The Voices... Of Course, I Had To Make This AU??!

How an Armadillo gathers foliage for its nest.

Fuck him

Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

TW/CW: murder, breaking in, voyeurism, sexual activity(it don't go far), no p in v(they're not even naked).

it's good i guess. i feel like the end is weird though. (18/07/2023) (3614 words)

Ethan sighs deeply, already feeling the frustration tears drowning his eyes. Even though his vision was blurry, he could still see your shape, of course he could, you're the only thing he could ever see. His hand was closed thight on the handle of his knife. He couldn't believe you, and at the same, he couldn't blame you as you could never do harm, not to him.

He knew your relationship was hard to maintain, but did you really have to cheat on him ? Yes, you did not talk much together, ok you did not spend time on a date in a long time but it was hard, he was busy and you were always with your friends.

The last date you had only together was something like three month ago, it was a study date. You weren't in a good mood, either. You wanted to be in your friends group but they already formed duo and as the group is uneven, you ended up with him. You weren't too happy and he knew it, so he did what he could to help you. You spent the afternoon in the library. He was so happy that day, quite the opposite of right now.

He was biting the inside of his cheek to contain any insults to come out. As much as he liked seeing you like this, he hated the situation in itself.

Ethan was fucking pissed. Hidden in your closet, his dark eyes were watching each one of your movements. Usually, the smell of your fresh and clean clothes beside him would have calmed him to a state of sleepiness. But not today.

You brought someone over.

One of his friends by that. Well, not that much of a friend. Ethan doesn't really have any, his only goal is to avenge his brother after all. None of his relationship here are true.

Expect yours. The one you and him have. It's something indescribable. A link that goes upon everything, every law and physics. He understands you better than anyone else. You understand him better than everyone else.

Each breath you take is a benediction for Ethan who's the happiest man alive thanks to your existence. It was an addiction, really. Something so hard to forget, to ignore. Ethan was deeply in love. And he's sure you are, too.

You have these eyes that tell him everything he needs to know.

But well, you weren't ready for the officialisation and the whole relationship thing. And he understands that. He truly does. As even himself had trouble accepting his love. Your link is so strong, so powerful that you can be scared of it. Of the love you have for each other. He'd die for you, he'd kill for you.

He'd do anything.

Hence why he was hidden in your closet in his ghostface suit. Because he wanted to protect you. To make you feel safe. Each time he was hiding under your bed, he heard you confess to your friends about how you have trouble sleeping, that you feel watched. And Ethan hates the idea of someone bothering you. And in the blink of an eye, he was already armed and ready to protect you.

And he's sure you feel better ! That is if he doesn't mention the time you put a blanket on the said closet because you were feeling paranoid. Ethan was worried this day, he couldn't see you anymore through the slits.

Ethan watches as the man above you on the bed pull up your shirt to let you appear bare before him. He watches as you kiss him hungrily, your hands caressing every curve of his body and Ethan wants to fucking destroy everything.

Your one night stand's hands are flat on your chest, caressing it with a barely concealed horniness. You already want more, and he seems to think like you.

Your hands goes under his shirt, touching every inch of skin you could. Your nails grazing the area from time to time and he likes it, hard, by the smile he's giving you.

You were going to pull his clothe up above his head when his phone ring. He turns his head a brief moment before you grab his jaw with your hand to make him look at you again.

"Ignore it." you say between two heated breath.

And he did just that. After all, he was as horny as you. He'd never stop anything for a stupid phone call. His tongue lick at yours, his hands pass on your perked nipple. But the phone ring again. The song was louder than your breathy moans, you were starting to get out of the mood. And the phone ring again, again and again. Until your one night stand curse and get off you. He's as frustated as you.

"Fuck, who the hell is that? he says.

The man moves away, grabbing his phone to see who was the person who ruined the mood. You sigh, a little disappointed the moment had been cut short. Finding your room's temperature way too cold in comparison to his warm body.

You're left laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and regaining your breath.

You don't have that much success with men. The times you fucked can by coumpted with one hand. So yeah, you were pissed to be bothered by a stupid phone call.

You were frustrated. You needed to fuck. This guy wasn't even your friend. He was nice enough and pretty so you went for it. But you didn't feel bad as he was probably thinking the same of you.

-So ? You ask impatiently.

-It's just Ethan. I'll put the phone in mute.

-Who's Ethan ?

-Landry ? One of my friends. He's in our math class ? Anyway, he's a friend."

By your face, he understands that you have no idea who this Ethan Landry may be. And that you don't care. This Ethan was just the fucker who disturbed you, he could go to hell for that matter. He shrugs, smiling when he can now get back to business. His hand roams your hips then go up to caress your tummy. Your hand goes on his shoulder and you pull him to you to kiss him.

The call was already forgotten. The temperature heated up.

His shirt is quickly out of the way, same for his pants and yours. His clothed erection rub against your genitals, you're burning from the inside. You thrust your hips against his and he smiles.

Your hand grab a handful of his hair and pull on it, the man smiles, his mouth leaving yours to start and suck on your neck. The boner in his underwear rub against your underwear. His last piece of clothes was hot and wet. At this point, it felt like he was naked. You could feel every veins and curve of it against you.

Finally, you thought, you're finally getting some dick. You just hope he's good.

Ethan saw fucking red. His hands were shaky. His whole body crumble with rage. His thoughts are full of one thing: fucking destroy him.

He had the audacity to take his lover from him, he had the audacity to fuck them before him, he had the audacity to fucking ignore him ?

No, no that's not possible. No, of course no. Ethan is a man of words. He swore he wouldn't let you slip between his fingers and he fucking won't. Tears fall from his eyes, from anger ? Sadness ? Frustration ? He doesn't know. But he starts laughing.

You both stop moving. The man turn around and stare at the closet before looking at you again, as if to make sure you heard that too.

Everything happened well too quickly for you to understand. You blinked and a man rushed out of the closet, knife in hand. Clothed in a Ghostface outfit. You screamed and tried to back off him, but with a wall behind you, you couldn't go really far.

Ghostface jumps on the bed, knife in the air, and suddenly, he plunges the blade in your fling's body. Blood splatter everywhere. Tears are running down your face and you can't control yourself.

You try to leave and fall off the bed before crawling on the ground to the door. You were still facing him as to be sure he wasn't coming to you. But it didn't seem he was interested by you.

It was as if he didn't even saw you.

Ghostface plunges his knife once, twice, and a lot more time in the already lifeless body with an uncontrollable rage. His hits were fast and angry, he was taking everything out on him. Hitting everywhere he could.

Crying, you try to get up, you fall the first time because of your shaking legs but you're standing seconds later. As silently as possible, you leave the room. You grab your phone and try to open the door but cry harder when it's locked. Your roomate locked it when they left.

Where is the key ? Where is the fucking key ? You don't want to die. You don't want to die ! In your panick, you drop your phone. But in a rush, you don't bother picking it up again.

By the time you found it, Ghostface was done with his prey. He was waiting for you before the door, head tilted. Blood was dripping from his knife and the white color of his mask was almost non existent.

You shake your head, crying your eyes out. The keys tightly held in your hands. You're dead. You're dead and you don't even know what you did to deserve that.

He stays before the door, no budging. He knows this door is your last hope and he's crushing it before your eyes. You try to think of another exit but there is none. You're at the fifth floor, if you jump, you're dead. But maybe it's better than to be killed because you know for sure: Ghostface is going to kill you.

"Please, you beg, I didn't do anything. you shake your head, body trembling like a leaf.

-I know." he says.

