many potential foes reside within those four walls. You may very well be running from one death straight into another. 

But your options are slim and you’ve wagered that your odds are better here. Back with the Order, you’re a pawn that should have submissively been sacrificed. Here, you’re either a target to be taken out immediately or a valuable source of information. After all, you’ve been betrayed and they may consider that you have every reason to surrender all of the Order’s secrets that you possess. 

These are all just possibilities though and death remains a very likely outcome. 

You stand from an awkward distance on the treeline for a while. Surely you can’t just knock on the front door being who you are? Then again, if you take any other route, they might see it as an ambush and you’ll be in combat or even dead before you can open your mouth to explain your intentions. Despite every other instinct within you telling you to turn tail and run to the nearest harbour, to leave the region altogether on whatever boat you can get yourself aboard, you approach the front door. 

A shadow falls over you when you raise your fist to knock upon the door. He’s good at what he does, you’ll give him that. Immediately, you feel the warm, sharp edge of a blade resting against your throat. Warm and so it’s the hidden blade that the likes of him keep tucked up their sleeves, a blade like the one your mentor possessed. You’d always found it rather ironic that Haytham always stands so tall beside his principles and yet he fights with the enemy’s weapon. 

“Did you come here thinking you could finish the job and go crawling back to your master?” His voice speaks up from behind you. You raise both of your hands in the air in a sign of surrender, keeping them far away from your hips where your weapons are kept around your belt. He doesn’t hesitate in unbuckling it and removing it from your body and moments later, you hear it hit the floor some distance away where he’s thrown it. You’re not unarmed in enemy territory and you begin wondering if this really was the best plan of action after all. 

“I actually came with a proposal…” You begin slowly. You’re not entirely sure how to present yourself, your tone. Even you’re unsure if your own plan will work but you need to sound certain or else he may well believe you’re just here to trick him in which case he’ll kill you. 

You don’t need to turn around to know that he’s looming over you. You wonder sometimes how a man of his stature can blend into crowds and hide in plain sight the way Assassins are taught to. And yet he does and it’s truly a testament to his skill. 

“And what might this proposal be?” You swallow thickly. Your life depends on being able to convince him that you’re being honest, which he has every inclination to doubt considering your current standing as enemies.

“It’s been made clear that I’m seen as expendable, so I’d much rather prove just how essential I was. I have information: contacts, travel routes, locations of higher-ranking Templars. Whatever mission you’re on, I’ll speed it up by months, maybe even years.” You tilt your head back a little more, trying to ease the pressure when the blade presses more insistently at your skin. 

“And why should I believe you?” 

“Because I came here. Because I’ve got nowhere else to go at the moment and I’m risking you slashing my throat just for a chance to try and get out of this ordeal alive after what happened last night.” The blade leaves your neck but the threat is not removed as you then feel it poke at your back, spurring you forwards at a slow pace, hands still raised. 

“Step inside.” 

°:.   *₊    ° .   ☆ ☾　 °:.   *₊  ° . ° .•

Months later, you find yourself setting up camp in a familiar cave. These meetings have become familiar to you and nowadays this little cave feels like the safest place in the world. You’ve been working as a double agent for the past few months and being in the Order feels like having death loom over your shoulder all the time now. Being a Templar had once given you such a feeling of purpose and belonging, that you had a key, unshakable place in the world, that you were guiding it in a better direction. 

But the more you’ve been reporting back to Connor and the chats you have in between, the more you have to take a step back and ask yourself if you were being told a one-sided story the entire time. You haven’t set foot on Connor’s homestead since you first arrived and he had to send you back with a split lip, gashed jaw and sprained wrist to make it seem like you really had fought him and not conspired with him. That gash now remains as a scar across the lower part of your face. Each time you look in the mirror, it reminds you of your new mission as the Assassin’s spy. 

And each time, you pray that you’re doing the right thing. 

Your attention is grabbed by the sound of feet on dirt and you look towards the mouth of the cave where he stands tall now, moving to sit on the opposite side of your little fire so that he’s facing you. His gloves come off and he rubs his hands together near the open flames. His hood comes down to reveal a face strikingly like your mentor’s and you can’t believe that this man is now your only ally in the world and you can’t even be entirely sure of his loyalty. All you know is that you need to keep yourself indispensable in order to keep breath in your lungs and a heartbeat in your chest. 

He reaches into his bag and takes out a small, wrapped package. Scaled fish. They’re skewered and set over the fire to cook.

“Thank you.” You say stiffly. Interactions like this are still so unusual to you. He nods his head in a silent ‘you’re welcome’. 

“What’s new?” 

“Lee’s on the move.” His dark eyes quickly flick up to meet yours and you can see the deep interest in them. You haven’t asked why he’s after Lee specifically though it confuses you as you would have been sure he would go after Haytham; to cut the head of the snake, so to speak. But you’ve never asked because this vendetta seems deeply personal and you’re next to certain that he won’t open up to you about it. “They’re making preparations to receive him in Boston so whatever he’s come back with must be important… or they know that you’re after him. I’ve yet to find out which it is because I don’t have direct access to such information and I can’t put myself at risk if this is a red herring and they suspect something. But the moment I find out more I’ll tell you – but take everything with a pinch of salt.” 

He nods, deep in thought and you wonder what’s going through his head. You always worry that doubt will creep into his mind and will ultimately drive him to kill you. You can only hope that he’s instead thinking about exacting whatever revenge he has planned for Charles Lee. His thirst for revenge currently is what’s keeping you afloat. Without his vendetta, you’re worthless to him. 

“How have you been?” You’re not sure if you’re asking out of politeness or loneliness. Are you trying to keep in his good graces or are you seeking out the warmth of a friend, even if what’s between you isn’t really friendship? 

“Busy…” He sighs. “Your Order’s been on the move.” 

“I’ve heard about your meetings with Washington.” You bite your lip as you ponder your next question. It’s personal but a chance not taken is an opportunity missed. “You… You’re meeting with all these generals, men of influence and yet you work in the shadows. Do you truly have no wish for the world to remember your name? You really want to just vanish?” You had been drawn to the Templars partially by glory, by the chance of making a place in the world, a change where you and your fellow members of the Order would be revered for centuries to come. 

“I do not want to be remembered, no. Our creed states that we work in the dark to serve the light. This war will be lost to memory and I will do my part to make sure that it is the Assassins who bury any record of it.” Your first reaction is to think of him as ridiculous: he’s thrown any chance at a normal life away for a battle he will never be credited for. But it’s selfless. He has nothing to gain but what he believes in: no fame, no power, no glory. 

Maybe you really have been misled. 

The Templars had always preached peace but with that peace came the Order having ultimate power over humanity, domination over free will. You had once focused so heavily on how that absolute control would stop war, would stop suffering. But at what cost? It must be a great one for this man in front of you to be throwing any semblance of a normal life away for it. 

“Tell me more about your Creed.” He turns over the fish and glances up at you once again, meeting your curious eyes. You’re sitting down with your legs curled up to your chest, arms wrapped around them with your hin propped on your knees. This isn’t smalltalk or you digging for information, it’s genuine interest. He hadn’t missed your pondering look before, that glint of unsurety in your eyes. 

“Alright…”

°:.   *₊    ° .   ☆ ☾　 °:.   *₊  ° . ° .•

Weeks later and you meet again, having shared many more meetings in the meantime. You understand Ratonhnhaké:ton better now, you understand his creed. He seems different from his mentor that Haytham had told you about, so very different. He doesn’t meddle in the first civilisation that your mentor speaks of so frequently and you wonder if it’s for the best after the stories you had heard of while in the Order. Haytham speaks of them vaguely but you still have a comprehensive enough understanding. 

The more he speaks, the more you doubt your own order who wish to use these artefacts for their plans to shepard humanity towards its best self, the more you wonder if your superiors in the Order are just set on a path to repeat history. You’ve shared with him all the information you have now. You now feel like less of a double agent and more of a spy – having to give away anything about the Assassin you’ve come to secretly think of as a friend feels like a betrayal, even if it’s only for the sake of protecting your ulterior motives for having returned to the Order at all after that night you first encountered Rathonhnhaké:ton for yourself. 

