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daydreamtofiction · 5 months ago

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Thou Shalt Not Covet // 13: Heaven

Contents | Part 12 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Ben x Female Reader) "And for a moment, you were convinced you saw heaven behind your lids." SMUT SMUT SMUT from beginning to end

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, religious imagery & desecration, explicit sexual content including oral sex (receiving) & penetrative sex. Readers must be 18+

A/N: For anyone that missed it, the playlist for Thou Shalt Not Covet is now available for people to listen to while reading, and will be updated with each new chapter. I'm obsessed with this playlist, I've honestly had it on repeat for almost two years. Pls pls pls go listen.

There was a TV show Gina loved to watch, with posh accents and regal dresses, dowries and grand balls in stately homes. You never stuck around long enough to learn what the show was actually about, why she would clutch a cushion to her chest in excitement whenever two characters shared a glance or accidentally grazed hands. But there was one night you found yourself lingering in the doorway of the living room, watching the moment those characters finally confessed their love; the frantic touches and messy kisses, the way they needed each other so desperately in that moment they could barely breathe except to gasp.

You'd never experienced that before; that fumbling, panting, tearing-at-each other's-clothes kind of sex that only seemed to happen when desire outweighed sense. It was a type of passion reserved only for period dramas and romance novels, for fantasies that made your body run hot as you lay alone in bed at night. It wasn't real.

Until now.

You hurried down the gravel driveway, trying to keep up with Father Benedict's long strides as he rushed ahead of you. The breeze carried an echo of voices from the church hall; stragglers from the singles night chatting as they crossed the grounds to walk home, and you couldn't help but wonder if something had sent them your way, like a last ditch attempt from god to stop you before you got to that rectory door. Whatever it was, it was too late.

Father Benedict unlocked the door and stepped inside. You followed, barely making it over the threshold before his hands found your face, lips crashing against yours as he backed you into the door, the weight of your bodies shutting it with a heavy thud. You threw your bag to the ground and clutched at the torso of his shirt, gasping for breath between hungry, impatient kisses and moaning softly into his open mouth.

He planted a hand on the door above your head to steady himself, the other sliding down your neck to your chest. He palmed your breasts over the material of your dress, roaming down to your waist, hip, thigh, then back up to your neck, trying to touch all of you at once. You pulled him closer, feeling a shudder deep in your core as the hard outline of an erection pressed against your stomach, followed by a cold shock of metal against your inner thigh from the belt he hadn't bothered to re-buckle.

Your knees weakened and you whimpered as a shiver pricked at your skin; his taste still dancing on your tongue, his fervour evident in the mascara smudged along your bottom lashes. He liked to hear you moan, you could tell in the way his touch grew firmer, the deep rumble resonating in his chest. He slid his hand beneath your dress and groaned as his fingers made contact with the wet cotton between your legs.

"You are glorious," he growled against your lips.

You tried to keep kissing him, but he tilted his head back slightly, looking down at you, then around the dark living room, before grabbing you by the hips and leading you towards the stairs. You let him move you across the room with ease, reaching up and sliding your hands into his hair to kiss him as he walked you backwards up the first few steps.

"Oh, shit," he whispered to himself, stopping suddenly.

"What?" you replied breathlessly.

"The door."

He retreated from you suddenly, pulling a set of keys from his pocket and running to the front door to lock it. You chuckled in realisation and continued up the stairs, turning around to wait for him at the top, watching as he climbed two at a time, stopping a few steps down from you to bring his face level with yours.

"So now I can't escape?" you joked as he leaned in to press his lips to yours.

"June sometimes lets herself in of a morning if I don't lock it," he replied between kisses. "Y'know, after the time I slept in. Didn't think you'd appreciate that."

You giggled at the thought while his lips moved to your jaw, eventually making their way to your neck as he pushed you back towards the bedroom.

You stumbled in his grasp through the door, the dark room providing a strange familiarity that made your stomach flutter with a mixture of nerves and excitement. He didn't bother to turn on a light, instead kicking the door closed behind him and moving you impatiently towards the bed. Moonlight seeped through the window, illuminating his face as he tugged away the clergy collar from his neck and threw it to the ground. It made you think of the first time; how he'd closed his eyes and braced himself as you removed it so carefully.

The backs of your legs made contact with the bottom of the bed and you stopped, breath catching in your throat as he dropped to his knees at your feet. You instinctively reached out and ran a hand through his hair; it was so soft, curling gently between your fingers as you combed through it. He would look angelic right now, you thought, if it wasn't for the hunger in his eyes.

His fingernails tickled the flesh of your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You stood perfectly still, heart beating so hard you could hear it thrumming in your ears, feel the pounding rhythm in your throat, your fingertips, between your legs. He pushed up the skirt of your dress, bunching it in one fist while the other hand slid your underwear to one side.

You exhaled a shaking breath, the mere graze of his touch over your aching centre enough to send a wave of tingling heat crashing deep in your core. It was embarrassing how even the slightest contact seemed to set you alight, how all he had to do was say the words and you would gladly burn.

The warmth of his breath against the apex of your thigh made you tense, and when his tongue began to lap at your clit, you turned to stone completely. There was no hesitation, no build up or gentle introduction; the moment his mouth dipped between your legs, he was devouring you with an insatiable appetite.

"Fuck," you whispered.

No one had ever eaten you out right where you stood before. And there was something oddly powerful about it; standing like a man with a lover on their knees at your feet. But what the hell were you supposed to do with your hands? Father Benedict reached up and grabbed them, bringing them down to rest on the back of his head, as though he knew exactly what you were thinking without having to say a word. You curled your fingers into his hair and let your shoulders relax, closing your eyes as he worked his mouth with a deep, satisfying pressure.

He lifted one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, opening you up to him further. Your head fell back, eyes rolling closed, and for a moment you were certain you saw heaven behind your lids. But then you looked down again, gasping softly at the sight of him pleasuring himself beneath you; palming his cock to the rhythm of his tongue. This was heaven. You were sure of it.

"Fuck," you whispered again, repeating the word over and over with every shallow exhale. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

You shivered, tightening your fists in his hair to stop yourself losing balance. He groaned in satisfaction, sucking your clit into his mouth and releasing it again. The sound was like a kiss, its tenderness a complete contradiction to the act itself. Then he shifted on his knees to stand up, the sudden loss of pleasure making you whimper as your bubbling climax slowly faded away.

He rose to his full height before you could protest, kissing you deeply as he lifted you onto the bed. Your eyes never left him as he stripped away his shirt and bent to remove his shoes and socks, before wrapping a hand around your ankle and unbuckling the strap of your shoe. You kicked it to the floor as he moved to the other, his fingers so nimble; long and agile, sharp knuckles and perfectly groomed nails. Even the way he slid the shoe from your foot was somehow mesmerising.

You shuffled backwards as he unbuttoned his trousers, watching as he let them fall to the floor and stepped out of them quickly. He climbed onto the bed, laying kisses over your bare legs as he crawled up your body, pushing you onto your back with a forcefulness you'd always secretly hoped he was capable of. His need for you emanated from him like steam, turning the air around you hot and stifling, small beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, admiring the way muscle and bone rolled beneath soft skin, how small you felt under the shelter of his broad frame. He stooped his head to kiss you, lips and tongue moving feverishly, heavy exhales rushing from his nose as he shucked his underwear down his hips. You hadn't even taken your clothes off yet - soaked underwear still pushed to one side beneath your rumpled sundress - but the need to feel him inside you was too great to care.

His erection sprung free against your inner thigh, sending a shudder of anticipation to your core. Your body remembered him, in perfect detail, replaying every flutter and tingle from your first night together like a flashback. You let out a soft breath, gazing up at him as he brought two fingers to your lips and pushed them gently into your mouth. You sucked on them gladly, swirling your tongue and taking pride in the way the angles of his face hardened in response - his body remembered you too.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and slipped them down between you, coating the head of his cock in your spit. You squirmed as you lay beneath him, desire pooling at your already slick entrance as you watched his every move.

"Open those legs for me," he said breathlessly.

He hadn't spoken in so long that his words were almost startling, the deep rasp of his voice cutting through the silence like thunder on a summer's night. Your body responded before your mind could even catch up, thighs parting wider to welcome him between them. He hummed quietly in appreciation, shifting closer on his knees before moving your underwear further aside and sliding his length along the seam of your pussy, every brush over your clit making you twitch, hips rolling in desperation.

He gripped the base of his cock and began guiding the head inside you, the slow stretch forcing a moan from your throat. Then he paused, the shallow penetration making you whimper, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back in frustration. You felt his hands move to your hips as he teased the tip at your entrance, fingernails pressing softly into your skin, a quiet groan escaping in a heavy, controlled exhale.

He slid his full length into you with a growl. Your back arched, mouth falling open in a mixture of shock and satisfaction. He was so deep, the pressure of his intrusion flooding your pelvis with an intense heat that ebbed and flowed with even the slightest shift of his hips. He drew back and sank into you again, making you gasp in pleasure before lifting your head to look at him.

"Too much?" he whispered.

"No," you replied, shaking your head as you slid your hands around his back.

You melted into the mattress as he fucked you; every deep, hard thrust gilded with the softest words of praise. The straps of your dress had slipped off your shoulders, the skirt bunching further up your waist with every snap of his hips. He grabbed the material like reins in his fist, keeping you exactly where he needed you; close, pinned beneath him as he watched your body take every last inch over and over again.

The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard thudding against the wall, making the cross above the bed rattle on its hook. You hoped it wouldn't fall, unsure if you could handle another 'sign' coming between you and a much needed orgasm.

"Oh, god," you whimpered.

He buckled at the sound of your voice, leaning forward and sweeping you into another heady kiss. You welcomed the weight of his body on top of yours, torsos pressed flush together as he caged you within his frame. You dug your nails into his back, moaning as he drove into you. Shockwaves flowed from your core to your stomach, making you dizzy, breathless, legs shaking as they hugged at his waist.

You could feel yourself tightening around his cock, a climax building deep in your belly. A sound escaped him, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, melding with your own heavy breaths in the space between your open mouths.

"You're going to make me come if you keep doing that," he whispered.

"Can't help it," you replied breathlessly, moving your hands to his face as you kissed him again.

He growled softly. "Are you close?"

"So close."

Your words seemed to fuel him; he planted his palms either side of your head on the bed and locked his elbows to prop himself up. Sweat had turned his hair damp, curls falling over his forehead as he looked down at you, blue eyes glistening, even through the darkness. You ran your hands over his bare chest; the pale, smooth flesh now hot to the touch, muscles tightening in his stomach as he quickened his thrusts.

You let your head fall back as you came; the orgasm spilling from your core and washing over you in waves of deep, undulating pleasure. It was unexpectedly quick; a bolt of lightning followed by a heavy downpour, severe and pervading, flooding you completely. He faltered for a moment, almost losing himself at the sight of your rapture, but regained composure again; maintaining his movements to coax every last drop of pleasure from your body before allowing himself to join you.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, a string of swear words and incoherent mumbles spilling from his lips into your skin. You clung to his shoulders and held him close, your chests heaving together with quick, frantic breaths. You opened your eyes to find your vision peppered with stars, floating across the ceiling above you, regaining their brightness with every blink.

He lifted his body lethargically, as though his arms could barely hold the weight of him anymore. You turned your head, just enough for a kiss, and sighed blissfully against his lips when he welcomed it. The room was quiet, the air around you so calm it was as if it had never been disturbed. He pulled out of you slowly and sat back on his heels between your legs, blowing out an exhausted huff as he wiped the sweat from his brow. You propped yourself up on your elbows, taking in the sight of him with a slight smile, revelling in the way he did nothing to hide himself from you; his length hanging proudly between folded thighs, softening slowly as he steadied his breaths and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

He noticed your smile, eyes falling from your mouth to your body, then back up to your face. Then he smiled too.

There was a breeze seeping through a gap in the window, licking at the bottom of the curtains. It was serene; lying in the quiet, dark room with your head on Father Benedict's chest, the cool air a welcome relief from the heat of his body. You could feel him playing with your hair, twirling it in his fingers as he lay contently, basking in the calm.

"I really need a wee..." you said.

A laugh escaped through his nose. "Go and have a wee then."