It wasn't even a real voice. You'll never know who is your killer. Your heart was probably going to explode at this rate. You couldn't breath, eyes boring into his hands, makig sure he wasn't moving. You were choking on your own saliva, crying each time his head moved a little.

When he takes a step, you squeal and back off, begging and crying, your words were slurred together, you couldn't even understand yourself what you were saying. You don't want to die, not like this. Your vision is blurry by your tears, all you see of him is a black spot with a white point. He's approaching.

"Don't cry, my love. I'm here." he says.

You frown and look at his mask in search of an answer. You couldn't see his facial expression and it was killing you. Who is this ? What do they want ? Why do they act as if they know you? You're scared, you're going to throw up.

"Please, let me live. you beg, one last time.

-I will, love. I will."

When he arrives before you, you close your eyes tightly. Praying this would be quick. But instead of slaughtering you like he did to the other, he puts his arms around you, holding you close to him. He shush you slowly, like you're a clid.

You're tensed, you stopped breathing and you're completly paralyzed. Every one of your muscle is put in pause. You don't dare look at his face, instead, you keep your eyes to the robe.

"Calm down, he says, you're okay. It's just me."

He was calm and you couldn't understand a thing. Who is 'me' ? Why doesn't he kill you when he already killed someone ? Why is he even hugging you ? What's happening ? You need to get out of here. Right, now.

"You're safe with me. Nothing will happen to you." you know his mask, his words, will haunt you until your death.

And when he lets you go, he gives you your phone back. He puts his hand on your head, touching your hair slowly before leaving by the front door.

Your eyes bore holes in the door, terrified at the idea of him coming back. You fall on the ground and vomit everything you could. Bawling your eyes out, you remember the dead man in your bed and call the cops with a shaky hands.

You don't remember much after that. Just that at some point, cops came and escorted you outside. You were alone on the parking building when you saw stretcher-bearer bring the dead body of the poor man in their car.

You stare at your hands, they're shaking and you want to throw up again just thinking about everything. The criminal fled, he killed him and he fled. You burst out in tears again, closing your eyes. A nurse comes talk to you but you can't hear anything. They're guiding you, you just follow.

You're empty. You can't think of aything else than the dead man. He's dead and you're not, why ? That's unfair. You're the one who invited him over. You should have died.

When you recognize a little more your surrondings, you're seated on the edge of the ambulance car with a coat on the shoulder, and now, you wear a pant. Hugging yourself. You don't even know how you got here, nor when. But you don't care. He's dead. He died. What the fuck. He got killed. Someone killed him. Someone was in your fucking closet in the first place. Was it even the first time ?

You know cops will ask you questions and you have no idea what you're supposed to tell them. That the man you were going to fuck had been killed by a ghostface hidden in your damn closet ? Yeah, you'll be put in jail before the end of your story. Your face is so dry, your body is numb. You can't feel anything other than guilt.

Ghostface disappeared, there is no proof of him having been there. From everyone's point of view, you two were alone and you killed him.

He's dead. The only man you ever talked to in months, dies after minutes in your flat. You're cursed. Did you really kill him ? No, no you didn't. You couldn't have known a killer was at home. It's not your fault. It's not your fault, it's not your fault.

Someone walks towards you. You know it's the cops. It's the end. It's the moment where you're wrongfully accused. Your eyes were glued to the ground and shoes enter your field of view. It do not look like cop's legs.

Well, if it is, he's not in service. Because that's a jean you're seeing right now. You follow the member further up to the face. You frown. That's definitely not a cop.

He smiles at you. He's young, maybe your age. He has curly hair and a boyish face. Who is that ?

"Hey, he says. You okay?

Your eyes are red and glossy. You're covered in blood and it's not even yours. You look like you saw a ghost and somehow, you did.

Do you look okay ? Is that really a fucking question ? Because you just witnessed a murder and you almost died yourself. So no, you're not fucking okay.

-Yeah, right. Sorry." He says.

He's not a nurse and he's not a cop. But he's not your friend or family either. Who is he ?

-My name's Ethan. I was a friend of... And it clicks. He's the one who called: Ethan Landry, from your math class.

-Yeah, I know."

Ethan sits next to you on the edge of the car. He smiles lightly. You ask yourself what is he doing here then decide to ignore it. He lost a friend. He raises his hand towards you, searching your eye for peermission to touch you and you shrug. He caresse gently your back to rassure you, to soothe you.

You don't know him but he's nice and you need someone. Everyone is running back and forth, ignoring you. You witnessed a damn murder and nobody bother to stay with you.

You two stayed like this a really long time. At least, in your mind it was long. Ethan tried to approach you more, moving his body. Then, he pulled your head to force you to lay it on his shoulder. But you didn't want to.

So you got up and moved away from him. When you faced him, his eyes were empty. You couldn't see any emotion. No sadness, no fear, no hapiness, no anger, just a void. It made a chill run down your spine.

Fortunaly, two cops arrived. One of them smiled at you, you didn't feel any compassion but he at least had the decency to try unlike the other who simply left without a word. The man tells you to sit down and you do, far from Ethan. Then, when you thought he'd talk to you, he turned to your new 'friend'.

"Ethan, right ? You told my colleague you were their boyfriend?

What ? You look at your said boyfriend and frown? Why would he say that ?

-Yes, I am. And I was a good friend of... He sighs but something in you tells you it's fake. I can't believe he's...

Something isn't right.

-Since the witness, your partner, is in shock and can't talk, we'd like you to share your contact details as we have to convoke you later for your deposition.

Why can't I talk ? Why is Ethan looking at me ? His eyes seems loving at first glance but when you really look into them, there is a sense of threat that reside. He's talking to you without words. He tells you to keep it shut.

-Of course, no problem. he stays silent while grabbing his phone, then lift his eyes and stare at the cops face. Just so you know, they didn't do anything.

-We'll see about that. Says the cop to conclude the interaction.

-Yeah, we'll see." Says 'Ethan' with a clenched jaw.

When the cops leave, you're left alone with him once again. Your hearing is muffled. In the background, a faint siren noise. Blurry stains of red and blue is all you see. The man puts his hand on your thight and you cringe. You try to get away from him, from this stranger.

Frustrated, hot tears start flowing down your face. You don't even cry strictly speaking as you stay silent. You can't feel anything, your body is just reacting to the situation alone. Ethan raises his hand to dry your tears and you back off to avoid him touching you.

Who the hell is this man ? And why is he here ? Telling everyone he's your partner ? Someone is dead for god's sake ! Does he really think it's the best time to joke ?

Other officers arrive towards you. You want to tell them you don't know who that damn man is. You want to scream at them so bad yet you can't. You don't know why but you can't move.

Ethan takes you in his arms. Tightening his hold around you. From the exterior, he looks like a caring boyfriend comforting his partner. But it's not. You don't know him.

Cops don't pay attention to you anymore, simply analyzing the area. You're left alone with him, this 'Ethan'. Is it really his name ? You don't find him as nice as before. Actually, you feel in danger with him. You try to push him but he hold you so thight it hurt.

He lifts you up without a care. You're scared. You don't know who he is nor what he wants, what he'll do. Just like Ghostface.

"Let me go." you cry, with weak and shaky voice as loud as a whisper.

He ignores it. He presses your chest flat against his, shushing you. And you know, you know it's him. You recognize him. You struggle, trying to leave. But he forces, hurting you. You beg, praying someone could come. But even if they did, they'd think you're crazy. Crazy after seeing such a horrible scene. Nobody will believe you.

Your body is shaking, you have trouble breathing and you can't articulate your thoughts. There is so much happening, outside and inside your head.

"Don't cry, my love. I'm here." he says, and you know, you know he said that.