He’s been more open with you too. Haytham is his father – something which both made sense, looking at his face, and shocked you, considering he is an Assassin and his father a Templar. Charles Lee, at Haytham’s command, had burned his village to the ground as a child, killing his mother. You empathise with that deeply. You had joined the Order knowing that you had no family of your own to lose should things get messy. It seems that the two of you are in the same boat for that one. 

Now, he’s picking out the bones from your fish while you prepare some water to boil over the fire. But time has moved on and winter draws near, bringing a chill into this little cave that feels like it’s become your one and only sanctuary in the world. You hold your open palms near the fire and try to chase away the chill but it does you very little good. 

Connor watches you for a moment before he removes his gloves and hands them to you. As he holds them out silently, those well-worn gloves appear like an olive branch to you. This really is for the best, you think. More and more, you’ve come to realise that you were misled by your Order. You were promised to be a harbinger, to be one of the names that would live on forever as a part of the order who had saved humanity. But you were a pawn all along. Even despite your special abilities, Haytham had been more than willing to sacrifice you for whatever gain. You might have a little more value in his eyes now that you’ve ‘proven’ you can take on the Assassin and get away with your life but you’ve seen your old mentor, you’ve heard how he talks of the first civilisation. He’ll stop at nothing and you’re more than sure that should he see another opportunity where your sacrifice and earn great gain for him and his plans, he’ll send you walking straight into the arms of death all over again. 

You take the gloves and slide them on over your hands. 

“Thank you.” You offer a smile but you hold back just how happy this small gesture makes you. They’re far too big but they’re soft and warm. They’re clearly broken in, the fingertips especially worn down from what you can only assume is all the climbing he does in stalking around with the stealth of his kind. But it’s the fact he’s given them to you at all that touches your heart. 

The two of you eat, drink, you share intel and it becomes late enough that you wrap yourself tightly in a thick blanket and curl up on your bedroll beside the campfire. The cave provides enough shelter to keep out the bitter wind but the temperature has still dropped drastically with the change of seasons. You sit up to wrap your blanket around your feet better and you find yourself wishing you had brought another pair of socks or, better yet, a warmer pair. You then lay back down, curled in on yourself to try and gather as much insulation as possible, and close your eyes to try and sleep. But the cold instead bites at your ears and so you pull your blanket up over the back of your head like a hood and shuffle a little closer to the fire so that your nose is warmed by the flame. 

You hear shuffling around you and crack an eye open to see that Rathonhnaké:ton has moved. He’s no longer laid on his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire but has instead moved it right next to yours behind where you’re curled up on your side. 

“I thought you’d be used to camping by now.” He murmurs and you can hear him lay down beside you, so close that you can feel the heat from his body. 

“Not during the winter, I’m not.” You mumble into your blanket which you’ve pulled up by your mouth so that your breath can warm your face. You feel the weight of his arm lay over your waist and he then presses his chest to your back. You can feel the warmth of his breath over your neck, heating the blanket that’s tucked over the back of your head. You stiffen for a moment, surprised by his willingness to be close to you. 

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and you lean into his warmth. How long has it been since anyone held you like this? It’s wonderful and overwhelming and suddenly there’s no more winter, nothing outside of this little cave where you’ve been setting up camp to meet for almost a year now. 

“Thank you…” You say quietly. Whether for the warmth, or the touch, or for the new path he’s opened to you that you’ve set your life upon now, you’re unsure. 

“There’s no need to thank me.” He replies just as quietly. The two of you lay there for a long time and your heart doesn’t slow, beating like a rabbit’s. He’s so close and you hadn’t expected such a thing to be so exhilarating. Rathonhnaké:ton is a toweringly tall man and you’ve always viewed it as an advantage for when he needs to intimidate. But now, you feel safer than you’ve known since that night of your first encounter when your illusion about the Knights Templar was shattered. 

After a while, you can’t take it anymore and you turn around just enough to be able to look at him over your shoulder. Your faces are very close and you can feel his breath fan across your lips. When you look to meet his eyes, he does the same as he had previously been looking at your mouth. 

“Feeling warmer?” He asks, his voice a rumbling murmur. You give the slightest little nod and your eyes very obviously glance at his pillowy lips again. You don’t try to hide it and nor does he miss it. You’re unsure which of you leans in first – perhaps it had been the both of you, little by little, while you were both preoccupied in imagining how it might be to press your lips to the other’s – but he’s warm and the touch of his lips against yours fills you with a bubbling heat. You turn your body to face him and he pulls you closer by your waist, thumb pressing into you through your clothes and stroking over your body while your lips press and meet again and again. One of your hands goes up to cup his face, feeling his chiselled jaw and cheekbones, then your fingers slide into his silken hair and tangle gently into it when your tongue slides against his. 

You pull away for air for a moment but it’s short lived as his teeth pull gently at your bottom lip and his mouth then grazes against your chin and traces the curve of your jaw in kisses. The cold that had previously bothered you is completely forgotten about and he tugs the collar of your layers of clothing aside so that he can kiss against the pulse of your throat. Your hands find his chest and press to try and feel the contours of his body through his clothing but all the buttons and straps get in your way. Your fingers start working to undo buttons before you realise how caught up you’ve got and you pull away for a moment. 

“Is this ok?” He gives a small nod and leans in to kiss you again as you remove his clothes. You leave his shirt and jackets open, revealing scarred, bronze skin to you. His body is shaped like an ancient statue of legendary heroes. You can’t help but take the opportunity to rove your palms over each contour and feel him in his beauty. 

His large hands slide down to your hips and pull you a little closer. To accommodate him, you move to straddle one of his muscular thighs. He lifts it just enough to press against you and feels a deep stirring below his belt when your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you let out a soft moan.

You had never imagined you would find yourself in this position with Rathonhnaké:ton and yet now that you’re here together, it feels so right. It feels like you really have grown close enough to be like this, like stars in their orbit being pulled to one another. His mouth is on yours again in an instant while he presses his thigh between your legs and he starts to pull at your belt to remove the clothing on your lower half. You help him by tugging off your boots between messy kisses. Once your pants are off and your lower half is bare, you shiver as the chill begins to creep over your bare skin. Connor simply pulls you closer and wraps the blanket firmly around your body while you straddle his lap, taking care to tuck it under your legs in an attempt to keep in as much warmth as possible. 

His fingers dance their way down to your mound where he can already feel the intense heat radiating from you. 

“Do you want to keep going?” He asks as his mouth moves to press wet kisses beneath your ear, breathing over the sensitive spot and making you shiver as a result. You nod your head and unintentionally let a needy sound slip past your lips. 

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s fingers glide through your slick folds and he lets out a little breath of wonder at the feeling of touching you in such an intimate place. Experimentally, he pushes one finger inside of you and watches how your spine arches and your body then bows to lean against him. He pushes it as far as he can go and begins moving it in and out. Letting your bodies take over, allowing words to become of little importance, you begin to grind your hips against his hand so that the heel of his palm catches your clit in a sensation that feels like a delicious burn. He adds another finger and you tug at his pants until his length, thick and heavy in your hand, is freed. You gently squeeze and hear how he sucks in a hiss through his teeth. You then begin to massage up and down, matching the pace of your hips moving to meet his fingers as they draw out soft, wet squelches from your pussy. You swipe over the slit at his tip with your thumb and hear how it makes him groan lowly. You glance down to see a little pool of your arousal gathering in the dip of his palm and decide that enough is enough.

You raise your hips up until his fingers slip out of you entirely. You then remove your hands from him and loop your arms loosely around his neck instead. He understands your intentions clearly and strokes himself a few times, covering his length in the slick from your pussy. You bring your hips back down and he guides himself into you. You’re quick to press your mouth to his in another messy kiss in order to muffle the moan you let out upon feeling the stretch of him pushing into you. You pause shakily along the way, deciding you can take all of him once you’re a little more adjusted, and start to ride. 

Connor’s large hands slide beneath your ass to grab at the soft flesh that spills between his fingers and he uses his hold to support you in moving up and down, holding a lot of your weight with his strength. As you continue to move your hips rhythmically, one of his hands leaves your rear in favour of pulling at the buttons and ties that keep your chest hidden. Once it’s revealed, he lets out an appreciative groan of approval and his mouth latches onto one of your breasts as he pulls you closer and you ride him. Your head tips back to the ceiling of the cave and you pant as the wind whistles outside, joining with the crackling of the fire, the shift of the fabric of your clothing and blanket and the slick sounds of his cock filling you up over and over. 