You peered over at the bedroom door, before letting your head fall back with a huff. "In a minute."

A deep chuckle vibrated in his chest. You curled further into him, draping an arm over his stomach and tucking yourself into his embrace.

"Do you think anyone from the mixer went home together tonight?" you asked.

"I don't know. Why?"

You shrugged. "Just... Bit bad if the only person getting laid after a catholic singles night is the priest."

He laughed - a stronger, heartier laugh - and covered his face with his hand. "I'm going to be excommunicated."

A distant ringing stole your attention. You lifted your head to listen more carefully, recognising the tune before it stopped.

"I think that was my phone," you said.

Father Benedict groaned as he sat up, as though every muscle in his body ached. "Where is it?"

"My bag. Downstairs."

"I'll get it for you. You go for your wee."

You remained in bed as you watched him get up. He grabbed a pair of jogging bottoms from a drawer and pulled them on as he walked across the room. They sat low on his waist, his lack of underwear creating an obvious imprint in the crotch. You swallowed and looked away; the thought of him catching you as you ogled him still filling you with embarrassment.

He left the room and you listened as his footsteps faded down the stairs. Only then did you climb off the bed, hurrying to the bathroom as your bladder threatened to burst. You lifted the hem of your dress as you sat on the toilet, brow furrowing when you noticed a rip in the fabric. You examined it closer, the frayed material and popped stitching, the small tear you could fit your finger through. You breathed out a stunned laugh.

The water from the bathroom sink was freezing. You stood for a minute with your hand under the tap, waiting for it to warm up before giving up and using it to clean yourself up. Your clit was so sensitive it made you gasp just to touch it; why had you never felt like this after sex with anyone else? So charged and raw, unravelled and loose-limbed, so utterly spent and deliciously used. Maybe it was the risk of it all, or perhaps you'd simply never liked anyone this much.

You returned to the bedroom to find him back in bed, sitting with his back resting against the headboard. You closed the door and walked over to him, pointing to the tear in your dress, the sliver of thigh peeking through.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You ripped my dress," you replied.

"I did?" he asked, a fleck of genuine surprise in his voice.

"Mhm." You climbed over him to sit on the bed, your bag waiting for you there.

"Sorry, obviously I got carried away."

You opened the bag and pulled out your phone. "It's okay, I barely ever wear this anyway," you said absentmindedly, chewing your lip as you read through a wall of messages.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, it was just Mara. She got the baby's photos back today and doesn't like how they turned out. Wants me to have a look at them."

"Oh."

You glanced over at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied with a slight smile. "Just- I wouldn't think she'd come to you for help for... anything, really."

"Ah, yeah, well we've been trying out this new thing where we actually act like sisters."

"How's that going?"

"Good. I think. A lot of talking."

He laughed softly, a one-sided smile creating lines around his mouth, creases at the corner of his eyes.

"Talking is good," he said. "You both went through the same awful thing, it'll feel a thousand times better-"

"Oh, no. We don't talk about that."

"Why not?"

"Cain is... a touchy subject. I don't think she knows how to talk about it."

He tilted his head for a moment, thinking. "You should bring her to one of my grief sessions."

You laughed.

"I'm serious," he said. "I know neither of you are particularly religious, but it can still be helpful; the group setting, people with similar experiences, the supportive atmosphere, maybe it'll encourage her to open up."

"You don't know my sister," you said, still giggling.

"Think about it," he said calmly. "You know the time and place. Just try. I think both of you could do with it."

You typed a quick reply to Mara and slid the phone back in your bag, throwing it over the edge of the bed to the floor.

"And how do you know what I could do with?" you asked teasingly.

"I think I know you pretty well by now," he replied, pulling you close to him and draping an arm around your shoulder.

You lay there for a moment, head pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, when a strange feeling overcame you. Like an itch you couldn't reach, a worry you couldn't place.

"I don't know anything about you," you said.

"Hm? What makes you say that?"

"Because I don't. I don't even know your last name. Or your birthday, or your favourite song, or what your life was like before you came here..." you laughed softly, the statement so ridiculous you couldn't believe it was true.

He fell silent, and you didn't dare look up at him. Instead you lay there, waiting for him to speak, or to close up, to tell you to drop it or just leave altogether.

He cleared his throat. "Cumberbatch. 19th July. Sweet Thing - Van Morrison. Boring, lonely and much less complicated."

You inhaled a long, quiet breath, waiting a moment before lifting your head to look at him. "Cool. Thank you for sharing."

He scoffed, squeezing your face between finger and thumb in feigned frustration. You smiled as he released his grip, his hand sliding down to cup your jaw, eyes locked on yours.

"Your surname is Cumberbatch?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes and let go of you, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. You lay back down against his chest, finger tracing swirls over the ridges and divots in his torso.

"If you hadn't become... this, what do you think you'd be doing right now?" you asked.

He hummed in thought. "I think I'd be an actor."

You burst into laughter.

"What!?" he asked. "What's so funny about that?"

You sat up and turned to face him. "An actor!? Of all the jobs-"

"Hey, I'll have you know I was an acclaimed performer in my school plays-"

Your laugh only grew louder.

"I was Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream," he continued. "and- and Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion-"

"Oh, okay Audrey Hepburn."

He couldn't hold back his own laughter, disguising it with a disgruntled growl and pulling you on top of him. "It was an all boys school, alright?"

You straddled his waist, giggling as you wiped a tear from the corner of your eye. "It is such a shame that Jesus robbed the world of the great actor you could have been."

"Fuck off."

He tilted his chin up, hand sliding to the back of your head and pulling you down to kiss him. You planted your palms on his chest, mouth and tongue following his lead. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, making you hiss, rocking your hips in search of friction. His free hand moved to your thigh, his finger catching in the hole he'd made in your dress. He glanced down at it for a moment before gripping the material and tugging it up your body. You raised your arms, letting him peel it from you, the cool air turning your nipples hard as pearls.

He threw the dress aside, returning his hands to your bare chest; the smooth, clear skin where love bites once embellished. You revelled in the warmth of his touch as he admired your body, losing himself in the details of you; the rounds of your breasts and the curve of your waist. It was like he was trying to memorise you, to savour you.

"Father..." you said softly.

He closed his eyes, almost groaning as he exhaled a slight laugh. "God, can you please not call me that right now?"

"Sorry... Benedict...?" you replied tentatively.

"Ben. Ben is fine."

"Ben." There was something so alien about it, so funny and awkward and unnatural, like calling a teacher by their first name. You swallowed the feeling, clearing your throat to speak again. "The night we met..."

"Mhm," he replied, taking you by the wrist and kissing your hand.

"When you drove me home..."

"Mhm." His lips moved slowly up your arm as he pulled you closer to him, planting soft, warm kisses along your collarbone.

"Did you feel... tempted then? By me?"

"I thought you were beautiful," he replied, still peppering your chest with kisses. "If not a little... odd."

You laughed.

"And I snuck a glance at your bum as you climbed out of the car."

You scoffed. "Despicable."

"Hey, I may be a priest, but I'm still human."

You shifted slightly, feeling his erection returning beneath you. "Very human, apparently," you said, rocking your hips.

He groaned at the pressure, his cock straining to escape the jogging bottoms he was still wearing. You leant forward and kissed him, fists tangling in his hair as he dug his nails into your hips.

"Can you take another round?" he whispered into your mouth.

"You have me for the night," you whispered back.

He sighed in satisfaction, your words lighting a fire in his chest. He shifted beneath you, impatiently pushing down the waistband of his joggers. You lifted yourself up slightly, making it easier for him, and gasped softly when you felt the head of his cock pressing at your entrance.

You reached back, gripping it at the base and guiding it inside you. The slide was smoother than the last time, deep and slick, your walls moulding around him like your body was designed especially for him. He watched his cock sink into you, his head falling back in pleasure when you brought your full weight down on top of him.

"Oh my god," you moaned softly.

You couldn't bring yourself to move; the feeling so intense it turned your mind cloudy, any instincts you had lost amongst the fog. He slid his hands up your body, his hips remaining perfectly still as he pinched your nipples and squeezed your breasts, content with caressing you, patient in his exploration. You rocked forward tentatively, testing the sensation, humming as his cock rubbed against your g spot. It drew moans from both you, the sounds melding together in one harmonious chorus. You began to move with more verve, rolling your hips, knuckles blanching as you gripped the headboard above him.

You weren't sure how you were ever supposed to leave; when the sun came up and he donned his collar once again, walked you outside and whispered goodbye before disappearing down that winding path. How could you go back to reality? To bus rides and your childhood bedroom, waiting, hoping you'd get to be his for another night.

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi @ehuether @dragonqueen89 @estheticwh0re @Lfp10836 @kanyewestest @star-girl-05 @theothersideofthescreen @battledress @chaosdorito @vlqueen @erratica47 @happybunnyclumsyduck

*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

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modern-day-bard · 10 months ago

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Masterlist

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller Fanfiction

Summary:

Guinevere Russell is the sole heir to the multimedia conglomerate, Russell Corp. After obtaining her MBA and moving home to New York City, she’s been forced to return to a tumultuous relationship with her father and the rest of the board. Gwen would prefer to run off with her friends and see just how far she can take a distraction, and she’s perfectly happy doing so. That is, until her father hires a bodyguard to keep a watchful eye on her. She just can’t figure out if he was hired for her safety, or to uncover the secrets no one else knows she possesses…

Joel Miller is a personal security officer on leave from his last assignment, where he worked abroad for a U.S. embassy. He has avoided private security detail for years after a life-changing accident, but when he gets this call, the money is too good to pass up. But Joel has never met a client with such an aversion to being protected. Regardless of the paycheck, Joel will soon realize this is his biggest challenge yet, but not for the reason he thinks…

When their secrets, both past and present, collide in a mixture of tension and new-found feelings, the results can be catastrophic. Now, Gwen’s safety is put at risk more than ever before, and the two of them have to get to the bottom of the mystery, and what they mean to each other, before it’s too late.

Content Warning: 18+ This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut. Minors, do not interact.

a/n: This is a WIP! I’m writing more chapters while editing before I post. I hope to post on a consistent basis. I’m also posting this story on ao3 and Wattpad. Tumblr tends to take me the longest to post from, but I’m determined to make it happen!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Worth The Feeling: A Javi Gutierrez Fanfiction

Summary: Ava Cohen is a 26-year-old production assistant working tirelessly to achieve her dream of one day becoming a film director. As hiatus from her last project comes to a close, she returns to set with Norwick Productions, whom she has worked with for the past four years. After a major fo paux on the first day of work, Ava is worried she has offended the star of this next production: Javi Gutierrez. She will soon come to realize, this couldn’t be further from the truth. When the cast and crew travel to Italy to film on location, the seriousness of what Ava is feeling becomes all too real, just as a new career opportunity lands in her lap. As tensions run high, watchful eyes set in, and her career is put at stake, can all of this be worth it in the end?

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

a/n: The full story is available on AO3 and on Wattpad as well for anyone who is interested. Thank you to anyone who reads my story! 🤍

Total word count: 93,547

Pairing: javi gutierrez x f!reader. No physical descriptors of the MC, except for her being shorter than Javi.

Pairing Disclaimer: the original pairing was Pedro x reader but after everything was released I felt very uncomfortable with that. If I was a celebrity, I wouldn’t want people to write that about me. I was creating a character as I wrote this story that was separate to Pedro, and after posting, I regretted my choice. I have edited all chapters to reflect this, as Javi’s love of movies and cheerful disposition makes sense for the character I created. Reblogged posts may still have the original pairing, as I’m unable to update them. Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

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yiga-hellhole · 6 months ago

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TFTK CHAPTER 20: ENDURING RESOLVE

Ganondorf has gone into hiding. His two most loyal servants guard the desert in his stead. Hyrule approaches, knowing not what kind of death awaits them, deep beneath the sands. Zant tests out his blade.