Your tears are flowing freely. You close your eyes, trying to stop them but it's impossible. You're whining, pushing him away with all the sthrenght left in you, which isn't a lot. It's him, it's his fault. He killed him, he's Ghostface. You know it.

"Breath, it's okay.

No it's not. It's the killer, you're stuck with him. He won't ever let you go. He killed him with so much hatred, with so much rage. You're terrified of what he could do to you. He used such a violent manner to do it, too.

You can't even tell how many times this monster stabbed him. It was never ending. He never was satisfied, his fury keeping him from stopping.

You cry, and cry and cry but nobody cares. Maybe it is your fault. Maybe he really got killed because of you. Or maybe you could have helped.

-You're safe with me. Nothing will happen to you."

John Doe should be pepper sprayed on sight. (Guess who watching there back log of Love Manlybadasshero videos). Breaks the forth wall not in this house burn John.

Well… since he’s asking so nicely ♡

I want a Wolfie

Wolfie's wanderings

Wolfie knew that the portal he’d been hurled into wasn’t one of the usual portals they chased the shadow through, but this was bad. He wasn’t in any of the Hyrules he’d been to before, and the world looked, felt and smelt so strange to him.

Roaring metal contraptions were going down roads, people walked on streets and entered mile-high buildings regularly, and he couldn’t sense anything that could get him home.

The best he could do was lay low and wait for the others to come looking for him.

If he could survive that long

.

When your best friend suggested getting another pet after your elderly pet had passed, you weren’t sure. You’d lived with Meatball for so long, knew all of his ticks, his preferences and the best way to brush him without being clawed that you didn’t know if you could even let another animal in your heart. That was until you met Wolfie – the aptly named huge dog looked so miserable and lonely in the rescue yard that you couldn’t help but go over and pet the poor boy.

He was resistant at first but eventually sank into a hug, whining quietly, and your mind was made up – he’d be coming home with you.

That was a few months ago, and you were so glad you took him in; he was such a strange and intelligent beast that you swore up and down knew how to read clocks and open packets of snacks that he couldn’t have gotten into easily – but that was beside the point: he was a lovely boy, and you loved him so much.

At first, he was unsure of everything, but now he’d settled into your home and had his own routine and little quirks – he woke up early, let himself out to play in the yard, and would come in to nudge you awake for breakfast. Wolfie was probably the only reason you woke up early at this point.

It was 7AM, and you knew Wolfie would be coming in any moment, but you wanted to sleep in just a few minutes longer – you really needed it. The door opened, and Wolfie boofed quietly, but you refused to indicate you were awake.

A moment later, the blanket was slowly pulled off you, and Wolfie barked, nudging you with his snout. You yawned, reluctantly opening your eyes to see the adorable dog sitting in front of you, panting happily at you now that you were sitting up.

“You and I need to discuss how important it is to sleep in on the weekends, Wolfie”, you informed him sternly before heading to the bathroom to freshen up.

Wolfie met you downstairs, crowding around your legs as you prepared his breakfast and waited for your toast to finish toasting before slathering it with a healthy amount of chocolate spread. Wolfie whined at you, and you giggled

“No, Wolfie, chocolate is bad for doggos,” you told him, and Wolfie pouted, giving you puppy eyes, but you refused to give in. “It’ll send you to the vet, Wolfie, and I doubt you’ll enjoy that.”

Wolfie huffed, following you into the living room and flopping across your lap. You didn’t mind this at all; Wolfie was incredibly fluffy and warm, so his warmth kept your legs warm, especially now that it was winter, but he was also heavy, though you weren’t about to tell him that.

Crunching on your toast, you scrolled through your phone, reading through the group chat and smirking as your friends roasted one another – you loved your friends; you couldn’t imagine them not being in your life.

Wolfie barked, moving off of your lap, and you raised an eyebrow as he spotted a cat in the yard and slowly made his way to it.

Wolfie was so weird. He loved cats even though they didn’t always love him, and you followed him to the backyard to watch him nuzzle a cat gently and curl up around it. Your boy was so gentle and friendly; he managed to get a lot of the neighbourhood cats to nap with him and could often be seen with a bunch of cats holding him hostage by sleeping on his tremendous floof.

You loved him so much.

.

Wolfie nudged the cat gently with his snout, and the cat sighed.

‘There’s no news about any portals or other worlds being opened on this side’, his informant meowed, and he sighed.

‘It must have been opened from the other side, then’, he surmised, and the cat nudged him gently.

‘Cheer up; you still might find your way home yet.’

Wolfie hummed, returning to sit by your chair as you wandered in after him, taking a seat and petting his ears.

This world was so strange – not only was the magic very faint, but almost impossible for him to track down, and this world was already difficult to navigate on his own – he was glad he had you to gently introduce him to the world around him. He was also eternally grateful that you were so kind to take him in when you still grieving your cat – Wolfie could still smell traces of the elderly cat around your house and knew you must have cared for him as profoundly as Meatball cared for you.

You were a good person, a little odd but well-meaning.

You also had a strange talent of giving him the best ear scratches, which he enjoyed but would deny if the others ever brought it up.

He missed home, and the strangeness of this world clung to his fur like that weird shampoo you’d used on him that he did not like – he’d given you the silent treatment over that, and you luckily didn’t use that foul-smelling concoction on him again. It was embarrassing to be washed down, especially in wolf form. Still, there wasn’t much he could do about it – he didn’t dare transform back into Hylia form just in case anyone caught him, and explaining his whole situation wasn’t something he was willing to do just yet.

He just wanted to go home, but at the same time, he didn’t want to leave you…

You were so kind and loving to him, and Wolfie just knew that you’d love his Hylian form too, and you’d fit into the chain so well, and they’d love you so much, and you’d learn to love the fair land of Hyrule too.

Wolfie noticed you getting up and followed you to your room, abruptly facing the corner and strictly staring at the wall as he saw you changing your clothes.

You laughed for some reason, “You’re so well-behaved, Wolfie!”

Wolfie huffed, and you giggled, reaching over to pet his ears, but he refused to look at you in such a state of undress, especially when you didn’t know his true nature and couldn’t consent to change in front of him like this.

“If you were secretly a human turned into a dog, you’d tell me, right?” there was a joking tone to your question, and Wolfie looked at you and barked, tilting his head, making his best impression of a regular dog.

Could you know?

No, there was no way you could know

You were probably just joking, but that didn’t stop his unease. He couldn’t let you know, not now! Yes, he had known you for months at this point, but he wasn’t ready to reveal himself to you just yet, nor could he prove anything about his world without transforming first and needlessly scaring you – he needed to handle the reveal with tact.

You headed out the door, giving a few pats goodbye before locking the door, and Wolfie wandered over to your bed and flopped onto it, taking in your scent.

He loved you so much and just wished this horrible nightmare was over so he could take you home with him; you’d live a charmed life in Ordon with him away from all the hustle and bustle of this confusing modern world – he’d take care of all the farm life and you’d just have to sit and enjoy life with him. Maybe he could adopt a dog, too, since you clearly loved Wolfie.

That sounded like a good idea….

But first, he needed to get home.

.

Hours had passed before you finally returned home, but you didn’t enter your house just yet, opting to stare through the window at what Wolfie was doing.

Sitting on the highest perch of the cat tower was Wolfie, completely at ease with the situation but staring morosely outside the window.

You couldn’t help it; you cackled.

Wolfie must have heard you because he brightened up and leapt down, barking up a storm as you giggled, unlocking the door and petting him as he attacked you with kisses and licks as you entered.

“Hi, baby! Hi!” you cooed, rubbing his ears as he snuffled about your legs, following you as you shucked your coat and boots before getting started on dinner.