Ratonhnhaké:ton is big and consequently manages to hit all the right spots at once as he fills you again and again, your hips angled just right for him to brush against the places that have you curling your cold toes. His mouth slathers your breasts in kisses, pausing to nip or suck at your plush flesh and he works your blood into a feverish heat. The two of you pant for breath, moans and groans echoing off the stone walls. 

After a while, his arms wrap around your waist as he lays back, bringing him with you. He kisses you firmly as he brings his knees up and you almost feel the breath get knocked from your lungs when he begins thrusting up into you. You rest your head on his shoulder as he pounds up into your sensitive pussy and your sensitive, teased nipples brush against his chest as your body shakes and wavers with his movements. 

A pressure builds in your abdomen, growing tighter and more intense until your whole body is flooded in pleasure, walls squeezing tightly around his cock as though begging him to come with you. And you’re successful in sending him over the edge, hearing him moan, the whimper in his tone as he releases into you and holds you close as the two of you catch your breaths. 

But then the cold starts to kick in again. He carefully lifts you so that his softening cock slips out of your messy pussy. You watch as he searches his pockets and takes out a handkerchief which he begins to clean your inner thighs with. He looks to you as if asking if you’re comfortable with him looking after you like this but he finds your head tilted back, eyes closed as your legs twitch at having him touch your sensitive folds to clean you up. He helps you redress and dresses himself before helping you into his coat and throwing some more wood onto the fire, wrapping the blanket around the both of you again. 

Once more, you snuggle into his chest for warmth and neither of you are quite sure what to say, hoping the words will just come to you in the morning. 

Ratonhnhaké:ton presses a kiss to your forehead and holds you a little tighter as he closes his eyes, listening to his own pounding heart, the crackle of the fire and the whining wind outside. 

He decides to make sure that the Templars won’t ever have an opportunity to sacrifice your life again. 

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☄. *. ⋆ Tartarus Trips | Akihiko x Reader

Summary: Reader and Aki have been secretly seeing each other for a couple of weeks, however things get tense during a trip to Tartarus. Part 2

a/n: As you can tell by now i have the most unpredictable schedule ever, and the most random characters xd However, i hope you like this because the persona fandom needs way more fics!!

cw: make out sesh, reader risks their life for junpei, aki gets a lil mad, TENSIONN, secret relationship

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

“Enemy advantage!” Fuuka, spoke through her headset. The five of you, all forced into a circle by a mob of shadows. Your eyes immediately meeting his. Akihiko’s stare burned into your skull, trying to find signs of any injuries, whilst the rest of your team decided what move to make next.

“Junpei! On your left!” The navigator alerted your fellow teammate. Noticing the intimidating shadow about to ambush your classmate Junpei, you instinctively rushed to his side, parrying the incoming attack. Feeling the extreme force of the shadow’s strength, your legs gave out and you fell the floor, followed by someone calling your name…

You suddenly came back to reality, noticing your three other teammates dealing with the ambush. Akihiko was checking your body for any injuries. “Are you okay? I told you to stop making reckless decisions during surprise attacks! If you had stopped for one second, we might have had time to strategize before they attacked us again!” He continued on ranting as your head was pounding, the impact of the bash having an effect on your conscious. His face grew serious when your eyes locked on his, the intensity of his gaze melting yours into submission “…and do not ever let me catch you doing something so risky again… you hear me? You cannot handle yourself in this kind of fight, especially if you have to go against shadows when we’re already in a bad position” he finished. After taking in his intense expression, his gaze softened, but it still felt like he was piercing right through you.

“But i had to, Junpei would’ve gotten seriously hurt!” Your words were quiet and weak, unable to match Akihiko’s intensity, but he was quick to brush them aside. “…it’s not your job to protect him. He can take care of himself.” You could see the irritation seeping into his voice, clearly getting worked up about your recklessness “…you cant be using those kind of excuses! This situation is far more precarious than usual, and you know it, don’t you?” You nodded weakly. The pain in your head was growing, and you were beginning to feel lightheaded. Akihiko sighed, “We won’t be able to finish the mission if you faint”, his hands rested gently on your shoulder, pulling you to your feet. You held onto his hand for support as you stood, his grip tight yet gentle at the same time. His fingers interlocking with yours gave a warmth that you craved to feel. He didn’t say anything else, just lead you to a spot where the team couldnt see either of you.

After finding a comfortable place, he pulled away, kneeling down to your level as you did the same. Looking him straight in the eye, you whispered “I’m sorry, Aki”. He stared back at you with a softer look in his eye, you knew what kind of effect that nickname had on him. He didn’t reply, instead, he just brushed your hair behind your ear softly. A gesture that made you melt internally. You looked down. His hand lingering on your cheek “…just stay safe” he whispered. His eyes searching yours intently. As his thumb caressed your cheek. You wanted nothing more but pull him closer. He was too tempting. You could feel your lips quivering as your mind flashed images of him kissing you. The sound of him growling your name in your neck, making it hard to breathe as you desperately tried to keep up a stoic front while also relishing his soft lips against yours. The sensation made your stomach twist and your heart beat faster, it was becoming difficult to control your emotions. The boxer was looking at you expectantly, waiting for some sort of response, but you couldnt give him one. Instead, you closed your eyes, leaned forward until your faces were close enough that your breath mingled between your lips.

Your lips met his. It was gentle, tender, sweet. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled yourself as close as possible. He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as the seconds passed. Suddenly, your lips parted, and Akihiko pulled away, his eyes being a mixture of shock and lust as he gazed upon your face. His cheeks turned red with embarrassment “Ah… I…. Sorry, I got carried away” he muttered. You shook your head and grabbed him tightly in your arms, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you whispered,

“Don’t apologize”

He smiled lightly, leaning into your embrace “If you insist”, he said. “But are we really gonna do this here…in Tartarus? I mean what if the team-“ You quickly silenced him with another kiss, pulling away only slightly “It’s no big deal”, you reassured him “Plus, i wanna be alone with you for awhile”. You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before leaving a trail of kisses down his neck. His arms gripping your waist loosely as you continued kissing him, your fingertips grazing his skin as your bodies melted together. The warmth in his touch made you sigh in pleasure. You both needed this moment. But you knew it would never last. The mission would end sooner or later and both of you would need to leave before the others caught you here. But for now, you were content with staying. His arms tightened around your waist, as he kissed you more passionately, more desperately. You could feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, it matched your own. The two of you were lost in each other completely, you weren't even sure how long the kiss lasted until you heard the others around the corner.

You slowly pulled away, letting out a disappointed moan as your mouth touched his ear lobe once more. He looked at you, his grey eyes filled with slight anger, knowing he couldn’t continue further with you there. “Come to my room tonight.” He whispered into your ear, savouring every ounce of affection you gave him. You felt your knees weaken, your heart racing uncontrollably. He smirked. He knew he was getting to you. As much as you hated to admit it. And you werent going to stop him anytime soon. He stood back up, offering you a hand. “Now let’s get back to the others…” The two of you made your way back, Akihiko holding onto your hand for a moment. Your eyes locking with his for a split second before returning to the group.

To be continued (Part 2)

[the-fluff-piece]

Headcanon: how they react to you telling them "you can do anything you want with me tonight"

This turned into a sexy roleplay headcanon while I was writing but I am okay with that. Sanji, Zoro and Law get a wish what to do with you for a night. It stays safe for work I promise!

Feel free to expand on it if you feel inspired, tag me pls.

Xfem!reader

Like this one? Here's my headcanon masterlist

Zoro

As soon as the words leave your lips you kind of regret it. Zoros mouth twists into a lewd grin and his eye glints. "I'll make a list", he says and leaves you hanging for the rest of the day

The more urgent your questions get, the more wicked he grins. This was a bad idea.

When you two are alone, he leads you to his dojo. What happens next involves his favourite sake and his swords. Everything he likes in one place. You never actually train with him, he is far too advanced and far to bad a teacher. But he would love to fight you, one sword for each of you. He promises he won't hurt you, but he is really, really REALLY excited, it's a bit scary to see him pumped up like this. You know what he is capable of. He is only playing mit you, leaving you enough time to react to his strikes and get some in for him to parry. You soon realise that he is totally in control. When you don't manage to lift your sword to meet his, his blade stops inches from your skin with total precision. None of your strikes could ever touch him, but he seems to enjoy evading at the last second or holding his ground against you with ease. He is visibly getting more aroused with each exchange of strikes - until he finally ends it. He lets you charge one last time and throws his sword away. Moving out of your range to get you off balance and catching you in time before you fall. You see in his eyes that this is it and let your weapon fall to the ground as well...