FINALLY DONE! sooo sorry my beloved tumblr readerbase. this update has been available on ao3 for a little over a week now, but i had to steam through a pretty bad art block to get this promo image done exactly how i liked it. so without further ado, here it is!! i have a real doozy for you all today! again, thanks so much to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading the chapter! there's a couple secret languages in this chapter again... thanks very much to @unironicallycringe for helping me with figuring out Akkadian. as for the translations, well... you go puzzle it out!

content warnings this chapter for: graphic violence, animal death, medical gore, domestic violence/physical abuse (for lack of a better term)

ao3 mirror

They rose before the sun had even fully set, thieving their love-nest of its purpose hours too early. Any preparations they could do, save donning arms and armor, would have been too late in this final moment before battle, but they had to be ready to defend themselves at any moment. The air was tense, dead-silent so as not to alert any potential enemy scouts. But in that deep silence, every nervous sigh, every jingle of chainmail, grated the ears from miles away.

So sat Zant in his chambers, eyelids still thick and heavy with sleep, but nonetheless perched at the edge of his bed, gazing out into the night sky. Ghirahim lied where he’d left him, sunken into his pillows and layers of sheets. In this companionable silence, there was as much to be said, as there was a lack of words to convey them. Indecision to what topic could suit the last hours before this all-out battle, they spoke of nothing at all. Yet there was deep understanding in it, a bond between them that only needed a glance of the eye to be conveyed.

Pacing anxiously was unnecessary. Ghirahim lay comfortable; to him, nothing enriched the soul like battle, and he was ready to rise every minute of the day. No need for armor, for food, for a minute to come to his senses. He could jump up the second the warning horns blared.

Thus, he dozed, his eyes on the tense Twili beside him until they wandered to the portrait above him. When had he moved it above his bed, he wondered? To think a man so reserved could be so vain. The gold of its canvas glittered in the weak light, egging on the stars in the sky beyond with its own splendor. Ghirahim felt a smile creep up on him and his eyes drew to a close.

He didn’t quite keep track of how long he lay there simply sifting through the favorite contents of his core, before that line of thought was interrupted, and a warm static forced itself through his mental imagery. It started deep in his chest, washing over his every extremity in waves. His skin tingled, his breath hitched. A contented sigh dragged out from him and joined the warm air in the room. This feeling, how long ago it was since he last felt it. It could only be…

Sat on the carpet beside the window was Zant, the Demon Scimitar before him. Moonlight could not hope to pierce the deep black of their blade; their masterpiece was a shadow among shadows. A vibrant teal glow pulsed throughout the veins in its fuller, like light beneath the ocean waves. That glow slowly grew richer, occasionally interrupted by the stroke of a cloth across the blade.

Ghirahim shuddered. There was the source of that odd feeling, that sent shivers up his back and caused his face and stomach to flush an embarrassing red. Soon Zant caught him staring at him past the mound of sheets and met his eyes – glowing, giving him no choice but to witness them – with a smile.

“Pardon me. Did I disturb you?”

“Disturb is a strong word,” Ghirahim said, unable to suppress a shuddering groan. From fingerguard to its point, the cloth rubbed away every speck of dust and smudge of oil.

The sound that escaped him piqued Zant’s interest immediately. Eyes that should pay attention to the razor-sharp edge of their sword widened at him. “You can feel this?”

Taps of powder against the blade. Puff, puff, little clouds of white dissipating in the gentle breeze. “To some degree, yes.”

Bright, amber eyes narrowed. “What is it like?”

Adjusting comfortably, Ghirahim sank back into the sheets, hiding half of his face. He stared him down no lesser, though. “There is hardly any equal to this feeling, Zant,” he hummed, pleased by the sensation of gentle polishing. “But if I had to describe it… Something akin to having my hair brushed, or hands stroking my back, I suppose.”

Zant’s eyes turned to the sword, now carrying a certain spark. He beheld it in a different light. “I see. How fortunate to know.”

Ghirahim shifted, curling himself in the mass of sheets to get a better look at his machinations, but without abandoning the glow of their joint warmth. Their companionable silence returned, the quiet room filled only with the whisper of cloth against metal, and the gentle churning of his core. Warmth buzzed through him in waves, like fingers with long nails tapping and tracing the features deep in his chest. That so-abstract sensation turned ever warmer, more squeezing, when that familiar smell of cloves arose, and Zant turned to oiling the blade. Ghirahim cocked his head, watching intently. “Tending to it again? So soon?”

Zant only glanced at him before returning to his focus. “Our sword is in its infancy, Ghirahim. It has to be nourished in its first year.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Ghirahim smirked.

“You hardly gave me any choice, Ghirahim-hasir,” Zant smirked right back.

Another honorific! He laughed fondly, ever-so-amused by Zant’s habit of slipping into mother tongue. “That one is new! What nonsense are you up to, this time?”

“No more than usual,” Zant hummed, a touch of cheer in his voice. “Now get back under the covers and leave me to do my bidding. We must be in top shape before dawn, you and I,” he crooned, stroking the cloth down their blade in emphasis.

Ghirahim smiled, sighed, and complied.

That morning, Hyrule conquered the southern settlements in a matter of minutes. The market streets the pair had grown so familiar with, committed to memory through the smells of spices, pastries, and smoked meat alone, decimated at once. Not that they’d made it particularly difficult for their adversaries; a minimal amount of monstrous troops were stationed there. This was their bait. A little trick tucked in falsely heightened morale, to fool the Hyruleans into thinking them weaker than they were. Besides, the locals stationed within sight would surely be healthily enraged by the sight of their beloved settlement being torn to the ground. Zant had planned for a bloody start.

The two of them were thoroughly locked away in the North. The Gerudo Temple Complex was a dark and swirling thing, a monumental goliath of sandstone and brick, its dimly lit corridors designed to trap anyone outside the clergy in the bowels. Deep within, it hid the Coliseum. A holy ground to desert peoples, later desecrated by Hyrule and turned into an executioner’s oubliette. Better known as, ‘The Arbiter’s Grounds’. Since its reclamation by the Gerudo (according to Zant, one of the few good things brought on by shattering the Mirror of Twilight), Hyrule was to never touch it again. The labyrinth would guard it for as long as it stood.

In other words, it was the ideal place to watch the battle unfold from afar. Their intel detected signs of three commanders: Link, the Goddess’ favored hero; Lana, still missing her counterpart; and an unfamiliar Sheikah warrior. Knowing the Hyruleans, they likely had more tricks up their sleeves. They needed caution above all.

Zant was eerily silent for most of their stay, retreating within his helmet. Had Ghirahim not known any better, he would have suspected him of sleeping on the job again. On the contrary, the Twili could not have been more alert. The ace up their sleeve was heaving and buzzing restlessly deep underground below their feet. The Twilit Bloat, Queen Mother of Zant’s favorite pets, spent days spewing forth countless Shadow Insects, which he’d hidden away in every nook and cranny he thought would make a decent vantage point. They were acting as his eyes in the field and to keep track of them all required his utmost concentration.

Until at long last Zant withdrew from meditation, the segments of his helmet squeaking as he straightened himself and turned toward his co-lieutenant.

“They are inching closer to the oases. While they busy themselves there, now is the best time to start our preparations,” he said, beckoning him with a wave of his hand as he made his way through the keep.

Ghirahim, glad to finally have something to do, grinned. “You mean to set up the… Shadow puppets, you mentioned, yes?”

“I have told you of my plan,” Zant agreed, scaling the steps to the decrepit altar at the center of the Coliseum. His visor rolled up to reveal a grin. “But not yet of its execution. It should be most familiar to you, however,” he turned, his hand outstretched and palm facing the skies.

Ghirahim smirked and followed, taking his hand to have him lead him further up the steps. An arm curled around his waist, and he rested his on Zant’s shoulder in return. “How courteous of you, Twilight King. Won’t prancing about distract you from your own casting, though?”

Zant smiled in turn. With a small pull at his waist, they quickly sank into a rhythm, waltzing under the sunbeams that peeked through the stone walls. “We must enact our spell in utter synchronicity, Ghirahim-ili. This is the best way.”

A pulse coursed through him. Diamonds rose from their footprints, flickering with signs of their blooming magic. The beating of their feet and chiming of his core accompanied their dance like a dozen tambourines. Through their joined hands, sparks of power crossed into one another, melting together until the pictures in their minds became clear as day, a single being.

“I shall be the source, and you, my conduit. My power is yours to steer, puppeteer of mine,” Zant’s words echoed, but Ghirahim couldn’t be sure if they came from his lips, or snuck into his mind without his notice. How cheeky.

And soon, that power manifested into being. Rising from the shadows, Ghirahim’s second pair of eyes came into view – or rather, he came into its view. A second Ghirahim took shape, its features growing more defined by the second. Terrible vertigo struck him, causing a temporary lapse in his steps. There was a disconnect, a duplication of his sight, but no identical one. He could see through his own body but through his double’s, too. His core swirled as he looked himself in the eye, standing in the sand with its muted colors and stiff stance.

“It’s easier if you close your eyes,” Zant whispered with a low croon, “try not to think. Let me lead you, my Blade.”

Easier said than done, he’d say, did it not make such a drastic difference. Ridding himself of his second-sight made it all the easier to at least gather his bearings without the spinning surroundings there to distract him. But reaching this double somatically remained a challenge. It was like trying to steer a phantom limb. The tether was weak, but undeniably there, and getting it to move was akin to timidly pressing the keys on an old harpsichord. All the while this buffoon requested him to dance.

But that was the trick, wasn’t it? Channeling their magic? He was no stranger to their bodies becoming one, in many senses of the term. It wasn’t just his own magic he had to focus on, but the force linking its fingers with it, too.

Synchronicity. The picture through the eyes of his double became vibrant and clear as day.

His double twitched its fingers until they were veritably his, then took a stumbling step. Then another. Then more, stably, rolling its shoulders and bouncing on its heels. The shuffling of dancing feet was soon nothing but background noise, far removed from where his mind settled. Housed in this spectral clone, Ghirahim grinned, braced his fingers, and snapped.

The desert heat felt like room temperature. Or rather, like nothing at all, in this doubly-false skin. Having teleported himself, he stood a ways from the Southern Oasis, surveying his surroundings. Friend nor foe had spotted him yet, concealed as he was by the heat shaking the sights of their surroundings, but they’d have no choice than to witness him soon. He sprinted across the desert, intending to snicker to himself, only to find not a sound passed his lips.

A gap in their illusion. How embarrassing it would have been! What if he had attempted to taunt their foe, only to be caught missing his voice? He quickly suppressed the urge to scold Zant for failing to inform him of this flaw. To cause dissonance between his two selves would collapse their plans like a house of cards. Which, obviously, he couldn’t afford, as he was already perched on the walls of the Oasis Keep, staring right into fiery red eyes that pierced into him with malice.

The Sheikah man would be his first opponent.

His perch high up above did nothing to deter this stranger whatsoever. A long dagger whistled through the air just past Ghirahim’s ear, missing him only thanks to his own last-minute dodge. Ghirahim hadn’t yet the chance to righten himself before his adversary took a running start and leapt against the corner wall, kicking himself off to clamber up and meet him at eye level. It hadn’t even taken him five seconds to get to him.

This was going to be interesting. Ghirahim knew he couldn’t lose his composure so early in the battle, but a warrior so quick and nimble made the stars dance in his core. The Sheikah was upon him in a split second, a long knife in each hand, eyes red and full of death. His strikes were lightning-fast and precise, but not fast enough to break past Ghirahim. This man was an entirely different territory from that white-haired dog. Where Impa combined her tremendous speed with heavy blows, her replacement depended entirely on the fleetness of his feet. And it carried him well. The two of them danced across the walls, locking blades like a pair of cats fighting atop a fence.

But, truthfully, Ghirahim was only humoring him. Against another human, the slashes of the Sheikah’s knives would have been lethal. But to Ghirahim, razor edges struck his sword with gentle taps at most. He had to put this boy in his place. Hilt in both hands, he boldly raised his blade to bait him with an opening – swung down quickly, to bait a crossing of knives, and catch his sword in between.

The Sheikah were a near-ageless folk, living potentially centuries longer than Hylians, if they so chose. This very moment, the Sheikah proved his youth, his inexperience, despite his prodigal martial skill. He acted exactly as Ghirahim predicted.