.

Wolfie couldn’t help but be excited when you returned, he had been bored as he usually was when you left, and nothing you left him was entertaining enough – he wasn’t some simple dog that you could leave with destructible toys, but you didn’t know that, and he could never blame you.

He also loved watching you cook – you ranted about your day at work, sang some silly made-up song about whatever vegetable you were chopping, or simply sang to him as you cooked. You sometimes dropped scraps, and he was not above munching on them as they fell – sometimes, you even slipped him some extra vegetables that you didn’t need, which he happily crunched on.

“My cute little Wolfie,” you cooed, twirling around him, draining a pot and Wolfie’s tail wagged watching you; you were so full of life and love and were so adorable. “I wish I could talk to you and know what’s on your mind.”

Wolfie barked in agreement; he wished he could speak to you openly, too, to not be forced to hide like this until he found a way home. You poured out some kibble for him, and while he disliked such foods, it was apparently good for him, and he didn’t like seeing you upset at him for not eating.

The first day you had brought him home, you had poured out some kibble, but he refused to eat it, so you had sat there for hours, pleading for him to eat.

“Please, Wolfie! It’s really good for you!” you begged, looking at him with such an upset expression that he remembered feeling so bad. “Please just eat at least one bite! Please, I promise I’ll let you be afterwards!”

He remembered caving soon after, and you had cheered, scratching behind his ears and almost cried with relief when he continued eating. Of course, Wolfie would eat that disgusting food if it meant that you were happy with him, and he was so glad he hadn’t upset you like that again.

The only other time he’d seen you so upset was when an old boyfriend of yours had cheated on you, and Wolfie couldn’t help but feel bad for you. You were such a nice person, and he hadn’t known you all that long at that point, and he remembered crawling into your lap and simply comforting you that way. It had worked, and Wolfie enjoyed the snuggles and cuddles too, and they had become a regular fixture in your routine.

Now, Wolfie watched you wash the dishes, humming a song under your breath, and he simply sat there, watching you with his tail wagging. Being around you was so nice and calming, and he quickly followed you up to your room as you headed to bed, giving him a few pats as he laid down next to you to sleep.

He had dozed off, but his ears perked at the strange sound in your room.

Sitting up, his eyes caught the unmistakable sight of a portal opening up, and his senses instantly told him this was back to Hyrule, back to his pack, back to where he belonged.

Practically leaping out of bed, he transformed back into his Hylian form, stretching slightly to get used to this body again and paused, looking at you.

He had long debated about whether or not to bring you with him when the time came and has chosen to take you with him. Now that the moment was here, he couldn’t help but brush your cheek gently with a smile.

Link couldn’t stand the idea of not being with you – he had already been separated by worlds from Midna, and he wasn’t about to let this happen again with you! Scooping you up in his arms quickly, he grabbed a few of your blankets and hopped through the portal, the glowing doorway disappearing as he entered.

He was going home and would have his love with him this time.

.

A/N: remember that pic I posted a while ago captioned "Wolfie waiting for Y/N to come home", this is the fic that goes with itea[o[sgjph

@cloudninetonine @xynnia @times-bisoprolol

More Wolfie? More Wolfie!

Basically, Wolfie got yeeted to the modern world and was rescued. Reader adopted him and he quickly got attached so when the time came to go back to Hyrule, he took Y/N with him bc of course they'd love Hyrule and him and everything/s

In the modern world, Wolfie just looks like a wolf dog, not an actual wolf, and he is the best boi to Reader

LMK what you think please!

I love the idea of Eddie having an especially grueling day at work his friend (they have mutual feelings but nothing has been said) offers to give him a massage. Eddie is genuinely grateful but also vv flustered by the end!!

listen. LISTEN. i know this got out of hand. i know i said these were going to stay short n sweet. i know what i said and promised. but. listen. you can't hand me a prompt that is just so delicious, with so much potential to sprinkle in a light dusting of angst, and to give me the chance to garnish with a beautiful open ending full of promise, and not expect a monster of a product to come from it. you just can't. i'm sorry. i hope you enjoy this, regardless. even if it's not quite bite-sized.

warnings: seemingly unrequited love that turns into clearly idiots in love. eddie gets shirtless. that's all.

wc: 4.4k+ yikes

It had started off as an innocent, well-intentioned offer. You swear it did. 

When Eddie had called you right after pulling a double at the garage, begging to come over and simply relax at your apartment, you’d set up to allow him to do just that. You’d cleaned up a little bit, lit a candle that normally gave you a headache if it burned too long but that Eddie loved, prepped a selection of movies for him to choose from, pulled out the menu for your favorite take-out – you’d gone the whole nine yards for your best friend. 

Someone might even point out it wasn’t just best friend behavior at this point. Steve and Robin alike had certainly called out your behavior at times, coining it as “girlfriend behavior on a best friend salary”.

You didn’t care. You were well aware of what you were doing, and you didn’t care. 

You’d spend the rest of your life on the best friend salary, as the two dinguses had so lovingly called it, for the look of sheer peace on Eddie’s face right now. 

He’s leaning back on the opposite end of your couch from you, knees spread and chin facing the ceiling as he sighs in bliss. Take-out containers are scattered about the coffee table, and his movie of choice of Return of the Jedi is about halfway over on your TV. 

You both had already chosen a second movie – The Lost Boys. The plans for the night were set in stone.

You tuck both knees up beneath your chin, side-glancing your best friend for a second and ignoring the flutter of your chest as you watch him sink deeper into the cushions, “We can talk about it, y’know.” 

“Hm?” 

“Your day,” you adjust a bit, turning your body to face him fully, “If you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. We’ve already seen enough Jabba the Hutt to last a lifetime.”

That earns a smile from him, slowly crackling over his cheeks as he rolls his head towards you, “I dunno. Is there such thing as enough Jabba the Hutt?” 

You toss a piece of your sour watermelon candy at him, and despite it landing on his shirt, he still grabs it to pop it into his mouth. 

You try not to think too hard about how that shirt had been sitting in your drawers, clean and neatly folded, occupying space as if that might be normal. As if everyone has some of their best friend’s clothes at their apartment that they can change into after a long day at work. 

As if everyone has occasionally used said shirt as pajamas on nights they particularly miss the scent of their best friend’s cologne.

“Shut up,” you finally snicker, dropping your knees from your chin, sitting criss-cross now, “We don’t have to talk about your day if you don’t feel like it. By all means, if you wanna keep drooling over an alien slug, be my guest-”

At your teasing, Eddie moves quickly to grab one of your ankles, pulling your feet towards his lap before you can register what he’s doing. You gasp a little, and it’s definitely not because of the feeling of his warm palms wrapped around your bare skin. Totally not at the rush of warmth that travels up your body, head to toe, when you feel his rings pressing into you so eagerly. 

Absolutely not. You gasp, because anybody would gasp in this scenario. Because you’re just best friends. And best friends do stuff like that. 

“I am not drooling over a slug,” he chastises, grinning recklessly as he wiggles his fingers menacingly, mere inches from the bottom of your foot, “Take it back, or pay the price, baby.” 

Has he ever called you baby before? 

Certainly not, if your roaring heart has anything to say about it. 

“Don’t you dare,” you squeal – genuinely squeal – as you try and tug your legs out of his grasp. It’s a useless effort; he’s too strong, even after his long day, and your body isn’t even sure if it approves of taking his hands off of you. “Edward Munson, I swear to God-” 

It’s a mess of flailing limbs, painful laughter, and high-pitched screams from there. Squeaks from your own mouth, and a few from Eddie, mocking you all in good fun as he continues to persist for you to take it back. For just a moment, it feels like this is the normal – you’re living in a space where Eddie comes home from every day, grueling or effortless, to you. Where the two of you always end up on the couch together, bodies touching in any way they can. Where there’s always background noise on the TV as his focus is solely on you, smiling foolishly at his antics that were really just a simple effort to hear your laughter. Where your laughter is the only thing he really wants to hear at the end of the night, and it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard. 