Sanji

After a short period of realization what he had just been offered, his body kicks into overdrive and for the next ten minutes he will be a mumbling mess sprinting around the ship

When the first wave of absolute excitement subsides he is challenged to actually come up with something he always wanted to do. He is a little boy in a candy store.

Your room will be filled with flowers and the finest food Sanji could manage to get. It smells wonderful and as soon as you sit down, he will tell you his wishes for the night: to serve you in any way he can, the full program. You don't do anything. You get massages. He will get to stare at you all he wants. He won't even let you walk to the bed, he will carry you.

Law

Your generous offer leaves him a bit flustered. There are things he always wanted to do but never felt that he could bring it up. He ist still a bit nervous, but with the right preparation it might work. He'll need more time though.

Eventually you will find a slutty maid-style dress on your bed, a feather duster and a handwritten letter: "tonight, 8 p.m. in my study. Don't be late. Knock before you enter. Await further instructions." The dress is hardly reaching beyond your ass, there is a deep cutout und it's fastened along the side with snaps.

You knock. "Who's there? I am very busy" , Laws says from behind the door. "Uhm...it's me, as instructed" you answer. "Come in." You enter and find Law in a classic doctor's coat, jeans and no shirt. He is brimming with excitement as he sees you, but tries to sound as business like as he can: "Miss Y/n, the upper shelves need some dusting. "Now you see where this is going. "Of course Dr., I'll get on it right away", you coo, already stretching to dust the bookshelf. The dress doesn't reach as far down anymore. You don't get around to really dust anything that night.

[ggukkiedae]

pairing: prince!chenle x pirate!reader

warning/s: sword fighting, jumping off of high places

wc: 757

notes from cia: remember when i said i’d start writing idol x reader stuff? here’s the first one! bc we have a lack of chenle fics on this app 🤧

“Eyes up, Your Highness. Your opponent’s eyes can tell you their next move.”

The sound of metal sliding against metal filled the room as you two sparred, one calculating and one determined. Swords met high in front of your faces before you twisted your blades, bringing his down with yours. A harsh yet sudden burst of pressure was all you needed to push onto his blade for him to stagger backwards.

His back hit the wall, and you maintained your distance while waiting for him to gather his bearings. He looked up at you with a smirk before correcting his posture and crouching in preparation to lunge. “Nearly got me there, Princess.”

With all the speed he could muster, he rushed forward and held his sword up, aiming to lay it against your neck, but you caught the blade with yours, parrying it out of his hands and onto the floor alongside your own. The sound of swords clattering echoed as something else sharp was placed against his jugular, your faces inches apart.

“Correction,” you smiled innocently, a tilt to your head, “I did get you. And I’m not actually a princess. Unlike you, Your Royal Highness Prince Chenle, second-in-line to the throne.”

“And yet the Seven Seas continue to address you as such,” he smiled at you, more genuinely this time. “I yield for this round. Tea?”

“You royals are the strangest of creatures,” you took a step back with a laugh, bending down to pick up your swords after sheathing your dagger back in its hidden holster. You turned around, handing his rapier back to him and accepting the tea he presented you with.

He raised his eyebrows at you. “How so?”

“You pride yourselves in the art of fencing, but a real blade in your hands and you barely come to any use.”

“I would take offence, My Lady,” he pulled a seat out for you, “but I have seen you in battle. Yet, the style you use in a match against me is different. Why is that?”

You took the seat. “Because you and I aren’t on opposing sides. And I hope we never meet the day you turn to my ways.”

He nodded at her. “When do you set sail again?”

“3 days off,” your body slumped forward in exhaustion, remembering the mission assigned to your ship. “My father wants to make sure the fleet arrives well-received. Promadere is probably the only trading capital where pirates can roam freely, and apparently I am the best choice to maintain that status.”

“Daughter of the King of the Seven Seas, feared by many and respected by all,” the full title rolled off of Chenle’s tongue.

“Feared by your father and all kings,” you added on with a snort, “Despite the fact that he isn’t actual royalty and that my father complains at the sight of herbs near his food and enjoys collecting miniature animal figurines.”

“Yes, it’s a shame they don’t see his soft side that his daughter brings out.”

“I presume you find yourself funny, Your Highness,” you raised an eyebrow.

He raised his cup to you in a false cheers motion. “Only the best quality humour to come out of a royal's mouth, My Lady. Staying for the night?”

“I’m afraid I cannot stay,” you smiled sadly and stood up, walking to his window. “While I do enjoy seeing your eyes light up hearing my awesome adventures, you have your mundane princely duties to return to, and I have a crew to prepare.”

He followed you to the window, watching as you stood on the sill. “You’ll return before you set sail, yes?”

“Relax, you’ll be eating my blade once again tomorrow evening. With that, I bid you adieu.”

You saluted him and let yourself fall backwards. He rolled his eyes, but looked over the edge to ease his worried heart more than anything. He watched as you gracefully fell into a dive and safely landed in the water, a feat that would injure tremendously anyone else who tried the same. Flashes of your white blouse caught his eye as you fixed the circlet around your head and swam to your boat. You looked up, giving him one last wave before beginning to row away.

Chenle waved back and watched as you sailed back into the distant fog towards the cove that even he had no idea the location of. Where the ship you captained waited for you. He sighed.

One day, he’d get out of his duties and sail away with you. His older brother would be king anyway.

© ggukkiedae

[sleepyking]

Red likes poetry.

That’s it, that’s the post.

(PS her favorite poem is Nothing Gold Can Stay)

Red while watching Chloe’s practice: en guarde, fleche, lunge, riposte, parry. What sits at the top of my totem pole.

(Below the cut is my inner poetry nerd takin its time to shine)

Some other poetry stuff I’d like to link to her:

I'd like to get away from earth awhile and then come back to it and begin over. May no fate wilfully misunderstand me, and half grant what I wish and snatch me away, not to return. Earth's the right place for love; I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I have been one acquainted with the night, I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light, I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat, and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet, when far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street, but not to call me back or say goodbye. And further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.

…okay most of this is Robert Frost but in my defense my dad really likes him so I know a lot of his stuff-

I’m not gonna type it out but I’d also like to mention Into The Will

And uuuuuh yea

Wow this got a lot longer than I expected it to-

[amethyst-crystalfly]

hi! Diluc reacting to accidentally hurting s/o while training w/ them? He feels rlly guilty and promises to help u get better because he thinks it’s his fault.

thanks you!

A/N: Ooooohhhh hello there! I really like this prompt! Thank you for the ask! This is my first time doing a request and I am so excited! Let’s see what we can cook up 🧪 welcome to my blog and I hope you have a pleasant stay! 🤍🎀

Warnings: mentions of blood, like a LOT of it, mentions of injury.

Character: Diluc

Kiss it Better

The hours right after Dawn are your favourite. The air is filled with chirps of birds and the cool Mondstadt breeze brings a certain sense of peace with it. This is also the time you get to train with your beloved partner, the roguishly handsome wine tycoon of Mondstadt, Diluc. The flaming red of his hair matches the early morning sun. You have never felt more alive, as you do now, training against him in a clearing just outside Dawn winery.

He is strong and his movements are steady, his high ponytail doesn’t seem to have a single strand out of place, even though he is drenched in sweat. Your agility never seems to stop amusing him. You could feel droplets of sweat trickling down your back. But oh it feels so good. Neither of you are quitters, the playful competition is infact the best part of it all! You swipe your sword at him and he swoops past effortlessly. His movements are like that of a mountain lion. But you are no less admirable yourself. You dodge his attacks and parry his sword with just as much grace. It’s like you two are locked in a dance . Each matching the other’s movements flawlessly.

Oh but the sun is starting to feel hotter today. As expected in the middle of July. You both had been going at it for a while now. Your breaths were paced out with little pants in between now, but neither of you wanted to give up. Did the sun seem brighter? Was the heat getting higher? Or was it all in your head? You really should have had a better breakfast this morning. Why did your sword suddenly feel heavier? Your ears were buzzing. You tried to shake off the feeling with a quick shake of your head. But oh! You felt Diluc’s sword hit your side, the same moment he realized that you missed the dodge.