Now locked, Ghirahim shot him a grin, before pushing his bulk into his sword and tossing him sideways. The Sheikah shouted in surprise, stumbled. With the assistance of a showy flip and roll, he dropped off the wall and down into the dirt, quickly righting himself in fear of being ambushed.

Not a second too late! Ghirahim leaped for him, point of his sword aimed for the heart. Or, rather, aimed for the dirt, as the Sheikah darted away quickly. The pair exchanged blows, barraged each other with throwing knives, but their mutual bulk and speed resulted in nothing more than superficial injuries.

Ghirahim couldn’t outspeed him. So, he’d just have to surprise him, instead. With only a small chime to announce his departure, Ghirahim disappeared into diamonds and landed himself square in the Sheikah’s way. The boy gasped in surprise, only barely managing to stumble out the way of the obsidian sword that flew toward him in a pitch-black streak. Now, all bets were on discombobulating his foe. The Sheikah was forced to face him more carefully, locked in a fierce combat. For every escape, every attempt at sprinting away for another trick, he was punished by the phantom that appeared in his shadow and threatened to rend him to pieces.

Dark blue Sheikah armor tore to show flashes of skin and bleeding gashes, staining a deeper red every second. But Ghirahim found himself not as unscathed as he’d normally be – this puppet was fragile, meaning even the small enchantments on this warrior’s knives could hurt him. It wasn’t the same pain as he’d feel on his surface when injured. This was a magical, conjured pain, manifesting as a headache and stuttering of his core. But, injuries or not, he was winning. The Sheikah was slowing, growing into an easier target for his thrusts and merciless cleavings with every pace. And there he darted off again, some desperate manner of escaping! Of stalling time! Blood hung in the air, its particles catching delectably on his lolling tongue. He chased its source hungrily, wishing so it was his true self instead who would get to kill this wretched little thing, a mere pup in comparison to his superior. Ghirahim ached to run him through with this blade! Just a few more paces, another leap –

There was a track in the sand. In the corner of his eye, he spotted another. The Sheikah stopped at the joining of lines, readying something curved and golden.

The harp. The harp! His eyes shot to the Sheikah, who grinned at him with a squint, fingers at the ready over his blasted holy implement. Ghirahim looked back to the ground, where he now spotted an outline… And himself spot in the middle of it. An ominous hum, a faded glow, resonant below him as fingertips tensed the strings. Ghirahim turned to flee, but a second too late. With a mockingly cheerful tune, the magic glyph was activated, and a blinding field of light magic launched him out the gates of the Oasis Keep.

He skidded to a halt, clouds of sand trailing his heels as they coursed through. In his concealment, he was fortunate to find his first flaw; a black patch, crackling on the surface of his puppet. Their illusion was falling apart.

Now is the time to flee.

They thought it simultaneously, with Ghirahim immediately annoyed by Zant’s meddling.

Shielded by this cloud of sand, he turned tail and fled. Soon enough, fleeted feet dashed through the sand a little ways behind him.

Just like he wanted! Bloodlust made blind!

The next phase of their plan was imminent. He had to cross the sands to get to the cliffs, where he could funnel this little songbird into its cage. This seemed easier said and done, because the Sheikah’s tendency to make pot-shots at the enemy made it increasingly more difficult to conceal the black cracks left on his surface. He kicked up as much sand as he could in his sprint to keep himself shielded from prying eyes.

It was a mad chase. In short bursts, his adversary seemed to be faster than him, leading him to blink around to get away from the scatter of needles flying his way. A haphazard, zigzagging trail of metal pins traced their trajectory. Yet, the Sheikah seemed to be letting him escape, at least a little bit. Did he hope he was fleeing to some kind of hideout, and lead him straight there? Oh, if only he knew!

It was a good thing he didn’t. They crossed into the Cliffs Keep, revealing a dead end. Realizing it’d been a trap, before the Sheikah could fully turn, the gates slammed shut behind them.

The enraged eyes of a cornered animal met with a dark grin. The two men flung at one another, daggers in hand. But Ghirahim felt weakened – the magic holding this form together barely persisted through its many cracks, and it was slowing his reflexes. To save himself some power, he dismissed the false cape, at once revealing the web of deep black fractures spreading across his skin.

This staggered the Sheikah for a moment, but baited him all the same. Daggers crossed, he lunged forward, and drove the tips towards his core. They tangled, tipped over, and landed in the sand, Ghirahim pinned between steel and soil.

For all this man knew, this was how a Sword Spirit died. The daggers sank into his chest, and Ghirahim let the illusion crackle into shards with a pained groan.

But not before leaving his parting gift. The Sheikah choked out a breath, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Ghirahim had driven a dagger right into his side.

He didn’t have the privilege to see if this caused his opponent to collapse or not, for his eyes caved into dust soon after this deceitful blow. Then followed the rest of his body, leaving only a cackle to fade on the wind.

Deep black turned into an outrageously bright light. With a gasp, Ghirahim came to, finding himself held up by Zant’s arms. Never before had he felt this unsteady on his feet, this jittery like a newborn foal. His shadowy double was gone, which left him to deal with the dizziness of returning to his body. How convenient that this animate coat rack of a man was there to assist him in doing so.

Ghirahim patted Zant on the sleeve, wobbling to righten himself. “Deliciously dramatic timing, Twilight King.”

“Thanks. I thought so too.”

Zant laughed, patiently assisting Ghirahim through the last seconds of his vertigo. Once Ghirahim collected himself, Zant parted from him, again turning his gaze meditatively to the skies. “We shall let them struggle with this predicament for a little while. Then, I will take your place on the battlefield, Ghirahim-ili.”

The battle unfolded just about how they expected it would. The gates they so merrily left open were breached by opportunistic troops zealously at first, but with the imprisonment of their Sheikah general, anxious caution took the wheel. Nevertheless, critical movement took place: Lana, who had been moving through the desert, succeeded in capturing the Northern Oasis; while Link, having first guarded their home base in the Bazaar, crossed the southern sands to attempt a rescue mission.

This was their cue. While their demonic troops clashed against Link’s brigade, Zant hopped back on his feet, extending his hands.

“Care to assist me once more?”

Locked again in dance, they watched as a shadowy form knitted into being by their pedestal. The illusory shape of Zant, darker and more muted than usual, readied itself for its host. Much to Ghirahim’s chagrin, Zant was clearly more adept than he at shifting his consciousness, as his double was up and moving in mere seconds.

“You close your eyes too, Ghirahim-ili.”

“Then who will keep watch of where we’re putting our feet? Moron.”

Ghirahim jested, but nonetheless allowed himself a brief respite, and did as he was told. Behind his darkened eyelids, he saw (though subtly) the world through the eyes of Zant’s shadowy double. He briefly worried if Zant had been spying along with him, too. Then, he felt some smug satisfaction in the knowledge, as he thought he’d made for a riveting battle just then.

Not a second longer did Zant let his puppet stick around and promptly sent it away. Just in time for Ghirahim to spin the both of them around and prevent them from tumbling off the altar.

Ghirahim’s impressions of this battle were vague, bestowed upon him in flashes through Zant’s incomprehensible sense of sight. The world was a blur of overly saturated colors in the Twili’s eyes, splitting into sharply defined contours at every moving object. Of course, the rapidly approaching emerald green and blue was then clear as day, as was the glowing blade that cut through the air towards him.

But Link could not land a single hit on the Usurper’s false shape. Zant blinked himself across the sand and clapped his hands pompously, a playfully mocking tribute to Ghirahim’s favored spellcasting. At once, every gate in the battlefield slammed shut, isolating the three generals in their own death traps.

Wrathful Gerudo, Bulblins, and Stalfos poured from whatever crevice they could force themselves through to descend upon the now-isolated warriors. Whether they would surpass the Hyruleans in martial prowess remained to be seen, but surely, they’d leave not a shred of their morale untouched.

Yet Zant led the Goddess’ little hero away from the onslaught, seeming to prefer a one-on-one duel, though there’d be nothing honorable about it. This battle was an absolute waste of time, drudging Link along through the scorching desert to chase after his constantly teleporting apparition. Even if his opponent couldn’t hear it, Zant couldn’t help but giggle. With such a jovial mood, one would expect victory, but aside from Zant’s violent retaliations, his health rapidly failed him. Not only was his double on the verge of collapse, but nearly every hack and slash it endured bore down on its host. Dancing with a smile, blood gushed from Zant’s nostrils with every hit he took. Ghirahim doubted whether the desperation on his double’s part was an act – it contorted, stomped, flailing its arms and hurling wild bolts of magic at whatever blue banner-bearing shape it could see. But Zant seemed at peace, even as his puppet raised its arms to ready a bomb of pure, hexing shadow, only to find itself ran straight through by the Knight’s holy blade.

At once, the tether to their puppet was gone.

“... That’s it… Our first ruse is up,” Zant mumbled, before slumping forward, just barely caught by Ghirahim’s frame. The blood trickling from his nostrils was worrying still, so Ghirahim allowed him to collapse, lowering him carefully to sit at the edge of the pedestal. Yet, Zant declined any fussing over him, preferring instead to retreat into his mind again and survey the damage they’d done. With his ‘death’, every single gate in the battlefield flew back open – save for the Temple complex. Sitting side by side, Zant relayed what he saw through the eyes of his countless insect servants. Among the Hyruleans, there was relief, rallying cries spreading through the battlefield as they once again rushed forth to seize new territory. Their own forces still held fast. The defeat of their Lieutenants sowed seeds of anxiety, which their captains and commanders did not allow to sprout among the common infantry. Though the full plan of today was relayed to very few, every officer of repute knew not to lose hope when all seemed over.

They’d seen the captured beasts in their chains, after all, and had yet to see them surface in this battle.

One unexpected problem remained. When the gates to the Sheikah commander’s imprisonment were opened, he was already long gone. The trail of blood scaling the cliff wall toward the Temple clued them in where he could have gone. He was trapped in here with them, somewhere. Zant seemed to take nothing but amusement in that thought.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for a surge in confidence among the Hyruleans that would raise their might and lower their guard. If this took mere minutes or hours, then the blood spilled to tip the scales would simply have to be an acceptable sacrifice. Time ticked away mostly in silence. On occasion, Zant orated an update from the battlefield with his vacant, manic gaze. Ghirahim stared at the man beside him, bloodstained as he was, and wondered how far the gray blight had crawled up his arms today.

Zant perked up sooner than Ghirahim expected and turned to him. “Their bases are almost settled. They are transporting their goods. Now is the time, Ghirahim. Will you do the honors?”

Ghirahim grinned. “Gladly.”

Within a blink, Ghirahim disappeared from the Arbiter’s Grounds and materialized far below the earth. Deluge streams of sand poured down from above – he found himself in an underground cave, discovered long ago by the Gerudo when digging for water reservoirs. Quicksand pools from above fed this ever-filling chamber with gold, like an hourglass that would never tip. Behind him was a nearly-buried gate leading to the old waterways. In front of him were cages. He didn’t want to keep the beasts inside waiting any longer; he’d kept them unfed a little too long. They frothed at the sight of him, spurred on by Zant’s blood caked into his suit.

“You’ll find something far tastier on the surface, my dears!”

One, two, three showy snaps of his fingers, and the chains bearing the monsters down disappeared. With a flex of his hands, his fist cloaked itself in glowing, purple magic. He took a running start, heading straight for the back of the cages (where the monsters’ eyes hungrily followed him), and launched himself at the massive lever that stood there. With one solid punch, the old mechanism screeched back to life, and past all its rust, the switch was flicked. A rattling that could only be produced by a machine at the end of its life echoed throughout the room. Tugged upwards by heavy chains, the cage doors were lifted, and out stormed their inhabitants.

But before they could make for the little creature that stood antagonizing them, a cascade of sand cued them in on the blue skies above. A ring tunnel of diamond magic pried open the quicksand pitfall in the ceiling and allowed these beasts the first glimpse of sunshine they’d seen in weeks.

Not to mention, the smell of fresh carcasses.

The Manhandla, a four-headed, man-eating plant; threw itself against the wall and clambered up through its web of roots. The Molduga, the very giant sandworm Ghirahim had stolen away scarce a month earlier; took to the skies and flew through the opening. The Lanmola, a cyclopean centipede; swam up the stream of sand.