A world where he tells you as much. 

A world where after this, he’s reaching the knob of your shared bedroom door rather than the front door of your lonesome apartment. 

A world where you aren’t existing on a best friend salary.

“Had enough yet, sweetheart?” he quips, just as breathless as you are from the struggle. This time, the nickname he uses is normal. It took you off guard during the first few months of friendship, but now? Your weary heart could handle it, cherish it even, and not let your stupid little crush get in the way of appreciating it. “All you have to say are the magic words.” 

“Are the magic words, you’re a dickhead?”

“Hm,” he pretends to ponder thoughtfully for just a second before shaking his hand, “‘Fraid not. Try again?” 

Instead of verbally replying, you give him a gentle kick in the stomach. Not the magic words he had in mind, but they sure do the trick. 

He lets out a soft oomph, one arm cradling his midsection as though you actually hurt him. You take it as your cue to remove your legs – his dramatics quickly come to a halt to prevent just that.

It’s probably meant to be subtle, the way both his arms fall down over your calves and keep your feet in his lap, but it has the capability to implode your entire world. 

“I can’t believe you’re being mean to me after the day I’ve had,” he whines, and all you can focus on is the way his thumb is rhythmically stroking the ball of your ankle now, “Me, your best friend, has had the most awful day and you-”

“Now you wanna talk about it?” you laugh a little, rolling your eyes at him.

“Absolutely.” 

“After you’ve just tortured me?” 

“Well, yeah. When else would I talk about it?” 

“I’m rescinding my offer to listen,” you continue to joke, making one more good faith offer to slip your legs from his lap. And, once more, he won’t allow it. 

He whines out a long, drawn out no, starting to lay his entire body across your legs this time. More direct, more to the point. Subtleties have been forgotten, you suppose. 

You don’t know if it’s more for you, or for him. You just know you like it. You like existing within a sneak preview of a girlfriend salary.

“You never answered me, drama queen,” you murmur as the joking lean across your legs becomes a bit more heavy, and Eddie is more genuinely collapsing his figure into your lap. He doesn’t even have to ask, or gesture – your fingers find home within his hair, and you can feel his hum of content against your thigh as you scratch along his scalp, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

All joking pretenses slip away from him as he mumbles out a muffled, “Not really.”

And you can work with that. You swear, you can. 

If you’d been so ready to lend a listening ear, then you can offer him this peace and quiet. A simple head massage as he leans into you, cheeks pressed to the top of your thigh as you think he returns to watching Return of the Jedi. 

His eyes might be closed, if his heavy breaths are anything to go off of. You’re just not sure. 

You just keep up your massage, sluggish strokes, clement scratches, deep breaths to match his own- 

And then, an idea hits you.

“Eds,” you whisper, your hand in his hair traveling to his shoulders, shaking him a bit, “Eddie.”

Only a grunt in response.

“Eddie, seriously, get up,” you stress, overeager, “I have an idea.”

“The apartment better be on fire,” he grumbles as he finally raises his head, face imprinted with the lines of your shorts in rolling hills of soft indents. 

Definitely was sleeping. Definitely wasn’t watching Star Wars. 

But even with his shoulders wrapped with dreary slumber, you’re still excited about your idea, motioning him to sit up fully. You let him take his time, of course, only after he swats your hands away sluggishly a few times. 

Once his back is straight, you lift one finger in the air, and draw a circle – motioning for him to turn his back to you without saying a word. 

His eyes narrow to slits at you, “Are you about to pull a prank on me? Because-”

“I’m not,” you assure him, reaching for his shoulders, nearly turning him yourself, “Scout’s honor.” 

He listens to you. Despite it all, despite his seeming mistrust, he turns his back to you. More specifically, he turns his shoulders to you. 

He’s still mumbling on about how you better not make his day worse, getting a little bit snappier when you gather his hair up to lay out of your way and claiming his scalp was extra sensitive today.

You pay his attitude no mind. He’s just grumpy. It doesn’t particularly phase you after years of close friendship.

“Listen, I know you like braiding my hair, but-” he continues with his protests as you grin behind him, shaking your head as you settle yourself closer to him. Knees bumping his hips, back straight for the time being. “I’d rather just nap right now. And I was really comfy, and really getting my rocks off to that damn alien slug-” 

All his words cut off when you finally put your plan into action. Your palms fall atop his shoulders, fingers curling around the tense skin, and he’s melting before you’ve even begun. 

“I- Oh,” he jumps a little at the first squeeze, but quickly returns to being pliant in your hold, “Oh… That’s…. That’s nice.” 

You continue your massage, gently squeezing, thumbs and fingers digging into any knots you find to work them away as you jeer, “Is it now?”

He nods, the smallest of movements as to not interrupt your work, “It is. ‘S real nice.” 

His head rolls with each pinch of your fingers, posture loosening as he leans back into your touch further. 

You take it a step further, biting back nerves when you slip your hands beneath the collar of his old t-shirt. You feel the shiver begin before it races down his spine at the press of your skin directly on his now. 

Your warm hands work dutifully, determined to bring as much relaxation to your best friend as possible. Definitely not enjoying yourself a bit too much at his smooth skin under your palms. Definitely not enjoying yourself just as much as he is. Certainly not. 

The shirt constricts you, though. Prevents your hands from traveling fully over sore spots you can feel the edges of. Catching your wrists, limiting the full potential of your movements. 

You’re glad he can’t see you as you suddenly request, “Take your shirt off.” 

“Hm?” he can’t form a proper word at first, not startled but simply sunken too deep in his relaxation, “What was that?” 

“I need your shirt off, Munson.” 

You try to sound brave, nonchalant, as you repeat yourself. You don’t want him to hear the fluttering of your heart – you don’t want him to hear the shake of your hands as you remove them from him.

You only want him to hear the totally reasonable request from a friend, who is simply trying to offer the best massage possible to their best friend who’s had a bad day. 

“Oh?” he looks over his shoulder, and you can see the edges of his raised brows through messy bangs, “Damn, sweetheart. If you wanted me naked, you just had to ask.” 

Can ribs break from a heart beating too fast? Is that even possible? 

“I did ask,” your voice is flat as a trade off to avoid any quivering to filtrate it, lips pressing tightly together as you swallow your heart, “So get to it.”

He leans forward, putting a bit of distance between you two before he reaches back to grab the center of his shirt. The fabric comes off with a flourish, and all you’re left face to face with is the bare expanse of his back.

You silently beg him not to look back over his shoulder, if only for just a second. 

You’ve seen Eddie shirtless plenty of times. At pool parties with the entire group, on rare lake days that always ended sun drunk and giddy, that one time he’d answered his door right after a quick shower and you’d seen a lot more than you’d bargained for. He was your friend. After a while, it would have been weirder to not have seen Eddie shirtless at least once. 

Something about this time feels different. 

He has freckles – not nearly as much as Steve or Robin, but they still exist. Small markings across skin glowing warmly in the dim light of your living room lamp, spattered without rhyme or reason. One on the back of his left shoulder, another slightly off-centered at the base of his neck. He has a light scar towards the bottom of his right shoulder blade – a memory from his childhood he told you once when you’d first seen it at the lake. Everyone else was out splashing about the ten-degrees-too-cool water, and he’d joined your side on the shore. Laid on his stomach as you laid on your back, offering you conversation in the form of stories about every blemish across his skin. The intentional tattoos, the unintentional scars. Everything. 