The blunt edge of the wooden sword crashed against your ribs sending you flying off your feet. Everything was happening so quickly. You felt your head knocking against something hard sending a sharp jab of pain through your body and then nothing.

Diluc couldn’t believe his eyes, you missed! You didn’t dodge! How is that possible?? You always dodge! He saw the exact moment your eyes started to look out of focus, but it was too late. His sword was in motion and he tried to soften the blow, but it was too late. And then he heard the sickening sound of the sword hitting your body. It was all playing out in agonizingly slow motion for him, yet he couldn’t do anything, as the impact knocked you away. Then your head hit that rock and he felt his heart beating through his chest. He rushed to you instantly and found your blood already drenching the grey rock crimson. No no no this can’t be happening. He used his handkerchief as a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding. You were loosing so much blood. He swooped you up in his arms and rushed back to the winery.

“Charles!! Adelinde!!” Diluc called out as he neared them, they rushed to your aid. They had never seen their young master in such utter state of panic since…it didn’t matter now. You needed immediate help! One of the maids instantly went to fetch a doctor. Adelinde had tended to multiple wounds of the Dark Night before, but this one, it needed stitches. Blood gushing from your bleeding temple had run all the way down your neck, and mixed with the sweat it was a terrifying image. Your breath seemed shallow and pained. One of the maids, brought a rag and a bucket of water to clean your wound, but Diluc simply thanked her for it and started cleaning your face and your neck with his own hands. Carefully he swiped the wet rag over your face and neck. He was not thinking, right now his priority was making sure you were okay. Barbara burst in through the door, and quickly ushered everyone out so she could begin working on you. Diluc too had to leave, although he was reluctant but he knew that it was necessary.

Once outside the room, it all started sinking in for him. He could still hear your sharp cry of pain as the sword connected with your side. He could just pray that he was able to soften his blow enough to not break a rib. He felt waves of guilt wash over him. It was all his fault, it was him. He never wanted to hurt you. He was so sure you would dodge like you always do, that he didn’t think of holding back. Why didn’t he realize earlier that you were not okay. He was internally cursing himself as he bent over clutching at his hair. Tears started streaming down his face. Tears of frustration at his own failures, tears of guilt, pain and of fear, the fear of losing you. He never wanted things to become this way. Yet here he was. Pathetic.

Barbara opened the door and Diluc shot up to his feet, jostled from his world of inner conflicts. She saw the worry in his eyes and her heart broke for him a little. She always thought of him as somewhat of an elder brother. She tried to calm his fears the best she could, she said that you were going to be okay. The bleeding had stopped and she put in about 6 stitches on your forehead. Your ribs were bruised but no signs of breakage, there was some internal bleeding, but she healed it to the best of her abilities. She showed one of the maids how to change the dressing of your bandage, the stitches will take a little while to heal.

“She needs rest, plenty of it, not even light activities, her wound is pretty deep, thankfully it was not the back of her head” Barbara said. After prescribing some medicines she offered whatever words of comfort she could and took her leave. She could see it in Diluc’s eyes that no words of comfort would sooth him right now, unless they were from your lips.

Diluc gently opened the door to your shared bedroom, and found you laying there still on the bed. The gentle rise and fall of your chest the only indication of your beating heart. The maids had changed you into a one of your soft white cotton night dresses. Barbara gave you some painkillers to help. The dosage was strong enough to lull you into a gentle sleep. Diluc vowed to take it upon himself to tend to you, to repent for his sins.

You woke up the next morning to the sound of pleasant bird chirps, a gentle breeze wafted in through the open window as if softly caressing you with its healing touch. Your peaked from underneath your lashes at the soft morning light washing the room in its pure light. You felt a weight on your hands, and looked to discover Diluc asleep on the bedside clutching your hand. Your head throbbed a little at the movement and your groaned at the sudden pain. This woke Diluc up. He was surprised to see you awake. You tried to sit up, Diluc was instantly there by your side, helping you, he put a pillow against the exquisitely carved headboard to ease your discomfort and propped you against it gently. He silently offered you a glass of water from the bedside which you didn’t realize you needed till you drank it, the delicious cooling effect of the water felt healing to you. You sighed happily with your eyes closed as he carefully took the glass from your hands and placed it back down. You opened your eyes and cracked a sleepy smile at him, “good morning handsome”. Diluc had not said a word till now, you realized why as he instantly broke down after seeing you smile. He kneeled by the bed with his arms around your waist, with his head down. You could feel his body shake with the tears spilling down his pretty face.

“I am sorry I am sorry I never meant to hurt you I love you so much I am sorry” he kept saying as he poured his heart out to you, he revealed all those thoughts that had been tormenting him, all the painful what-ifs that had been holding him hostage, he confided all of that to you.

You let him say it all, as you quietly ran your hands through his hair, offering him comfort. When he finished, you took cupped face in your hands and made him look up to you in your eyes. And you said intently, meaning it with all your heart, “it was not your fault love” you could see the tears brimming in his eyes as you continued. “ I am okay am I not? You controlled your movements the best you could, I know it, if you had not slowed yourself in time, archon knows I wouldn’t get away without a single broken rib, I faltered because of my own fault, but you saved me” you sighed, “to be honest, I should have told you that I wasn’t feeling well, I know you would have understood and taken care of me, just like you did now, but my silly pride got in the way, I didn’t want to give up…if anything I am sorr”—- you couldn’t finish the sentence as Diluc captured your lips in a kiss. You leaned back, tugging at his collar, and he joined you in bed with you. Saying all the things he left unsaid with his kiss, it was not a hot kiss of burning desire, but a gentle kiss of affection, care and love. He cared for you deeply and he promised to never let you go.

🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🤍🩷🤍🩷🩷🤍🩷🤍

Find more work here ☀️ happy browsing!! ^o^

If you can and want to please consider supporting me on https://ko-fi.com/amethystcrystalfly 🌸 (it’s a cry for help at this point) But If you are also struggling like me I hope you find the support you need and I am grateful for your like and for your existence💕 You matter, don’t forget that. I love you *wishing on my eyelashes for your happiness*

[jollyrogerparrysound]

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[siancore]

I Found You

A/N: Something I came up with after watching TOWL 1.01 'Years'. Some spoilery bits if you haven’t watched yet. My conjecture for what’s next. Enjoy!

The soft breeze effortlessly swept a scattering of dry leaves along the cold concrete of the sidewalk in the dilapidated and abandoned town. Michonne exited the vehicle and did a quick scan of the surrounding area; it seemed safe enough, at least to begin with. Out of nowhere came two walkers intent on devouring anyone in their sights and wreaking havoc.

Michonne had come to wreak havoc of her own.

As they ambled nearer, Michonne unsheathed her sword in one swift movement and swung the blade. It sliced through the air, a quick glint from the bright sun reflecting from its smooth surface. As the blade struck the head of the walking corpse and removed the top of its skull, the creature fell to the sidewalk in an unceremonious fashion. Michonne then cut down the second as deftly as she had the first. She flicked her wrist and cleaned the blood from her trusted katana before raising her eyes to the sky.

Not long now.

She and her new friends made their way out of what used to be someone’s hometown and headed towards the wooded area. They listened to the seized radio signals and watched the sky while taking up vantage points amidst the sparse trees.

Soon thereafter, the sound of the helicopter cut through the relative silence. They were close. So close. She could hear the blades and the engine, almost quieting the sound of Rick’s voice as she had heard it through the intercepted radio transmission. He was so close. She had to trust in her new friends and in Rick’s skill for the next part.

Making her own quick transmission, she let her new friends know it was time to enact their plan. A sudden loud blast went off and the projectile made contact with the helicopter. Then another; then another. Until the chopper came crashing down from the sky. Adrenaline coursed through Michonne’s body; Rick’s voice stayed in her mind. She hoped that he had survived. Knew that he would.

His team sprang into action just as she did; they exited the crashed craft as she moved towards it. She incapacitated the first masked soldier, pulled the covering from their face, and then ran them through with her sword. She repeated the action again and again, until she came upon the remaining soldier trying to crawl away. They found their weapon, and she knocked it from their grasp. She quickly struck at them with her sword, but they parried the blow with their arm.