But that was merely the first wave. This was the Southern Desert’s treat: the North would get its very own collection of nuisances. His next teleportation took him to the mesas in the northeast, where six pairs of eyes furiously eyed him down from within their cave prison. The caverns in these rocky mountains were straightforward tunnels, opening right into the deserts. After opening the cages, all he had to do was give them an incentive to break free.

So, naturally, he brought the entire cave to a collapse. As soon as the beasts panickedly rushed out of their prisons, Ghirahim snapped his fingers and perched himself on the Mesa’s edge, overlooking the monsters’ exit holes.

The first to break free were the two Dodongos, bulky, rock-clad lizards; curled up and rolling, shot out like cannonballs. Then came the Helmaroc King, a giant prismatic bird; shrieking wildly and leaving a storm of feathers in its wake as it beat its wings and flew off. Finally, poking out one head after the other, came the Gleeok, the three-headed dragon; with stout little legs and clumsy, serpentine necks, it sauntered to the mouth of the tunnel somewhat timidly. But at the first sight of prey below, it roared viciously and spread its draconic wings, and set off in pursuit of violence.

Ghirahim returned to his post at once, finding Zant just as vacant as he’d left him, but with far greater amusement sketching his face. The Twili didn’t appear to notice him as he sidled up next to him, hands in his sides.

“Satisfied by my handiwork, Twilight King?”

“More than, Yima Zeeioitneit,” he responded. Zant had cleaned himself up a bit in his absence, but was looking no less gaunt. “Would you like to see the fruits of your labor?”

“Gladly, I would,” Ghirahim said, keeping his apprehension about Zant’s intrusive, meddling magic to himself.

Zant shook himself out of his daze, at once standing with his eyes bright and glowing. “Then allow me some time to recuperate. I will share my clairvoyance with you in the meantime, Ghirahim-ili.”

Before Ghirahim could utter a word of questioning or protest, Zant’s shape turned pitch-black, becoming no more than a silhouette with shining eyes. A rustle sounded as the shade before him ducked down and turned into nothing more than a smudge, and, shockingly… Melted into the floor. Just like that, Zant seemed to have crawled into his shadow. There was the alarming presence of magic, certainly, but otherwise, he felt not a thing of it. At least, not until Zant fulfilled his promise. Ghirahim then learned, intimately, just what he meant by ‘clairvoyance’.

A sudden burst of droning visions took over his sight, shaking him into an unsightly stumble. Each flashed by for mere seconds before Zant flicked him over to the next, all blurring into the same haze. Only after sitting there, hands in his hair and groaning audibly, did he piece together just what he was looking at. It seemed that Zant had planted more of his Shadow Insects on the skulls of their monsters, and thus, allowed the both of them front-row seats to each individual rampage.

To the north, the Helmaroc crested to dizzying heights, carefully eyeing its companions. Yards below it, the Gleeok was circling the desert, scarcely avoiding flurries of arrows from piercing its wings. It found its point of interest in a line of provision wagons, which already had its many hands full with the giant lizards besieging it from both sides. Claws extended, it swooped down in an instant, plowing through the line of them with its razor-sharp talons.

Now out of a meal, the twin Dodongos sought their fortune elsewhere. They turned straight to the oasis, where they expected to rake in the biggest rewards, only to find the place heavily guarded. Grimoire in hand, Sorceress Lana nervously eyed down the two approaching beasts. She was a nimble woman, swiftly evading raking claws and blazing fire, but she did not take well to being surrounded. From the eyes of this Dodongo, she swooped in dangerously close. Just as the massive reptile thought to swallow her down in one gulp, a large, translucent cube was lodged in its gullet, and with the touch of the Sorceress’ hand, electrified. It shrieked and convulsed, reflexively clamping its jaws hard enough to crack its teeth, and just like that, collapsed.

This Dodongo was down for the count. But before its Shadow Insect died with it, it captured just a few more seconds. From the sound of blazing fire and the screams of their opponent, the beast’s twin appeared to hold fast.

The southern desert was similarly infested. The Manhandla had dug its roots throughout the sand, sprouting additional heads across the desert to drown it in a poisonous haze. Soon, only the dead could wander here, and the very bold. Those who dared approach the floral menace disappeared quickly past its massive teeth. Monitoring this monster led the pair of lieutenants to begrudgingly note that one of its four heads seemed to have gotten hacked off somewhere along the way. Though, they doubted they minded. If the victory was all too crushing, there would not have been any honor in it. Much less satisfaction.

This next vision was fully dark, until it burst with sudden light. How the fragile insect managed to cling on to this creature through all the sand was a mystery. From the shrill bellowing, these could only have been the sights of the Molgera, soaring through the skies in pursuit of prey. And what a target it had chosen! Skidding away from the sandworm, bow and arrow boldly drawn but visibly alarmed, was their favorite green-clad menace, his blue scarf long lost in the scuffle. He had felled the Lanmola in record time. From the look in his eyes, that wouldn’t be his only trophy of today. Whether he would fulfill that ambition was another question. The Molgera roared and dove for him, but shrieked when an arrow pierced it someplace unseen, and veered off course. It burrowed beneath the sand once more, plunging their vision in darkness. Through the roaring of sand surging past the giant beast, there was a sound; footsteps, hurrying away. The Molgera homed in on its source and launched for the surface.

It breached, it opened its maw. A scream was heard, then muffled by the resounding clap of the Molgera’s jaws snapping shut. As the Molgera twisted itself through the air, not a trace of the Hero of Legend remained.

Cackles and shouts of triumph and astonishment echoed through the Arbiter’s Grounds. Had the Twili stood beside him, rather than lie hidden in his shadow, Ghirahim would have embraced him and thrown him around the arena for good measure. What an undignified end for the little Hylian! Ghirahim was ecstatic. Already he swell with pride over the thought of informing their Master of this victory. The pair of them sang praises of this magnificent sandworm. Even after they’d treated it so cruelly, it hadn’t let them down in the slightest. Whether it could hear their words conveyed through the Shadow Insect, wasn’t their concern.

Amidst their celebration, the Molgera suddenly groaned. Shuddered. Slowed in its flight. It contorted itself, squeaking in pain, until it tore its mouth open in a shriek. The Shadow Insect lost all functionality. Its host could only be dead.

What happened? It was in the air – how had it perished!?

Zant apparently had the same questions. He frantically browsed through the Insects still alive, until he found a proper view of the events through the eyes of the Manhandla. The Molgera fell from the skies, its spiked belly slit wide open. A rain of blood and guts splattered onto the ground before its multi-ton body hit the sand, sending forth an explosive dust cloud to shroud the battlefield from all.

Surfacing from that shroud, visible through the makeshift sandstorm by a glowing silhouette, was a newcomer to today’s battlefield. Fi, doll-faced as ever, but her blue gemstone surface now tainted with viscera, had surfaced from the Hero’s blade, and freed her ‘Master’. Offering her wing, she stuck herself halfway into the Molgera’s eviscerated stomach to pull Link free, soaked in mucus and blood. The morbidity of it all seemed completely lost on her gentle smile, as she stood watching him gather himself.

Ghirahim grit his teeth. “It seems they’ve taken a page out of our book, Twili… They’re hiding commanders!”

“And where there is one, there may be more. They think they have us for fools.”

With the appearance of Fi, a Hyrulean war horn sounded in the Southern Desert. The troops in the North responded. Surfacing from Lana’s shadow was none other than Midna, who immediately clenched a keratin fist around the head of an ambushing Bulblin commander. A sense of fury bubbled forth from his shadow, and lingered somewhere in Ghirahim, too. But as much as the arrival of the Twilight Princess spelled trouble, something about her appearance soothed Zant’s mood into a bubbly giggle.

She was an imp again.

The war horn sounded in the North. Two responded; one from the Western mesas, and one from the South. Through the eyes of the Helmaroc King, a far more alarming sight poured into the desert. The troops they had fought so deftly to thin out were filling their numbers again. Vast swathes of Zora and Gorons arrived through glowing portals and raced to assist the overthrown Keeps. Only to then clash against equally large numbers of frothing demon forces, pushing each other back and forth past a faultline of trampled steel. This visceral desperation of gnashing teeth and battered armor only left the frontlines in stasis for so long. The Zora Princess, her arrival announced by a tidal wave sweeping along her own troops in massive schooling, forced an opening through the simple measure of washing away everything in her path. She came out the other end of the first line of infantry clad in silvery armor, spear in hand, looking back at the dizzied and drowning mass of demonic forces behind her. This very measure would carry her to the northern desert, where she quickly joined Lana’s side.

Lana startled when the Dodongo just in front of her was sucked into a maelstrom and launched across the sands. When she turned to find Ruto, some sort of sentimental conversation was surely being carried out. Watching from the Gleeok still soaring above the keeps, neither Ghirahim nor Zant cared to hear it. Their despairing, confused prattles were far more interesting.

The Gleeok swept in closer, ducking out the way of an impending lightning bolt sent from the Sorceress’ grimoire.

“I don’t understand, Ruto,” Lana cried. “Ghirahim and Zant were defeated, but their armies haven’t slowed down whatsoever!”

Ruto intercepted an incoming belch of fire with a watery shield, bursting it apart in glittering projectiles as she dismissed it. The Gleeok shrieked when one of its many eyes was pierced. “Desperation, it must be. It takes a pair of cowardly men like them to rig such posthumous traps!”

“Are we sure it was really them Sheik and Link defeated?” Midna cut in, surfacing from Lana’s shadow to glare down the limping Dodongo in the distance. “Like you said. They’re cowards! I’ll bet my entire treasury that the foes we saw were nothing more than illusions!”

A troubled expression dawned on Lana, which soon turned to anger. She burst out in front of the Zora Princess, spellbook at the ready, and sent out another burst of lightning. Though, this one was different. It broke apart like fireworks, each spark lighting its own deadly branch, that darted in zig-zags through the air. The Gleeok, hopeless to dodge such a flurry, lost one of its wings to countless tears and perforations and then crashed to the ground.

Before the beast could stomp its way inside the keep, Lana blocked its entrance with a crackling barrier and whipped around to look at her companions. “Then- The real Ghirahim and Zant… They must be hiding somewhere, commanding from afar!”

“Oh, they can’t be that far. Those two draw to carrion more than a common fly,” Midna grimaced, squinting to peer out into the scorching desert. “Just so happens, I got just the trick up my sleeve to get to the bottom of this. Ruto! Cover me!”

Ruto nodded, readying her spear to join Lana’s side. Lana’s barrier did not hold much longer. Every passing second, the Gleeok was driven to madness by two voices balking commands into its triplet minds, and could only think to throw itself at the magical wards harder. Finally, it burst through, and wasted not a moment to start snapping at the two warriors in its way. Lana fought grimoire in hand, turning scattered parchment into razor-sharp projectiles, while Ruto threatened every impending bite with a thrust of her spear.

While the Gleeok was rapidly losing scales to the combined assault, Midna stretched out her hand, readying a spell amidst the chaos. A gap tore itself through the fabric of reality, manifesting as a spreading shadow on the ground, soon thrumming and glowing with runes.

Stepping out of the shadows was a little girl, no older than eleven, who curtsied under the protection of her parasol. “Agitha has waited patiently as you ordered, Miss Kitty! How can she be of assistance?”

Lana was almost as disturbed by the girl’s appearance as Ghirahim and Zant, but clearly for different reasons. “A-Agitha? But… The two of you can’t just go out there alone. There are still giant monsters alive!”

The Zora Princess glanced over her shoulder, the second of distraction nearly costing her a fin to the jaws of the Gleeok. “Sorceress, if you wish to accompany them, We will hold down the Oasis.”

“Ruto, are you sure? In this weather, the Zora-”

“Do not doubt the resilience of Our people,” Ruto interjected, jabbing her spear between the plates on one of the dragon’s jugulars. “We know where their limits lie. Place your trust in Us. Now, go! Waste no precious seconds!”

“My, what a shame,” a voice echoed from the dragon. “They’ve become aware of our little plan quicker than expected.”

Zant figured to broadcast his mockery through the Shadow Insect still perched on the dethroned creature. Bleeding heavily from one of its throats, its still-living heads contorted their faces into toothy grins, the Gleeok puffed out its chest and stanced imposingly. The spread of its wings blotted out the sun above the keep, casting it in shadow.