Even that day doesn’t quite compare to the intimacy of him being here now, being shirtless in your apartment, just the two of you. 

Maybe there was something extra in your coffee this morning, making you feel so delusional. 

“I don’t have any lotion or oils,” you finally clear your throat, trying to joke about as the two of you had been before, “But that doesn’t matter. You ready for the best damn massage of your life, Munson?” 

“Yes, please,” he groans, and something deep in your stomach clenches at the sound, “Want me to lay down or something?” 

Your brain short-circuits for a second, because you know where that leads. 

If he lays down, there’s only one way to continue to comfortably give him the massage. If he lays down, you’re about to bite off more than you could chew on a best friend salary. 

“Sure,” you choke out, damning yourself in the process. 

It’s all robotic mechanics as you two shift to assume the position; you stand up, and he sprawls out. And you swear, in the process, you catch a smothering of pink slow creeping across his chest and neck. 

“Can I…” you start to question, finally growing a bit shy as you stare down at the dip of his lower back. Two dimples on either side of his spine, looking so inviting and yet daunting. 

He finishes the sentence for you, saving you the embarrassment, “Sit on me? Yeah, go for it, babe.” 

There it is again. An unfamiliar nickname that falls so effortlessly off the lips for him. Another pet name to send you into a tailspin as your breath catches and your heart races, as though needing to catch up after the fleeting endearment.

“Thanks,” you whisper out. 

You’re starting to regret all your choices, but it’s too late to back down now. You just want to help him relax – that’s all this is. 

Stop making this more than it is. 

You’re exceptionally careful as you crawl over Eddie, placing a knee on either side of him, hovering for just a second as you take deep breaths to hype yourself up to do the inevitable. 

He twists a bit, startling you enough for you to balance yourself with a palm on each shoulder blade, “C’mon now, you’re not going to crush me. You should know this by now,” his eyes glitter, and you know he’s referring to that time you two made a bet he couldn’t carry you bridal style while drunk. He could, “Sit your pretty ass down and get to work, Masseuse.” 

You weren’t imagining the pink across his chest and neck. It’s climbed up now, tendrils tickling his cheeks. The bridge of his nose nearly looks sunburnt from this angle. 

It’s a good look on him. 

“Masseuse?” you snort as you shove him to be fully laying down once more, needing to get his eyes off of you for just a second, “That’s an awfully big word. You been reading without me or something? Becoming a secret genius?” 

Fall back into the normal flow of things. Try not to think about the heat of him between your legs as you sit half your weight down. 

“That is not a big word,” he chides. 

“Spell it, then.” 

“I-” he cuts off as your hands smooth back over his skin, no more restrictions. 

He never finishes his sentence, never complies with your request. All that falls from his lips are soft sighs as you begin the massage again. 

There’s an occasional twitch below his muscles as you knead away, slowly but surely becoming more comfortable with it all. Becoming more mesmerized as you can now see his skin moving with you, occasionally letting up when you skirt past freckles and scars alike, fingertips merely tracing them as he shivers under your delicate touch. 

You do exactly as you set out to do – you relax him. And then some.

You’ve never really gotten into the art of massages, something about it always feeling a bit too intimate. You’d never consider yourself a professional at it by any means – if anything, you’ve been on the receiving end rather than the giving end more often than not. And even those occurrences were rare. 

But when it came to Eddie, it seemingly came naturally. 

Not all of your movements are conventional. You pass back and forth between the usual squeezes of skin you’ve witnessed on TV and from others, and gentle tracing of your fingertips. Drawing shapes, painting pictures that vanish without ever having existed in the first place. Words, sentences, secret messages for just you two. 

When you trace out the endearment of idiot, Eddie seems to catch on, lazy grin peeking up past his curtain of hair covering the cheek almost facing you. 

In another place, where you make that coveted girlfriend salary, you’d trace out three little words on the tip of your tongue. 

You almost do it, too. It’s when you trace out idiot, in fact. You start, entirely subconsciously, with the i. A long pause, a space between words. 

And then you trace an l. One long line down the center of his spine. 

Your finger is already rotating for the o, ready to trace it in the center as the other two letters had been, a signalling it wasn’t a part of that last simple line. 

And then you divert. And you rush to finish out with the i, the o, the t. He laughs a little, the rush of air felt below you as he lets it out soundlessly, and you catch sight of his smile.

A seeming endearment to Eddie, a hidden scolding for yourself. 

Maybe one day you can find the nerve to properly trace it out – or better yet, say it. Speak your truth outloud and handle whatever consequences come from it. Because you do – you really, really do mean it – and those feelings for Eddie can’t seem to change. Something carved into your very soul, unchanging as the years pass. If anything, the carving only digs deeper into you with each month you spend with him. 

One day. But not today, not when Eddie’s had a bad day. It should be a good day when you say it, lessening the blow of rejection, hopefully. 

You almost lose your balance a few times. Each time having to adjust your position of sitting on him, shifting his hips right along with yours. And each time, you notice the catch in his sighs. The way they almost transform into moans, tense noises that seemingly tear from his throat, only dampened by poor attempts to conceal them. Even the back of his neck has grown flushed now, the tips of his ears vibrant when you see them poke through his hair. 

Sometimes, you lose your balance from his shifting, even. 

The air is sticky with tension as you finally finish up. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour – you weren’t keeping score, more focused on continuing on until Eddie’s entire body has gone boneless beneath you. 

Pretty, and pink, and pliant. Entirely slackened beneath your touches. 

It takes more to encourage yourself to climb off of him than it did to climb on originally. Your body protests entirely, knees not caring for the ache forming, inner thighs happy to be bracketing his hips. But you do it. Because you’re just a friend, a best friend, helping your friend relax. 

You stand, towering over him, looking down to find him hiding his face just a bit. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” his voice is entirely muffled by his mouthful of couch cushion, and you furrow your brows. 

“How was it?” 

He lifts his face strategically. He probably hopes you don’t notice, but you do, “Oh! Oh, it was, uh- It was fucking great, sweetheart. I… I swear, your hands are fucking magic.” 

Why is he tripping over his words like that? 

He can’t even look you in the eyes, line of sight darting anywhere but you.

Why is he flushed, head to toe? 

“Yeah?” you cross your arms, and subtly lean to block the TV now displaying credits that Eddie found terribly interesting, “Would you consider it the best massage you’ve ever had?” 

He nods, and you catch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows before squeaking out, “Oh, yeah! The absolute best I’ve ever had,” his eyes widen at his words, as if he’s made a terrible choice that you’re unaware of, “I mean, you know, I just- you should really consider becoming an actual masseuse.”

That’s when it hits you; Eddie is absolutely refusing to sit up. To remove his hips from your couch. 

He’s blushing, and he’s stuttering, and he’s definitely hiding something. 

There’s a twist in your gut that you can’t reveal. A satisfaction you know better than to celebrate right now. 

Instead, you decide to play with him just a little bit more. 

“Good,” you nod, stepping towards the end of the couch you’d originally occupied. Where Eddie’s knees are stiff against. “Maybe I will consider a career change. But for now – move, Munson. I’m just exhausted.” 

“What?” he looks at you, frightened, only moving his neck to keep his hips flush and hidden away. 

“Get your legs out of my seat,” you laugh a little, leveling him with a daring stare. 

You know what he’s hiding. You’re a bit proud of it, too. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says slowly, and you can see him going over his options in his head. A million excuses he’s probably conjuring, a hundred different escape plans he’s grasping at. “Yeah, of course.” 