A forceful boot to their chest knocked them to the ground, flat on their back. Not wasting any time, Michonne grabbed the straps on their chest, pulled them up, and placed her blade to their throat. This one had given her more of a struggle than the others had. She would be happy to end their life to get to Rick quicker.

Michonne ripped the helmet from their head and her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes met intense blue and she stepped back. She faltered. Her own eyes wide with surprise; her heart racing in her chest so hard her ribs might crack open. Confusion filled those blue eyes a beat, and then something else. Something lamenting and mournful. Something she had seen before: Recognition of a ghost.

And then, relief.

It was Rick.

She had found him.

She removed her own helmet as the rain began to fall, interspersing with the tears spilling from her eyes. Her breath heavy, matching his, as they stared into one another’s souls.

He got to his knees, and then to his feet, never averting his gaze from hers. And then they fell into one another’s arms. They clung to one another as their tears fell.

“Michonne?” said Rick, his voice hoarse and shaky, as he placed a hand to her face. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” Michonne whispered as she pressed her brow against his. “I found you, Rick. I found you.”

[legendofmorons]

How to fall in love twice part 6

Pairing: Time x reader x Malon

Rating: T

Summary: Fate must really hate you guys. You and Malon have a brief encounter with the chain while escaping monsters. But it's over before you can really talk.

Warnings: cursing, vague fighting, Time is having a very bad day.

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know.

-------

Twilight has never before genuinely considered smacking the back of Time's head - until now.

Watching the old man pace over trampled grass for the umpteen time is painful.

Twilight gets it - mostly. He gets losing someone you love to an unknown.

But this is too much - it's been a month or so, and Time has spent every day on edge as he worries for you and Malon.

"Would you be still for five minutes? You're giving us all aneurysms." Legend barks from his spot tending the new fire.

"That’s not physically possible." Wild says without so much as a glance at the others.

"Time. You're going to wear a trench into the dirt at this point. You should take a break." Twilight says with a sigh, "You'll be no good if you tire yourself out."

"But -"

Leaves rustle and running can be heard. Voices sound - familiar voices.

"Farore above." Twilight manages.

All of the boys work to get to where your voice is heard.

-------

"I would really like to stop meeting monsters like this!" You call to Malon.

She laughs, taking down another monster with her bow.

You parry an attack and watch a portal open again. At least you can escape

"(Y/n)!" Someone calls.

That wasn't Malon.

"Malon!" Time's voice rings through the clearing.

The boys are running towards you- but you're pretty sure you have to leave through the portal and not stay outmatched by the monsters.

This is bullshit.

"Link?!"

"We have to go!" You call out, ducking an arrow.

You move then, with extreme spite and displeasure.

"Just stay there!" Time yells out.

Warriors are the ones to stop the others, taking the lead. He says someone to them that males Twilight look fairly upset.

"There's no time!" You yell. "Malon, come on!"

You can watch Malon look between you and her husband. She looks pained- and you can watch her try to fight the urge to stay.

"Mal!" Time calls, almost there.

It's not enough.

Malon tackles you out of harms way and through the portal.

You hit the ground hatd- but most unhurt.

"You okay?" Malon asks you.

You look around yet another strange place and no sign of a portal. Great.

"Mostly. Are you okay?"

"I'm- tired. But I'm okay."

"Good."

Malon stares at you - still hovering over your sprawled form. Her expression is something.

She's got a soft look on her face, but she also looks like she might like to cry.

"Has anyone told you you have pretty eyes?" She asks, moving off of you.

She sits to the side, her knees under her as she looks you over.

You can feel your face heat up. That's- not necessarily a common thing to hear.

"Maybe." You admit.

"It's true."

"Thank you." You say, sitting up and letting your arms hold you up.

"Any idea where we are?"

"The woods, mostly."

"Sounds right. We should follow the path then."

"Okay."

"Do you think the boys will be okay?"

"Of course. We've made it this far- and there are more of them.",

"That's fair enough." She gives a strained smile.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" You ask, trying to land somewhere between serious and not accusing.

Malon looks to you, and you can genuinely see how hard this has been on her.

Her eyes bear dark bags and bloodshot veins.

She's got littered bruises and fresh scars like stars in the sky. She's got dirt smeared across her and her clothes in at least ten places.

Her clothes are patched over too many times to last much longer. Her hair is in bad shape.

And you still think she's beautiful. (You must be really gone. Like- Malon is definitely pretty under usual circumstances, but no one can look that great in this condition.)

(Right?)

"I'm just tired." Malon says after a moment.

"Okay." You say.

You stand up, holding your hand out to her.

Malon takes your hand, standing up with only half a wince. Her ankle is still weaker than either of you would like.

Your phone gives a little notification sound

Your phone!

It's stayed at the same battery charge the whole adventure thanks to magic you suppose.

But it's not done more than self-storage and pictures.

You have a notification.

"I know where we are." You smile, "or at least when."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Let's follow the path. We're in my time."

"Oh! Is that good?"

"Maybe. Depends on where we actually are and such."

-------

You are in America, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest if the pine trees and rain are any clue.

You find a fairly nice extended stay and book about a week or so.

However, there are a few problems.

One, you and Malon both need new clothes.

Two, you have a lot of modern things to explain.

And three - which may actually be the biggest problem - there's only one bed.

However, just now, you're at the nearest Walmart superstore getting together some actual supplies for the time.

Watching Malon read all the ingredients in the shampoo and conditioner is eye-opening.

You've managed to find some decent jeans and some other clothes too.

You grab some basic foods and some other things before checking out.

This is going to be something.

-------

Time skids to a stop in the middle of a monster hoard. The reason you and Malon had to escape.

The portal closes just as he reaches it.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Time ... isn't really aware of his surroundings until that evening while he's cleaning his shield of monster guts.

He listens - realizing that Twilight and Warriors are trying to figure out how to get to you and Malon again.

"It might have been a fluke." Legend pipes in.

"I doubt that." Warriors says firmly.

But none of the conversations matter. Time can only replay the minute or two he saw you and Malon.

The way his wife tackled you through the portal ... he's glad she's never lost her drive.

You had looked - well, it's really not fair how pretty you looked.

And Time is so worried.

He knows Malon can handle herself.

He knows you can handle yourself.

But still.

He'd just watched you have to get tackled through a portal so you could both stay safe.

This is some shit.

Fuck whatever deity is running this sick game.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Together in Grief

Author's note: Hello all! Long time reader, first time writer here :) Let me know what you think!

Paring: Elendil x Valandil's mother! Reader

Warnings: Childloss, Grief, Violence, Sad!Elendil

______________________________________________________________

You stand in the dim light of the old temple, the scent of burning candles filling the air as you lower your head, offering a silent prayer. The flicker of flames dances across the stone walls, casting shadows that seem to sway like memories. Beside you, Elendil is quiet, his grief etched deeply into his face. The loss of Isildur has left a wound in him—and in you—that no words could heal.

Your son, Valandil, stands on your other side, his hand resting on your shoulder. He is strong, just like his father had been, but there is a weight in his eyes, the same sorrow that pulls at your heart. You had come here to light a candle for Isildur, to remember him as you always have—with love, though your heart aches with the knowledge that he is lost.

As you hold your candle to Elendil’s lighting the wick, you hear his breath catch slightly. His face remains tight, but you can see it there- the agony he is barely holding back. Your free hand catches his, gripping tightly. The temple falls into a deeper silence, as if the ancient stones themselves are holding their breath. The faint glow of the flame steadies, and you close your eyes, murmuring a prayer to the Valar, asking for peace, for guidance.

The heavy creak of the temple doors opening draws your attention. You glance up, eyes narrowing as Kemen strides into the sacred space, flanked by two guards. His presence feels wrong, out of place in this holy temple where you’ve come to seek solace.

“Elendil,” Kemen calls, his voice cold and authoritative. “On the king’s orders, I am here to disband this gathering. You are to leave—now.”

You stiffen beside Valandil, exchanging a glance with him. You can see the anger flicker in Elendil’s eyes as he turns toward Kemen, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though he does not draw it.

“We came here to honor my son,” Elendil says, his voice steady but firm. “We will not leave until our respects have been paid.”

“The king’s orders are clear,” Kemen replies sharply, his gaze hard. “No more defiance, Elendil. You are to return home at once.”

Valandil steps forward, placing himself between you and Kemen. “You overstep, Kemen. This is a sacred place. We are not here to challenge the king.”