Ghirahim found it a fine idea. “Then let them come find us! We’ll finish them off right away!”

Thus, precious seconds were wasted. By some incomprehensible measure of lollygagging, Midna stuck around while Lana and Agitha made for the desert. The pair of girls slipped past the Dodongo only thanks to Midna’s uncouth taunts, who sent wolves yipping and nipping at its front legs. A little of Zant’s own hatred for the Twilight Princess must have leaked into it, then, because the beast took the bait hook, line, and sinker. So focused it was on the hounds and the woman cheering them on behind them, that it failed to notice its remaining surroundings. Its maw opened wide, readying a blazing inferno, and aimed straight for its annoyance.

Only for said target to dodge out of the way at the very last second, dragging the Zora Princess out of the trajectory along with her. Instead, the hellfire launched across, square into the chest of the already wounded Gleeok and melting everything in its way. A weaving path of coarse glass glittered in the sand, tying the two monsters by a thread of aggression. Their dragon could not resist retaliation and lunged for its treacherous comrade.

Thus, in the Oasis, two of the beasts were tearing each other down. In the sand wastes, one last beast made itself useful. The King Helmaroc, contrary to its name, was an obedient creature, and soared as high or hovered as low as they needed it to. Through its eyes, they saw Midna had joined the pair a little after her charade of chaos.

From this vantage point, Ghirahim and Zant quietly observed their desert trek. At least, until Zant clicked his tongue, seeming annoyed. “I see now why they brought the girl. I should have expected this.”

“Somehow, even when we share the same thoughts, you manage to puzzle me. Get to the point.”

“Look closely. They have a Goddess Butterfly. It will lead them straight to us, and the labyrinth will not keep them.”

Once again, silence fell between them. Less time wasted in the labyrinth meant fewer opportunities to whittle down their strength. With this many enemy commanders, such a head start was crucial.

Even so, the thought of their plan failing ever so slightly, filled Ghirahim with a strange sense of excitement. “An unfortunate twist, but… Frankly, I was getting bored. I’m itching for a fight.”

Then, as if Zant had taken note of his excitement, he felt the warmth of a smile inside his mind. “Ghirahim-ili… When they arrive here, let us fight our hardest.”

Of course, the Helmaroc understood nothing at all of such banter. It was far more focused on the triad of two-footed creatures zipping through the sand sea. To a bird, this entourage of warriors must have looked awfully like a line of ants.

It dove down for them, talons outstretched, as if they were.

The first to react was not the Sorceress, nor was it Midna. Instead, the young girl turned a pouting face to the sky and popped the cork off a glass jar.

In an instant, a massive, emerald beetle appeared from thin air and swung its horn full-force into the Helmaroc’s gullet. Their eyes in the sky shrieked. An explosion of feathers obscured their vision as the panicked bird flailed its wings, knocked entirely off balance by the throttling of this massive bug. Zant’s quiet marvel for the adversary’s familiar was drowned out entirely by Ghirahim’s rage. How preposterous! This massive bird of prey, knocked out of the sky by a mere insect!? He took the reins immediately.

The beetle now dismissed, the Helmaroc King chased after the girls on foot, pouncing at them with its claws and jabbing with its beak. But just as it started to get the drop on the group, the Temple complex was in sight, and the doorway they slipped through would never fit their bird.

When the Helmaroc was left behind them, squawking and pacing indignantly at the gate, the trio chased the little glowing insect through the Temple’s ever-twisting halls. Following this journey proved to be a pain. Zant had only set up Shadow Insects in so many corridors, and tracking their trajectory was a dizzying flurry of different angles and crowding soldiers. Yet, Zant managed to follow them in glimpses. Hyrulean and Demon soldiers alike had swarmed the place, fighting pointless battles in corridors leading nowhere. Undead gaolers were already scavenging the heaps of dead and injured, either locking those still breathing in chains, or ripping the bones from the freshly deceased to replenish their own limbs. Thus, the pair of women led a child over this carpet of corpses. The girl’s fighting ability mattered very little here – they were under the protection of Midna and her wolves, but even then, little ‘Agitha’, as they’d called her, looked too stunned to do anything but keep running.

Along the way, found tearing the talons of a Dinolfos to replenish his throwing needles, was the Sheikah warrior. He had forfeited his turban to use it as a makeshift bandage for the wound in his side. The group swiftly urged him along. Striking down whatever station guards stood in their way, they reached the deeper bowels of the temple, where lines of defense grew more and more scarce.

The three eldest of the company grew more skeptical with each step. Midna leaned closer to Agitha, whispering something the Shadow Insect could not perceive.

“The Goddess Butterfly is never wrong, Miss Kitty,” the young girl assured. She seemed to have full confidence in the butterfly’s sense of direction, and faltered not even a second in chasing after it. And that confidence was well within her right, for Ghirahim recognized these corridors. They would reach their location in no time flat.

Soon, the ground beneath the group’s feet turned sandier and sandier, until the stone tiles were completely covered. They reached a dark chamber, lit only through the cracks of ventilation slits above the massive stone door across them. The butterfly fluttered across without a care, landing on the dusty surface of the door, and fanned its wings in rest. Agitha was about to tromp right after it, but the Sheikah stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. He pushed her back, right into Lana’s protective embrace.

Painfully slow, annoyingly cautious, the Sheikah inched into the clearing of the room step by step. He could check for traps, he could listen for mechanisms and dowse for curses or enchantments, but he would find none. Instead, something found him.

A stinger, tall enough to almost scrape past the ceiling, shot out from the sand, and jabbed at the intruder. Its menacing needle missed only by the grace of the commander’s reflexes, pushing the tail out of its trajectory with a talon dagger, but failing to crack carapace. Shaking itself out of the sand, the final bastion had revealed itself. The Moldarach, a massive scorpion of centuries old, screeched and chittered a word of warning. Its pincers snipped menacingly, tendons tight and fierce. Yet, under the threat of its lightning-fast stinger, the little girl was least afraid of them all.

Agitha looked up at the Moldarach in awe and rummaged in her basket, not taking her eyes off the creature once. “Ohh, I’d hate to hurt such a beautiful bug… I’m sorry, li’l one! But I don’t have a big enough bottle to keep you in!”

From it she retrieved an armful of glass jars, brandishing them as if they were explosives. Her entourage backed away hastily, clearly knowing far more about the contents of those jars than the Moldarach could. She tossed the jars with a sweep, racking them on the scorpion’s hard carapace at first impact. Out swarmed dozens of glowing, spectral butterflies, that headed straight for the first sign of soft flesh they could find: the Moldarach’s eyeball. The beast recoiled, pawing at its face in an attempt to shake the pests off, but it was fruitless. It could now only depend on the eyeballs hidden within its pincers, but in doing so, it revealed the soft tendons holding its claws together. Midna and the Sheikah exchanged a look, seemingly sharing an idea.

Getting up close to this creature proved to be a challenge. Lunging in to take out its claws also meant being subjected to the monster’s lightning-fast reflexes, and Midna found herself trapped in its clutches soon enough. It squeezed, digging the teeth of its claws into her flesh dangerously. They hardly even needed the Shadow Insect for this – they could hear her cries of pain through the door. A little more and it might have killed her, had the Sheikah commander not severed the tender meat in its other claw. Its grip on the imp loosened in its distress and she managed to slip away, evading its gaze long enough for it to lose sight of her. The clash of claw, stinger, and blade continued, though the Moldarach grew more fatigued by the minute. Butterflies continued to eat at its face and attached themselves to whatever nerve opening they could find. Thus the creature slowed, its jabs and lunges losing their accuracy, until at long last it ceased its attacks altogether. They saw no use in waiting until the monster fully died; their little band of foils took this earliest opportunity to flee and push through the door.

The door slid open, grinding down coarse sand of centuries old as it slotted into the wall, and allowed the quartet of Hyruleans into the Coliseum. In the center they saw Ghirahim, lounging atop the Keep’s crumbling walls and examining his nails.

Midna scowled, her fangs bared. She felt at the wounds on her chest, already scabbed over – so quickly? – and glanced to her side, where the child stood waiting expectantly. “Great work, Agitha. Now get out of here.”

At this command, Agitha looked to the Sheikah man with big, glittering eyes, smiling when he met her gaze with a nod. She curtseyed – if Ghirahim didn’t know any better, he’d think it was at him – and, with a dainty clutch of her frock, hopped down a Twilit portal.

“There you are, Demon!” Midna turned to foul, biting language the moment less-matured company was out of earshot. “Just you, huh? Go on. Cough it up! Where’s Zant? I don’t believe we got rid of him back in the desert. Not one bit!”

Ghirahim laughed, once again donning his gloves. Now more appropriately dressed, he hopped down from his perch and landed with a feathery flourish. Now that he seemed to be alone, and outnumbered at that, he decided he could afford a bit of taunting. He hummed, tapping thoughtfully at his chin with a wildly exaggerated gesture. “Oh, who can say? You make such a poor host out of me. All these questions, yet I’ve no intent to answer them!” Resting his hand on his cheek, he turned to Midna with a grin. With a puff of diamonds, he vanished, then reappeared before Midna, leaning down to glare at her with one pair of big, buggy eyes to another. “Say, I have one of my own. You look different. New haircut?”

Midna bared her teeth in a snarl, the fist at the end of her ponytail balling tightly until its fibers threatened to give. She lunged for him, the massive orange hand open and clawed. When his defending sword caught on the curved metal of her bangle, she leaned in with a grin. “Real jester you are! I take it this was your idea, then? That gaudy-masked imp told me to send you its regards.”

Majora. Ghirahim winced. It was getting a little too quiet on the Arch Demon’s front, he’d thought. But to rear its head again and mess with the Demon King’s enemies… There was no telling of its little plans. He turned his blade with a flick of his wrist, threatening to sever her hair at the shackle, and forced her back. “If I wanted you to be cursed, I’d ask someone more reliable.”

His eye flicked to the ground. Where he stood now, the low angle of the light stretched his shadow to that of the Keep’s walls…

Zant emerged from the shadows in an instant, mere inches behind Midna, and swung at her like wings on a windmill. She shielded herself with the hair-clad hand of her ponytail, only to realize within a split second that the Twilight King’s new blade cut right through it. Ducking quickly out of the way, she spun through the air, launching herself to stand closer to her two companions.

“It is a shame about your plight, Twilight Princess. I would have preferred to fight you in a more dignified form.”

When Midna forfeited a reply to glare him down, he laughed, turning to the altar behind him. “Nostalgic, is it not?” Zant waxed, his arms spread as he spun himself to the center of the coliseum. “The birthplace of our people. And perhaps, where the last of us will meet our end.”

Midna then made the grave mistake of taking his poetics as an opening and launched for him, the hand on her ponytail outstretched. The giant fist clenched around empty air when Zant promptly warped out of her way. Placing himself beside her momentum, he swung his scimitar down like a cleaver.

In an instant, magical wards were shattered. Showered in a foreboding glitter of gold, Midna cried out and smacked to the ground. But before Zant could lift his blade again and cleave her in half properly this time, the Sheikah dashed in to intervene. Only to then, himself, be driven to his knees by the daunting force of the Twilight King’s blade. It was two against one; each time Zant had subdued the one foe, the other would step in to try and take him out through his flanks. But Zant was too quick, his blade too sharp. Screeches rang out when the scimitar coursed past the edges of the Sheikah’s daggers, filling their cutting edges with worrying chips. Then, the first of them shattered to pieces completely.

Amidst it all, Zant cackled maniacally, madness tugging at his sweat-drenched brow with each swing of his sword. “Witness me, Ghirahim! We are unstoppable!”

But Ghirahim had very little time to witness. Lana had chosen him as her opponent and did everything in her power to keep him from uniting forces with his co-lieutenant. Frankly, he was a little amused that the Sheikah had not dared to face him a second time. But moreso, insulted, that the Demon Lord was not deemed a terrible enough foe to require backup to challenge. Tongue lolling from his lips in mockery and Annihilation in hand, he decided to make the Sorceress severely regret underestimating him.