And, just as you’d suspected, he doesn’t go with a single one to save his dignity. 

He moves quickly. Tucking his legs up and twisting himself into an upright position in the blink of an eye, and immediately grabbing one of your throw pillows that two of you had tossed off into the floor amidst the original movie night plans. 

He’s fast, you’ll give him that. But not fast enough for you to not catch sight of the tent in his pants. 

You don’t let your eyes linger too long. Swallow down any drooling threatening to begin. Tamper down any desire flaring in your chest and between your hips. 

Best friend salary, you remind yourself even as you grin a tad bit too salaciously for your current cover. Best friend salary, not girlfriend salary. 

You plop down on the seat still warm from Eddie’s legs, sinking back in self-satisfaction. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe it doesn’t have to be another time, or place, or Universe to get what you want. Maybe all your delusion, that wild imagination of yours, wasn’t so misplaced after all. 

Best friend salary, your mind whispers. For now.

Eddie makes himself comfortable right along with you, still seeming in a much better condition than when he’d first arrived, even if his cheeks had bloomed into a rose garden. He presses that throw pillow of yours protectively over his crotch, and once more focuses on the screen in front of you two. 

“Say, Eddie,” you drawl, almost radiant with your grin. A fire now lit inside both of you. “Think you could be a doll and pop in the next movie for me?” 

It’s a little evil, you’ll admit. But he kind of deserves it for underpaying you over the years, when it’s so clear you’re due for a promotion. Sometime soon, you hope. 

Both your heads turn to each other at the same time, wildly different speeds. Eddie’s neck snaps in disbelief, while you take your time to make eye contact.

All it takes is one knowing look exchanged, and the illusion fumbles on its stilts. 

“I…” his embarrassment, all that flush, slowly morphs as he catches the truth behind your intentions. The hand pressing down on the throw pillow alleviates just a bit, stiff shoulders relaxing as they should have been after your massage as he reflects back just as evil of a glint in his eyes as you had, “Sure thing, baby.”

It’s probably going to be a long night. Surely, the promotion of best friend to girlfriend is going to involve some paperwork. Or an interview, to prove your capability and experience first hand, of course.

But, well, he never did put his shirt back on, did he?

𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔 - 𝒁𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

This is a quick little Valentine's Day fic for Zoro! Short and sweet (pun intended,) but I loved writing it. I have a few other things I'll be trying to post leading up to Valentine's Day, but at the very least I've managed to get this out. I may end up editing it after the fact as I usually do.

CW: SFW, strong language, alcohol, tsundere-ish Zoro, female reader

~2k words

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“I hate chocolate.” 

“Good. These aren't for you, anyway.”

Zoro grumbles under his breath as he follows you out of the little confectionery shop, begrudgingly holding a bag of various chocolates. He's never been a fan of sweets, not at all, not even a little. So when you dragged him inside on the one day you have off the ship, he was a little annoyed, to say the least. 

“What, so you bought this many for yourself?” He asks. His steps keep in time with yours as he walks beside you, careful not to lose you in the crowd.

“Nope. For the crew.” You explain, peeking into the bag you carry. “I thought it'd be nice to get everyone something since it's almost Valentine's Day.”

Shit. Zoro knew he was forgetting something. 

“Right. Valentine's Day.” Zoro mumbles, glancing down at the bag again. 

God, how could he forget? Everyone's been babbling about chocolates, roses, festivities, and the cook has certainly been the worst offender, asking every woman aboard if they'd be his Valentine. Somewhere between his training, their fights at sea, and taking naps with you, he lost track of time. His eyes remain locked on the bag of chocolates, and just as he's trying to push the strange blend of feelings from his mind, he feels you tugging on his arm. In his train of thought, he'd started veering off the opposite way. 

“Whoa, there. Ship's this way, Mossy.” You say in your goddamn adorably teasing tone. It makes him clench his jaw. 

“Yeah, I know. And don’t call me that.” Zoro responds curtly, bristling with annoyance. 

It just makes you laugh. 

“Whatever you say.”

---

Zoro stares at you from across the deck, watching you hand chocolates to your crewmates. Luffy's confused at first, then overjoyed; Usopp’s awkward, then grateful; Franky's making his stupid poses; Nami's taking it off your tab; Robin's thanking you; Brook's asking to see your panties; Chopper's wiggling and grinning; Sanji's nose is bleeding; blah blah blah. All the same antics, the same lines, yet all Zoro is focused on is that look on your beautiful face as you give out your Valentine's chocolates. Your eyes light up with every ‘thank you,’ every hug, and all Zoro can do is think about how the hell he forgot about Valentine's Day. 

But it's too late now, isn't it? The ship has already left the port and he didn't buy any flowers or gifts. He sucks at making cards, expressing his feelings, baking cookies - basically, anything that could make a decent Valentine. Then there's the most troubling part of all. Is he even your Valentine? Does it even matter?

You've been dating each other for somewhere around two months now. That doesn't necessarily mean that you're Valentine's, though. Nothing was ever said, neither of you asked the other, and at this point, he's not even sure how to bring it up. It seems rather obvious to him that you'd be each other's Valentine's, but that's what makes it even more frustrating - what seems obvious to Zoro isn't always obvious to others. Sometimes he's exhausted being surrounded by so many idiots (though he refuses to admit that he’s one of them.)

But not you. You're the idiot he doesn't get tired of. But, god, why did it have to be chocolates? Valentine's Day has always seemed like some kind of worthless, annoying day where everyone just gives out candy and useless junk as an excuse to make out. Making out, Zoro can handle - sweets, not so much. But then there's you, who's all sugar and spice and everything nice. The antithesis of what he's supposed to like, but your attitude has proven irresistibly charming to the stoic swordsman. 

The way your smile beams across the ship could end wars, call ships away from danger, light up the moonless sky as it so often has when you've been on watch together. It's damn near impossible to deny how much he loves to see that look on your face, and even more irritating that currently he's not the one that put it there. So, chocolates. Zoro can't do that. But that smile? He'll maim, kill, and die for it. He reasons that maybe there's a simpler way. 

---

You're a little skeptical when your boyfriend asks you to come up to the crow’s nest in the middle of the night. Hell, neither of you is assigned watch and it's well past your usual hours for training. Usually, this late at night, Zoro's fast asleep in his hammock if he's not tucked into your bed with you. So, what gives?

“Just shut up and trust me.” He chides, his tone slightly irritated but mostly playful. Well, that's Zoro.

As you follow him out onto the deck, the cool night air hits the exposed skin from your pajamas. The stars are beautiful, glittering above in a way that's almost distracting, but you don't linger your gaze on them for too long. Instead, you stay closely behind Zoro, your arms crossed over your chest long enough to keep some semblance of warmth. The journey up the crow’s nest is longer than you'd like given the temperature and your sleepy mind, but you swear you can almost smell something weird wafting down from the open door hatch. 

It's not only until you peek inside that you recognize the scent of lavender, and through the candlelight, you recognize a large blanket, several pillows, a bottle of sake, and some kind of food on a few plates. As you're trying to register what you're looking at, Zoro pulls your hand gently to assist you up the rest of the way. 

“What is this?” You ask, and the way your lips curl into a smile makes Zoro's heart stutter. 

He lets go of your hand, walking across the planks of the crow’s nest to his makeshift picnic. It’s a romantic setup that took him all evening, and he can recall the several conversations he had with himself to try to figure out something to throw together. He’s a little satisfied with himself - smug, even - but he maintains his usual demeanor for now. Zoro doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, after all.