“You’re challenging him now,” Kemen spits back, his hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger. “Leave, or face the consequences.”

Tension coils in the air, thick and suffocating. You sense the danger rising, but before you can speak, Elendil squares his shoulders and steps forward. “For generations our people have come here to mourn our dead. Does the king truly wish to defile this sacred place?”

For a moment, it seems like Kemen might back down, but then his eyes darken, and he draws his weapon, the blade gleaming in the candlelight.

“If you do not come willingly, you will be taken by force.” he barks.

Valandil unsheathes his sword, his stance steady, his jaw tight with anger. “We will not be driven out of this temple like criminals.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Kemen lunges. Metal clashes, the sharp sound of steel against steel echoing through the temple as Valandil parries the strike with ease. The fight is fast and brutal—blades flashing, feet shuffling across the stone floor. Elendil steps forward, blocking your body with his own. You stand frozen, heart pounding, as you watch the two men exchange blows. Elendil steps forward, but Valandil shouts for him to stay behind. 

It is a brief struggle, and though Kemen fights with fury, it is clear that Valandil has the upper hand. With a swift, precise movement, Valandil disarms Kemen, sending the dagger clattering to the ground. His arms raises to strike Kemen a deadly blow. 

“Enough!” Elendil commands, Valandil’s sword hovering at Kemen’s throat. “Enough Valandil, your Captain commands it.”

For a heartbeat, you think it is over. Valandil lowers his sword, stepping back, sparing Kemen with a noble mercy. He turns to look at you and Elendil checking to see you are unharmed. 

You see a brief flash behind your son, Kemen seizes the moment of vulnerability. He lunges forward, grabbing his fallen dagger and plunging it into Valandil’s back before anyone can react.

“No!” The word rips from your throat, but it’s too late.

Valandil staggers, his face twisted in shock and pain. His sword clatters to the ground as he falls to his knees. Elendil is there in an instant, catching the man he sees as a second son before he crumples completely.

“Kemen!” you scream, your voice filled with a fury you have never known.

But Kemen doesn’t stay to face your wrath. He flees into the shadows, leaving you, Elendil, and Valandil alone in the candlelit temple, the scent of blood now mingling with the smoke from the flickering flames.

Valandil gasps for breath, his body trembling in Elendil’s arms. “Mother…” he whispers weakly, his hand reaching for you.

You fall to your knees beside him, tears streaming down your face. You grasp his hand, holding it tightly, but you can feel his strength slipping away.

“Stay with us, Valandil,” you plead, your voice breaking. “Please, stay.”

But his breath is shallow, his eyes fading as life drains from him. Elendil cradles him, tears silently falling as he whispers words of comfort that neither of you believe.

Valandil’s hand falls limp in yours, and a sob escapes you as you press your forehead against his, your heart shattering.

“Valandil!” you scream, your voice frantic, desperate for help.

Elendil cradles your son in one arm and grips your shoulders pulling you into his chest, his words a frantic mix of common and elvish as he seeks to comfort you and himself. 

“I’m here,” you sob. “I’m here, Valandil. Please, don’t leave me.”

He is gone.

The scream that erupts from you is one of pure anguish, raw and uncontrollable. It tears through the temple, echoing off the stone walls, but nothing can bring him back. Nothing can undo what has been done.

“Kemen,” you whisper through clenched teeth, your body trembling with rage. “The Valar will curse him for this. I swear it.”

You feel Elendil’s strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close as your body shakes with grief. He holds you, his forehead pressed against yours, and for a moment, you find solace in his presence, even as your world crumbles.

“We will make him pay,” Elendil whispers, his voice low, filled with both sorrow and promise.

But even as he says the words, all you can think of is the empty space where your son should be, and the overwhelming ache that pulses in your chest.

_____________________________________________________________

The days blur together after Valandil’s death, each one filled with a hollowness you cannot escape. Elendil has been by your side through it all—silent, but unwavering in his support. He is grieving too, though his grief for Isildur feels as fresh as yours for Valandil. You’ve spent hours together, sometimes in silence, sometimes in shared tears, but always with that heavy sense of loss between you.

One evening, you find yourself standing by the sea, the place where Elendil so often seeks solace. The waves crash gently against the shore, a soothing rhythm that does little to ease the storm in your heart. Elendil stands beside you, his eyes fixed on the horizon, but you can feel his presence, steady as ever.

“Y/N,” he says softly, breaking the silence that has stretched between you.

You look up at him, finding his gaze already on you, his eyes filled with the same sadness that has been your constant companion since Valandil’s death.

“I don’t know how to go on without him,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “First Isildur… now Valandil. What more can the world take from us?”

Elendil turns to you, his hand gently brushing against your arm. “It hasn’t taken everything,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I am still here, Y/N. And so are you.”

You meet his eyes, and for the first time in what feels like years, you see something more than sorrow in his gaze. There is something else—something deeper, something that has been there all along but hidden beneath the weight of your shared grief.

“Elendil…” you begin, unsure of how to put words to the emotions rising within you.

“I have loved you for so long,” he confesses, his voice low, almost a whisper carried by the wind. “I never spoke of it, not after all we’ve been through. But I cannot keep it hidden anymore.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the world seems to still. You have felt the same, though you had buried it beneath the weight of duty, of motherhood, of loss.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the words coming so naturally, as if they had always been there, waiting to be spoken.

He steps closer, his hands cupping your face, and in that moment, you realize how much you have needed this—needed him. His forehead rests against yours, and you close your eyes, letting the warmth of his presence wash over you.

“We will find a way through this,” he promises softly, his lips brushing yours. “Together.”

And as he kisses you, you feel something shift—a spark of hope in the midst of all the darkness. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it offers a new beginning, one that you never thought possible amidst the ruins of your grief.

[birgittesilverbae]

okay okay but get this. three sentence prompt: beatrice & shannon; about ava

went off the rails a bit. not canon to tmtl

//

Shannon tosses her a staff. "For old time's sake, Bea?"

Beatrice lets it fall past her hand, kicks it up with her toe at the last moment, catches it with an unnecessary flourish. "Ready to lose?"

"Oh, cocky Beatrice is out today."

"It isn't cocky if I can back it up."

Shannon makes a noise that's half agreement and half bemused laughter. "Fair enough. First to three touches?"

"Are you going soft on me? First to the ground." She flicks her wrist, spins the staff across the back of her hand. 

"You're on."

They're more evenly matched, now, Shannon's speed and strength boosted by whatever had happened to her on the other side of the Arc, but Beatrice's skill is still superior. She lands a thrust to Shannon's ribs, a strike across her back, but Shannon always stays upright, staff raised between them, grinning. Always grinning.

(One must, after all, imagine Shannon happy.)

They strike, block, parry, a partnered dance, steps memorised in long hours spent sparring each other here at Cat's Cradle. They know each other's tendencies, strengths, weaknesses. How Shannon's knee will buckle if she puts her weight on it the wrong way. How an awkward shoulder movement can cause the old pain of Beatrice's broken collarbone to flood in anew, leaving her open for a fraction of a second before she schools herself back into picture-perfect form. 

Back and forth across the dirt, strike and match, block and match, parry and match, until they're both soaked with sweat and bubbling with laughter. Beatrice's lip is split in two places, and there's blood dripping from her eyebrow. Shannon's arm had hung disjointed for a brief moment when Beatrice had gotten inside her range and leveraged her staff against Shannon's, but she'd only shrugged her shoulder back into place with the smallest grimace, a faint blue glow just visible beneath her shirt sleeve.

They end up at one another's throats. Shannon laughs first, a sound that fills Beatrice with warmth, and she can't help but join in. 

"You're losing your touch," Shannon needles, grinning. "Spending too much time getting your Halo Bearer up to speed, hey? Not enough on your own skills?"

"I'd still thrash you on an even playing field," Beatrice replies, "if there were such a thing as an even playing field."

Shannon knocks against her shoulder. "Glad to hear that lesson got through to you." They're seated, now, on the slope alongside the training ground.

She doesn't mean to say it, but it slips out all the same. "I think I'd be able to remember every word you've ever said to me, if I were pressed."

Shannon reaches up to pinch her cheek. "Oh, I'd forgotten about that! Little Bea with her little crush."

Beatrice ducks her head, her cheeks burning. "Before I learned how deeply uncool you were."