Scratches tore through his robes and the strikes that hadn’t broken through his leather mail had surely bruised him, but Zant didn’t seem discouraged by injury whatsoever. Instead, he pushed through, seeking risk after risk and tearing through everything that opposed him. Soon, that boldness was awarded. Midna held up her hair-clad fist to defend herself, and Zant carved through two of its fingers as if it were made of wet paper.

Zant screeched with delight. “Your weeks of bedrest have atrophied your skills, Princess! While you lay there rotting in your own misery, I have gotten stronger!”

Midna growled, ducking behind the Sheikah to conceal herself from his bloodthirsty glee. Ghirahim, though, could see everything. Portals appeared in the shadows and from it surfaced a trio of wolves, each raising its hackles before bursting past the Sheikah and charging at the Usurper.

“Such cheap tricks will not work a second time,” Zant clicked his tongue.

Then, with a gust of wind, he launched himself backward and well out of range of the two warriors. With a single twirl, he drew a circle in the sand with his feet, and raised his arms to the skies. When he parted his lips to speak, every shadow stilled at once, slithering beneath the feet of each combatant, turning the air thick and heavy.

The air grew heavy, stopping every warrior in their tracks. A pale blue light shone from above, but none dared take their eyes off him to look for its source.

One by one, limbs limp and gangly in their descent, three creatures fell from the sky. Upon hitting the ground, their bodies contorted as they rose, each more bizarrely and stiffly than the next. They were massive, gray things, fitted with stone masks upon their faces and a mass of wet, slithering tentacles pouring from their faces.

Without even having to command them, the monsters galloped on all fours to throw themselves at the hounds. They entangled in a mess of rune and shadow, tumbling through the dust in a bestial scuffle. Midna looked on with horror.

Her companion had different concerns. Distracted by the sounds of magic, she whipped around. “That spell… How does he know that spell!?”

Just as Lana yelped, beset once more by the Demon Lord’s blade, Zant scoffed. “Did I not say I have gotten stronger!?” he taunted, knocking another brittle dagger out the hands of the Sheikah.

“Stronger!? And yet you rely on them?” Midna shouted, hurtling herself past her fellow commander to throw herself at Zant in a raging flurry. Where Zant could not parry her, he settled for shooting her from the air at point-blank with his projectiles. “How dare you utter even a word of affection toward our people, when you force their mutilated bodies to fight for your own gain!”

“Make your dogs stop attacking them, then,” Zant said, thoroughly nonplussed. At last, he forced both combatants off of him with a resounding shock wave, rattling even Ghirahim’s core where it rested in his metal.

When the ringing in his mind subsided, a different, familiar sensation took over Ghirahim. A blinking sound deep within him, imperceptible before, now alerted him to the presence of his kin. Fi – and by extension, most likely the green-clad knight tagging along – was fast approaching. “Oh, thank Our Lord, your cavalry is arriving. I was worried it would get a little too easy.”

Lana fell to the ground as Annihilation jabbed into her ribs. Its point bounced off stronger wards than he’d been met with before, and though Ghirahim didn’t exactly break skin, she clutched her chest with a groan either way. All three of their opponents exchanged a worried look, doubtlessly contemplating how to best gang up on them as they were bound to do.

Just as each of the Demon lieutenants took a step forward, deciding whose head to lop off first, new presences made themselves known. Pointing the glowing Goddess Blade forward in dowsing, Link entered through the stone gate, with Fi soon joining by his side. This second of distraction, a spark of hope for Hyrule, was just enough for the lot of them to scramble back to their feet and cluster into tight formation.

“Everyone, watch out,” Lana shouted, grimoire at the ready. “Only those with the Triforce can wield that magic!”

“He still has it?” Midna asked, eyeing Zant with her fangs bared.

Not expecting that reply, Lana turned to Midna, eyes wide with shock. “Still!?”

“Oh, so you remembered,” Zant chimed, making his way to the clustered group without hesitation. “Our Master is quite generous with his gifts. A small piece of that power is all I need to decimate the lot of you, who now have none at all. You would do better not to underestimate us!”

Midna’s eyes darted between her companions. A heaving, determined sigh tore through her. Then, her enraged expression twisted into a malicious grin. Her arms raised, she placed her hands on either side of her helmet. “Doesn’t matter. I could best you then, and I can do it now!”

The Coliseum was bathed in shadow. Midna drew darkness to her like a cyclone. Where Zant’s shadowy magic was warm and suffocating; a pulsing, all-consuming parasitic disease, hers was an eerie chill. From the pitch-black surrounding her feet, three ancient stone artifacts, the Fused Shadows, surfaced and encased her like a tomb.

When the first spidery legs burst forth from the bottom of the Twilight Princess’ stone-hewn armor, Ghirahim found himself beset by his own opponents. Link, drenched almost completely red with monstrous blood, ran for him, aiming right for his chest. Disappointed, almost, that the boy had learned nothing, he took hold of the blade with his bare hand, flicking it aside just in time to be able to step out the way of Fi’s impending kick. They were teaming up against him again, just as their other, more wounded companions were now piling on Zant. Where worry once would have possessed him, Ghirahim was now buzzing with nothing but thrill. The boy was already exhausted. He would get to tug the cords of his life from him strand by strand, and he hardly had to break a sweat to do so.

With that ever-lasting nuance and his dancing blade demanding his every second, Ghirahim couldn’t spare a glance at his battling compatriot. Not even as tendrilous arms, gnarled and glowing like smoldering branches of wicker, scampered around this battlefield, their incessant thumping shaking the rubble off the walls. Dust and pebbles rained down from above, only to be meticulously carved into halves by his sword. Some time ago, the duo of Link and Fi had bested him.

But back then, he didn’t have this blade. Annihilation soared and carved, striking hard enough to make even the stone-faced Goddess Blade wince as he parried her swinging legs. With this power, enemy numbers didn’t matter – he would win.

A twinge of anxiety simmered in him nonetheless. While he could indeed not spectate the battle behind him directly, he caught impressions from the piece of himself, wielded by his co-lieutenant. A screech of metal, a beast recoiled. Hair-coiled fists he so easily carved through minutes past now felt solid as rock. Midna could not find a way through his defenses, and the ground shook as she struggled away from his offenses. Those that dared to try left a taste of blood upon his blade, however slight. Weapons crashed into each other in such a cacophony he could no longer distinguish the flashes of light in his own battle, from the ones imposed on him by Zant’s hands. To any mortal, such a barrage of violence would render them collapsed in the confusion, but to Ghirahim, it was Paradise.

Yet, this could not last long. Caught in bladelock with Link, he swiftly kicked the boy off of him when an alarming sensation overtook him. The part of him resting within the Demon Scimitar overloaded him with visions. With the uttering of strange words, Lana had bypassed Zant’s wards. Metal groaned eerily, then exploded, shrapnel shooting into the sand. An inky-black fist clutched around an equally black steel javelin, then threw it whistling through the air. But Midna didn’t aim for the now staggered Zant – she aimed at the ceiling. Chunks of stone and wispy sands rained down, blinding all who waited below, until the dust cleared. Zant noticed it before anyone else, and burst out into a shriek when sunlight flooded every corner of the Coliseum.

They hounded him like a pack of starved wolves. More blinded than ever and his skin blistering, Zant couldn’t defend himself from the Sheikah’s assault, nor Link’s, nor Lana’s, all the while Fi kept Ghirahim across the arena. His guard dog, forced away from its flock. With every second in the sun, Zant was weakening. He simply couldn’t keep up, not while blinded and in agony like this. With desperate flings of their sword, he only barely managed to deflect the blows that would have otherwise sliced his head off. Blood stained the sand around him as strike after strike tore through his armor like it was no more than air. When his weapon finally fell from his hands, Midna took it as a sign, and grappled his battered body with a tendril for each limb. When he lifted his face, his stare was aimless, but full of malice.

“Sheik, now!”

Lana commanded, desperately eyeing the still-bleeding Sheikah commander. He complied with a nod too serene for such a boyish warrior. A glow gathered in his palms, abstract and foggy at first, until he grasped it, held it before him, and drew the string. Fuzzy sparkles shed from the light-made object, revealing its true form.

A bow. With a single blink, the Sheikah’s eyes turned from red to crystal blue.

It was the Princess! Ghirahim’s body froze over. In Zant’s current state, that single arrow would be fatal. What could stun their Master was deadly poison to his underlings.

An inhibition, once hard-coded into every fiber of his being, now shattered. Annihilation felt feather-light in his hands but crashed into Fi with the force of a stampede. A single facet chipped off her core, and would still be floating in the air when Ghirahim bolted to the center of the arena. Step, after step, after step, pummeling the sand into craters. The arrow nocked and braced, was then released. Ghirahim disappeared. A whistle, fletchings quivered in the air. Ghirahim burst into view in the middle of the Coliseum, arms outstretched. He grabbed Zant by the shoulders, and with a chime of diamond magic, they were gone.

The arrow pierced into the Keep wall. A piece of Fi’s core fell into the sand. Out of the five warriors present, none of them had been able to prevent their escape.

He needed shadows. There was only one place that would suffice. Around them, the world turned monochrome. With the Twili tucked carefully in his arms, he set his sights far beyond the labyrinth and took them both to the Palace. Nowhere would be darker than the quarters of the Twilight King.

Sheets hastily ripped off, bedding drenched in darkening blood. Zant lay stiff and unmoving, gasping like a fish, struggling none as Ghirahim ripped his clothes from him. A decorative fastening pin flew and clattered across the tile floor. Zant’s portrait above them looked on with a smirk.

Hyrulean weapons had gone right through his armor. He was a mess of red-stained wool and torn leather, gaping wounds pulsing fresh blood. Far too much of it. Ghirahim ripped the cork off a potion bottle with his teeth and shoved the glass opening to Zant’s lips, who coughed and sputtered as the thick liquid gushed down his gullet.

“Just this- Just this, and you will be alright. Stay with me,” Ghirahim hissed, keeping a close eye on the Twili’s battered body. Wounds closed up, but too many remained raw and open. Cursing under his breath, he snipped his fingers, keeping one hand – glove bunched underneath his grip – pressed heavily to a gash on Zant’s thigh. And what a useless measure it was. This wound was just one of many that needed his attention. The sheets he tore from the cupboards, drenched in water from his nightstand washing table and spilled bourbon, soon lost their white cleanliness to deep, deathly red.

Needle and thread summoned themselves with a snip of his fingers. Sewing implements, but Ghirahim had little else in his reach. Zant cried and whined when the makeshift gauze was now pressurized by a knee, Ghirahim’s hands too occupied with the needle. Bent into a rounded angle around his finger, sterilized with a flame. He thread the needle and set to pushing it through flesh.

“I’d say your crying brings me misery, Zant,” he grinned, an expression creeping on him purely from his nerves, “but do not stop. At least then I know you are alive and conscious.”

Pierce, tug, tie, and snip. Rhythmic and perfect, Ghirahim mended wound by wound. He knew how to carve flesh, so too, did he know how to sew it back together. Each wound bled with different severity. His midriff, his legs, his chest. There, he’d been carved down to the rib, surrounded by irritated flesh and glowing veins. The body tormented by these injuries cried and cried, but had not the strength to even writhe. As focused as Ghirahim was, his eyes still strayed and flicked to his right. Zant’s naturally pallid complexion helped him absolutely none in telling how much time he had. But his fading patterns did. Their teal glow almost ceased. Another potion. This time, he poured some of it directly on the still-opened wounds, hoping their sizzle would burn the veins shut. Zant was awake enough to swallow the rest of it, but not to protest against the drops that snuck into his windpipe. Only when Ghirahim had turned him on his side to tend to his back did the healing liquid’s magical effect rejuvenate him enough to rasp and hack it up. He shrieked immediately when the sudden jolt caused Ghirahim’s needle to stick him.

“Keep whining, please,” Ghirahim muttered. “If you have enough energy to act childish, then…”

Zant hissed, growled, snarled, every tug of the thread now an affront. His toes curled and his fingers dug in the sheets, weakly, but characteristically, either way. When every wound he could see was stitched, Ghirahim took the cords of lacing out the loops at his back and rid Zant of his final layer. Red, white, black; teal slowly returning, if it wasn’t simply the phosphorescent glow of the room around them. In a few days, this body would be a rainbow of bruises. Should he last that long.