“Well, what does it look like?” Zoro responds in his classic, gruff tone. “Made you a picnic. Since it's Valentine's Day and all that.”

Your eyes glance around the candles, and while the setup is fairly simple, you can't deny the wonder you feel at the sight. Never once had you expected anything like this from Zoro. Quite truthfully, you thought he would have forgotten or written off the whole thing as stupid. Taking a few careful steps, your gaze finally glances back up at him. 

“Where did you…I mean, food and candles? I really didn't…”

Zoro hums, and his lips finally quirk up into a cocky smile for a moment. He couldn’t keep that smug feeling aside for long, especially when your eyes light up the way they do.

“Candles are from Robin, and I owe Nami for tricking the cook into getting us some snacks.” He responds before his eye flicks back up to yours. “You like it?”

“Like it? This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.” You grin, and you move to close the space between you two. It makes Zoro's heart stutter yet again. 

“Really? Is the bar that low?” Zoro replies with an amused huff. “Didn't think it was all that impressive. I pulled it together sorta last minute when I realized Valentine's Day meant so much to you.”

“It doesn’t.” You respond quickly, and you let out a laugh at Zoro’s shocked expression. So, you elaborate. “I mean, I like Valentine’s Day because it’s an excuse to express how much people mean to me. But the holiday itself doesn’t make or break anything. I wasn’t expecting you to actually care about it, which is why I never said anything.”

Zoro seems contemplative for a moment, his eye trailing carefully over to the makeshift picnic. He lets out a huff, one hand resting casually on his sword, the other against his thigh. 

“Of course I don’t care about Valentine’s Day.” He says, almost snapping. Guess you struck a nerve. “It’s a stupid holiday designed for people like that love cook to hit on women. I didn’t even know it was Valentine’s Day ‘till you bought all that candy.”

Despite his harsh tone, you can’t help but smile a bit wider at his response. He seems irritated, and likely just because he was in his own head about it. And god, that smile you give him…

“But I care about you, moron. That’s why I threw this together.”

Zoro sits down on one of the blankets, patting a pillow next to him for you to join. You don’t hesitate, and as you sit down you watch as Zoro grabs the bottle of sake and pulls the cork out with his teeth. He spits it aside, taking a long swig of it. If the candles weren’t so dim, you might have been able to notice the way the tips of his ears light up red. 

“I already told you that this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. You don’t have to feel weird about doing it just because I wasn’t expecting it.” You finally speak up, a hand moving to rest on his forearm. “Seriously, I appreciate this. It’s honestly really…sweet.”

Zoro takes his free hand holding the bottle of sake, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with a sigh. He’s definitely embarrassed, but that sweet tone of yours makes something in his chest feel lighter. 

“Yeah, well…I don’t normally do sweet. You know that.” Zoro says, setting the bottle of sake down between the both of you. And he knows that you know that - hell, you probably know him better than most people. “Just felt like now that we’re dating, I wanted to see you…have a good Valentine’s Day.”

“For someone who claims to hate sweet, you’re very good at it. Thank you, Zoro.” You reply, leaning against him just a little bit. The skin-to-skin contact makes Zoro heat up a bit, and when you lean in closer, you can’t contain the small giggle that leaves you. “But I feel like I should let you know that Valentine’s Day isn’t for another few days.”

Zoro’s expression drops once again, and that stupid annoying feeling of irritation fills him. His head snaps in your direction, and he visibly bristles. It makes you laugh.

“Dammit! Why the hell were you giving everyone chocolates so early then, woman?” 

“Because I didn’t want them to go bad! Plus, I’m horrible with surprises. I get too impatient.” You laugh again, and that laugh somehow both irritates and soothes Zoro. He’ll never understand the effect you have on him.

Grumbling, he grabs the bottle of sake again. Before he can bring it to his lips, though, your hand moves up to his chin, gently pulling it so that he looks right at you. With a grin, you lean forward and press your lips tenderly against his. That irritation in him is gone, and his eye slowly shuts as he feels you both melt into the kiss. Goddamn, Zoro hates sweets, but the taste of your lips against his is addicting. His chest aches when the kiss breaks, but your lips linger against one another.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” You murmur.

That was so cute ?????? I'm devastated

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Okay I hope you’ll have as much fun reading this as I had while writing it😂 Enjoy! - Love, Kiki 🖤

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 |  Eddie Munson x female reader (and platonic Eddie x Steve awkwardly befriending each other)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Based on this ask: Eddie wanting to do a good job pleasing his girl so he goes to Steve to awkwardly af ask for advice. Eddie doesn’t have much experience in bedroom activities, but since he wants to pleasure you as best as he can, he begrudgingly throws his pride overboard and seeks advice with Steve The Hair Harrington himself. 

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | humor, talk about smut 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2k 

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | talk abut SMUT obviously (only read if you’re 18+ years old!)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.  

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝; 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

“You want me to tell you what?!”

“Can you please scream it a little louder so the rest of this goddamn town will be in on the conversation as well, Harrington,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth.

“Well, you shouldn’t have shown up at my work place to polish up your sex ed knowledge, then, Munson,” Steve shot back as he put the last of the VHS tapes he’d been sorting back into its spot on the shelf before returning to his usual place at the counter, Eddie trailing in his path like a lost stray dog.

“Look –“ Steve began, annoyance written all over his features, but the chime of the bell above the Family Video entrance drew his gaze to the spot behind Eddie, whose expression darkened further in return at the sound of giggles rising from the door and the sudden enraptured gleam of interest flashing in Steve’s eyes which Eddie deduced had everything to do with said giggles.

“Hey. Harrington,” Eddie grumbled, snapping his fingers in front of Steve’s face, whose expression turned gloomy again when his eyes met Eddie’s. The girls still kept giggling in the background.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Eddie drawled, folding his hands on the counter, the metal of his bracelet clinking against the wood, “You’ll help me out real quick with this and I’ll leave you to your…” Eddie turned, following Steve’s line of sight to the three girls having assembled in the romantic comedies corner, “Job.”

“Or I’ll just ignore you.”

Eddie tilted his head, a sardonic smile on his lips. “I promise, I’m hard to ignore. I bet the chicks will dig it if I’m breathing down your neck while you’re trying to flirt.”

Afficher davantage

Klitz Headcanons pt. 2 (The Girl Next Door)

he enjoys forehead kisses

hates the texture of peanut butter but loves the taste

he is allergic to oreos

can appreciate a blink 182 song every once in a while

carrots reminded him too much as penises as a child and now he refuses to eat them

klitz listens to evanescence when he gets upset

he has a re occurring pimple on his left elbow

klitz didn’t need glasses originally, he found his dad’s glasses and just started wearing them and his eyes eventually adjusted

the longest he’s gone without showering is six weeks

his favorite animal is a beaver

when it gets really hot out klitz will shave his armpits

he says its for comfort but eli teases him for it 

his favorite flavor of beef jerky is terryaki

a few years after high school, klitz was an extra on criminal minds season 1

he is afraid of the amish

he has considered selling feet pics for extra cash before, but he is too anxious his mother would find out

he has a lock of his baby hair hanging on a nail in his bedroom

he still doesn’t understand how a tampon works

his favorite socks are orange

he is too afraid to turn left on streets

he will turn as many rights as he needs to so he can avoid a left

that results in him sometimes going in circles

his cousin was a finalist on american idol and it gave him semi fame in his high school for about a week

he has a piss drawer

HATES WEEZER

-

tag list: @beenz-beenz @fikism @liveforkarljacobs @colorsofjun @kr4lie @slut-for-matt-murdock @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @nluvsdano @slut-for-matt-murdock @rosepaintedblack

i want him.