"Of course." Shannon glances towards the sky and her face falls. "We don't have long now, Bea."

"Don't have long until what?" Beatrice's foot slips, knocking one of the roof tiles free. It slides off the edge of the chapel and smashes on the ground below.

"Until you tell me about her," Shannon says easily. "Can't keep dodging my questions forever."

"Your–"

"I met her once, your Ava. Very earnest, very sincere. She wanted so badly to be helpful."

"That's Ava." Beatrice pushes the coffee cup across the counter to Shannon. 

"Your Ava," Shannon prompts, raising the cup to her in a mock salute. 

"My Ava," Beatrice says, because she can, because by the lake there's no one to hear but Shannon. 

"Was she, in the end?" Shannon weighs a rock in her hand, cocks her wrist back and sends it flying. "Helpful?"

Beatrice watches as the rock skips on and on and on. "More than she could ever know. She was the best of us."

"You loved her."

The stone beneath her knees scalds her through her jeans. "I loved her," she confirms, "for all the good it did her."

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength," Shannon quotes, tugging Beatrice to her feet and into a hug, "while loving someone deeply gives you courage. Have courage, Bea." Her lips brush Beatrice's forehead.

Beatrice stands in front of the Cruciform Sword, interred as a memorial. "Shannon?" She twists, but all she sees are flashes, glimpses. "Shannon?"

"Have strength."

The Sword thins to wisps, fades to nothingness. 

Her vision goes grey at the edges, then black. 

Beatrice wakes up blood-soaked and screaming.

[eluminium]

Skizz week 2 day 3! I had a lot of fun with this one for...reasons. hehe. Of course, thank you to @skizzlemanweek for today's prompt!

Prompt 3: Fight / Fun

The dull edge of a wooden blade slams into his side, causing a sudden ache to spread throughout his nerves. Skizz grits his teeth as he stumbles back, but he quickly locks his feet in place and puts his own wood sword diagonally in front of him to guard. He doesn't move a muscle until he hears the faintest sound of wind, and when it reaches his ears he thrusts his sword forward to parry his enemy.

Splinters explode around them when the blades clash and lock together, but it's not long before one of the swords gets pushed back a few centimeters, and a smirk graces Skizz's face. His enemy clearly doesn't possess the raw strength he does. With a roar, he slashes forward in a flat arch and knocks the attacker back. A gasp of surprise echoes in the dark. A grunt follows shortly after as his foe tries to regain footing.

Oh yeah, the area is completely clouded in darkness, bee t dubs. The most Skizz can see in front of him is his sword, leaving the enemy hidden in the shadows. He hisses and tries to prick up his ears, to no avail. The attacker remains as quiet as a sneaking creeper. This stupid darkness sucks! It's one of the reasons he's been beaten up so much! His right side still aches something fierce from that earlier hit. It's probably already bruising.

He can't be too caught up in that though, he's still in the fight! The sound of quick, light footsteps alerts him to that fact as he takes a few strategic steps backward. The "woosh" of the sword missing makes his adrenaline spike and he strikes out with his own mighty swing. His foe cries out in pain, the noise like music to Skizz's ears. Direct hit! To what? Who cares, it's a hit!

With newfound confidence, Skizz lunges forward, delivering another strong slash, bloodlust roaring through his veins. The wood sword doesn't slide as satisfyingly off of his enemy as the first swing, but he must have at least gotten a nick based on the hiss of pain that sounds so loud in the empty dark. He's got his foe on the ropes, surely! Without thinking it through, he leaps forward again, his arm stretched out completely as he tries to get another hit.

This time, he hits nothing.

He doesn't have time to think about how hard he's screwed up before something tackles him, hard. A smaller body collides with his and forces him to fight his own feet to stay standing as he tumbles back. An undignified squeak escapes Skizz's mouth, and it does not go unnoticed by his attacker. Before he can even regain the breath that was unceremoniously knocked out of him he's battered by impossibly quick slashers. The motions he has to perform to block them may as well be described as flailing, and even then he's getting hit at times. How is this possible?! Who attacks this fast?! Each blow knocks him into the next like he's getting juggled! Is this guy divine or something?!

Skizz doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. That earlier hit that he thought might bruise? Screw it! His entire body may as well be one big bruise! Not just from his enemy's sword, but from his own body. His tied-up wings are stiff and sting something fierce, begging to be stretched. The constant need to keep moving and dodging has made his arms and legs heavy like lead. And now, with every strike that clangs his sword, the powerful shockwaves travel through his body and cause the aches to flare and become worse. If his foe keeps this up, he'll be utterly wrecked! He has to do something to get out of this. Just one more hit to get the bloodlust adrenaline going again!

He wastes no time. When the next attack bounces off of his sword, Skizz roars again and strikes forward with all the energy he has left.

His sword stabs through something. For a second, he's hopeful.

A fist lands square on his outstretched wrist, knocking the sword straight out of his grip. It flies through the air and into the darkness, together with his hope of victory. Before he even knows it he's pushed hard enough to knock him on his butt and a tick later a foot on his chest is forcing him down on his back. He groans in pain, and in defeat. The tip of his opponent's blade appears in his vision, pointed towards his throat.

At least it'll be quick, he thinks as he closes his eyes.

The strike to kill never comes. Instead, his head is softly forced up by the tip of the sword as it digs into the underside of his chin.

"That wasn't bad, Skizz!"

Oh. Right. Why did he assume he was gonna die?

The lights suddenly turn on, completely assaulting his eyes. He yells in annoyed pain, and his voice isn't the only pained voice that bounces between the walls. He covers his eyes reflexively. The tip of the sword disappears from under his chin and a few seconds later something clatters against the ground. Amused giggles reach his ears as he sighs fondly. He uncovers his eyes and looks up at his "attacker".

He's met with various shades of hot pink, an adorable frog-themed bucket hat, and raven-black hair. Under the hand currently blocking out the light, Skizz knows there are two kind but dangerous beady eyes.

"Thanks, Jojo! It sure feels like I did bad though!" He says as a smile coats his face.

The hand covering her eyes falls away and she blinks a few times before she meets his eyes and smiles too. "No no, you got some pretty good hits in! And you used your strength to your advantage, just like we talked about," She praises while reaching a hand out, a hand Skizz gladly takes. She helps him back up on his feet, but not without a few aches making themselves known to them both. Well, one more than the other, but still.

Skizz grumbles as he twists to get his wings out of their restraints. "I can't believe you had me fight you in the dark! And then you beat me black and blue!"

Jojo flushes a bit. "That wasn't my goal though! I told you, we're training intuition and reflexes! Besides, you just about wrecked my poor shoulder over here, so don't put all the blame on me," she reasons, gesturing to the big gash across her left shoulder. A smaller slash traces over her right cheek. They must be those two hits he landed before he got all stupid. A pang of guilt hits him, then his sides scream in pain again, and he feels a bit less guilty.

"Okay, fair. I did get you a little. But you got me a lot!" He exclaims dramatically but with no malice in his tone. It's all for training, and for fun!

"However…" He scratches his chin, as he looks over Jojo and her injuries. "I did stab you before you punched me, but you seem to be fine on that front…"

A small laugh escapes her. She gestures to her hair around her right side, just above her shoulder. "You did give me a free haircut, I guess?"

He narrows his eyes, looking closely…

"DANG IT!" Skizz yells, because yep, a few bits of Jojo's hair seem clumsily chopped off. Man, he totally missed! She snorts at that and goes to pick up her blade.

Two laughs come from the side of the training arena. Skizz looks over and sees his stupid friends, Tango and Impulse, having the time of their lives apparently.

"You kicked his butt, Jojo! He didn't even have a chance!" Tango announces smugly. Both he and Impulse (who is still giggling) have the biggest shit-eating grins on their faces.

"Hey! Can it, peanut gallery! Don't forget it's your turns to fight Junior Shabado next!" Skizz calls back, already tasting the schadenfreude as panic strikes both Tango and Impulse's faces.

"Nooo, I need a break first! My heart can only take so much action! I can't die young!" Jojo whines as she walks towards the storage of health and regen potions, which is tucked in the corner.

Skizz follows her because honestly, chugging a few potions right now and then not moving for an hour sounds great. "The merciful Junior Shabado has let you idiots have a few more moments to live! You better warm each other up if you want to stand a chance!"