Only then did Ghirahim allow himself to draw breath. Not as a necessity, but as a soothing tic, to come back to his senses and for a second empathize with a mortal man. He slumped onto the bed, his head resting on Zant’s chest. It was in this rest that the full gravity of the past minutes reached him. Rather, it jumped full force onto his back, its weight forcing him into immobility and sinking him into the bed. Ghirahim couldn’t recall when he started weeping; he’d been on auto-pilot from the second Zelda nocked her arrow.

Zant’s heartbeat thumped against his forehead, hard and heavy as it would whenever the Twili had a lump in his throat. Its pace quickened when Ghirahim spoke. “I almost lost you.”

Zant’s hand raised, then dropped onto Ghirahim’s back. Cold fingers stroked him softly. “You may still, Oibedelrik, Yima Daegge Esweteli,” Zant whispered hoarsely, forcing his words out with the nigh manual contracting of his rib muscles. “Odowuni kem idzidiy Iya, ee Iya-” he murmured, his eyes rolling to the backs of their sockets. His eyelids fluttered shut, then shot back open, revealing darting pupils as if he’d just remembered where he was. “I am not yet bandaged,” wheeze, “and when my blood returns to me,” wheeze, “I may yet fall to fever.”

“Shut up.” Banish the thought. As if he would be so negligent! A doctor, he was not, but as much as he could bring death, he could also spot its tellings, and he did not intend on letting it rear its head again. Ghirahim closed his eyes, listening intently to his pulse – as if it would slip away if he turned away for even a second – then raised himself to finish the job.

He had to go back to the battlefield. There was no telling whether all their beasts had been defeated or not, or whether they even had a chance to take down Hyrule’s commanders. He would return, alone if he had to, Ghirahim decided as he stroked a warm, wet cloth along the dried blood on Zant’s torso where his stitches did not taint him. But he’d only leave when Zant was stable.

In his spiraling, Zant’s hand had found its way to his hair, running its fingers through the strands. For once, Ghirahim cared not how bloodstained he would get. Zant’s weak voice muttered, slipping between heaving breaths. “All of them, at once… I foresaw many, but every caste and clade…”

“I know, I know,” Ghirahim responded, wringing the blood from the reddened cloth. “But the more we whittle down today, the less prepared they’ll be when Master strikes.”

“There is no ‘we’, Ghirahim. I cannot fight like this. I was bested once again.”

“I will take care of it,” Ghirahim muttered, a frown on his brow. He thought it ripe time to change the subject. “The Princess, disguising herself as a Sheikah... I’d almost say she exceeded us in trickery today.”

Zant sighed, his arm quickly becoming deadweight in his hand as Ghirahim took it for bandaging. That strange gray on his skin had spread almost no further. “Posing as a substitute for General Impa, I reckon.”

Ghirahim left Zant to his musings and grew oddly giddy with his own. The thrill of battle and clawing his companion away from death’s door scalded him from within, filling him with an inexplicable well of energy.

“But if the Princess is here… That’s good news, wouldn’t you say?” Ghirahim began to prattle, a manic tug at his brow as he pinned the last few bandages in place. “Fewer commanders are guarding the palace than we expected. If we hurry and inform Master Ganondorf, surely–”

“Ghirahim–”

But Ghirahim did not hear him. Whatever he said then, he could not even recall himself, so thoroughly he was caught up in a whirlwind of plans.

“Ghirahim, stop.”

The pair met eyes in silence, one still wearing a bewildered grin, the other lying grim and pale on what was almost his resting place. “There is no point. Your revelation will fall on deaf ears. We were never meant to leave this desert.”

Ghirahim’s expression dropped, managing only a slight grin in his confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Master sent us here to die.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ghirahim frowned, fighting off a pit of dread in his gut. This was just his usual delirium, he thought. The same madness shaken into him by fear and injury, like it had Volga.

Zant, however, did not take his struggle kindly. He frowned at him indignantly. “You call me ridiculous? You deceive even yourself. Face it, Ghirahim. We are two against seven of Hyrule’s finest commanders. This was a suicide mission from the start, as I suspected Death Mountain must have been, too.”

“... But-” Ghirahim struggled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Zant was a liar, he knew this. But now? To him? About something like this? Neither possibility, not Zant deceiving him so brazenly, nor being abandoned by his Master, computed in his mind. “We were- What could I have done to displease him to this degree? Why would he want to be rid of me? You speak nonsense!”

“You did nothing, Ghirahim. You are perfect. Your sole crime was associating with me. For me, it was only a matter of time until he did away with me. He is unworthy for the throne, and, one way or the other, I would have stopped him from seizing it.”

Ghirahim froze. Pieces fell on the ground before him but he didn’t dare to watch them assemble. Something hot and furious was starting to thaw the ice of his shock from within. “What?”

“Your surprise tells me he did not even bother to confirm his suspicions before abandoning you.” With a huff and groan, he shifted, trying to prop himself upright on his pillow. The grimace he pulled in his pain remained in his face, molded from rage and hatred. “I detest him, Ghirahim, and finally he has noticed it. He must have known I wished for his death, and that I intended to follow through.”

Ghirahim staggered away from the bed as if pushed. An instant revulsion forbade him from staying anywhere near the wounded man before him, and in his disgust, he willingly followed this instinct. He scowled at him, wide-eyed and vicious, tongue lashing and drenched with venom. “So your title was given to you for good reason. I cannot believe my ears. Immature little boy, you are! Our accursed usurper, unable to keep his grubby claws off any throne when he grows the slightest bit displeased. You ungrateful wretch!”

“Ungrateful? You know not what you speak of,” Zant scowled right back, tears of rage welling up in his eyes and his teeth bared. The Lord of Twilight turned to him unflinchingly, hunched like a pouncing beast as if his drive to convince him had filled him with fresh vigor. “In my time, Ganon was to me what Demise was to you. My God, I adored him,” he waxed, hands covering his face in grief. “I did his bidding. I worshiped him, freed us both from our decrepit prison. Yet, when I gave my life for him, he broke his promise to me. Instead of freeing my spirit to rule by his side, he took everything I ever worked for. And then- then-” Zant paused, hands falling limply into his lap. “When defeated by his little foil, when the strings of his soul dared touch upon mine to beg for my assistance, I denied him.”

Zant’s eyes turned to him again. The first hints of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “You understand, don’t you? It was no hero, no princess, who slayed the Demon King in the age of Twilight. The one to deliver the final blow, was me.”

That very second, a little part of Ghirahim’s world shattered. When he realized the consequences of plotting alongside a man so treacherous, the rest shattered with it. Right under his nose, Zant had made an enemy of his Master, and by extension, of Ghirahim. There were questions he wanted to ask, insults to be hurled. He could only think of one question, that bubbled to the surface of his heart like scum in a boiling pot. “How long have you plotted this?”

Zant lowered his gaze, for as far as the stare of a near-blind man mattered. “From the very start,” he admitted, sighing. “After such a betrayal, to awaken to another manifestation of my tormentor, and have him once again demand my services… He may as well have spat in my face. Though, I admit, for a little while, I buckled. Somewhere, I must have loved him still, drawn to his power and our shared hatred for Hyrule as I was. I wanted to see if I could trust this version of him, who seemed so noble. But after your stories, Ghirahim, how his incarnations cast you aside so carelessly… I made up my mind. Ganondorf does not change.”

“So then all of this was just a lie, part of your plans?” Ghirahim asked, his voice quaking. He didn’t care for Zant’s excuses, not when they pulled every minute he spent by his side into question. Not when they sabotaged everything he’s ever stood for. “I, too, just a little scheme for you?”

Zant gasped, inching closer to the edge of the bed to look at him in pleading. “No, Ghirahim. How could I have foreseen this? I came to you seeking an ally, and I found a new reason for my heart to beat. For every lie I have told you, I have spoken to you as many truths tenfold, in how I’ve grown to love you. It is only because of you I have made it this far. You’ve given me peace, soothed my soul when I threatened to bubble over. And, more importantly, Ghirahim-ili, you have made a warrior of me.” Zant urged, attempting a smile, his hand outstretched. “Which is why I ask you to join me.”

Ghirahim was too stupefied by his words to answer. So Zant took advantage of his silence to continue. “You know now of my hatred, my every motivation. Yet you stay loyal to him, even if you must know he will not spare you. He has not spared you, for he resigned someone so loyal to him to the same fate he did a traitor.”

His arms snaked around himself, his nails digging in the false skin of his arms. Ghirahim took another step back; the Twili’s presence alone made it feel like insects were crawling inside his steel, tunneling through him like termites. His mind hit a roadblock, reached a final terminal, and the logic Zant asked from him sat horizons away where his tracks would not reach. “... Then if Master wills it-”

Zant shot up in his seat, snapping at him before he could finish his sentence. “Do you know how it hurts me, Ghirahim? To see someone so precious to me tear himself apart over someone who would shatter him on a mere whim? After all you do for him, he denies you at every turn and punishes you for the barest things. It has taken every shred of composure I had not to tear into him when he threatened to hurt you. If I had not hated him before, the way he treats you would have convinced me to.”

He’d avoided his eyes up until then, but Ghirahim now shot his gaze straight at him. They exchanged a scowl, each gnashing teeth, one from hatred, one from love. Desperation seized him and sharpened his edge.

Ghirahim made for him and pushed him back into the pillows. “You know not what you ask of me. To think I would care what hurts you now, after what you’ve told me! You speak of whims? You’re asking me to abandon my every purpose for something as small as your mortal love. My purpose is all I have. It is me. To ask me to betray Demise is to doom myself to scrap, Zant.”

Zant had refused a squeak when he was shoved. With tears in his eyes, he simply laid there, glaring at him. He cradled a freshly ruptured suture through its bandages. “You are not yourself when you speak of him! Listen to the words you spew! Scrap!? So highly you think of yourself, you carry yourself as the priceless artifact that you are, yet when around him, you are degraded to the ranks of mere tools.”

Ghirahim gripped his hair in wild frustration. “Because- I am precisely as perfect as I am because of Him! Without Him, without a hand to wield me, I am nothing.”

Zant stared at him, perturbed, before groaning in his agony and sinking into his pillows. For a moment, he wilted again, speaking bitterly as he resigned himself. “Then you have been, and will be nothing, for a very long time.”

In an instant, his vision went red. “How dare you!”

Ghirahim pounced him, hands outstretched and clawed, landing square upon his chest, ignoring the grit of Zant’s teeth, his squirms, his pained squeaks. All he paid attention to were his wide-open eyes and the fear he could milk out of them. He gripped him fiercely by the shoulders and shook him as he spoke. “It’s all your fault, isn’t it!? Why he would not wield me! Why I could not gain his trust!? All because of your greed, he now sees me as a conspirator to your rotten betrayal.”

His hands found Zant’s throat and squeezed. Ghirahim leaned in close, fangs bared. Zant did nothing. Just the sight of those glowing pupils fueled the fire of his rage. “A thousand miserable years I’ve waited, working hard to see him again. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Your puny, mortal mind could never comprehend the lengths I’ve gone to!”

He reared back his fist, and still Zant did nothing. “Now I can wait thousands more, and he will never wield me again!!”

Ghirahim panted amidst his accusations, tears streaming down his cheeks the second they beaded in the corners of his eyes. He scanned the Usurper’s eyes for substance, for anything that wasn’t pity. When he didn’t find it, he snapped. Before he knew it, his fist connected to Zant’s cheekbone. Crack. “How could you do this to me? We were going to win!” Crack. “I would finally have been happy, after I’ve been alone for so long, and you RUINED everything for me!”

Crack. Snap. A whimper. There wasn’t an inch of Zant’s face untainted by blood and bruising, and still, that horrible fool did nothing to stop him. “I should kill you!”

He sent Zant’s head twisting left to right, right to left, with each punch. His heart had broken twice over today. First, shattered to pieces from all hope of becoming his Master’s blade. Then, its shards were trampled by the very man below his relentless assault, who had punished him so severely for daring to open himself to that mortal love. What a complete and utter fool he’d been. He should have expected to be punished like this, for entering a world he didn’t belong in.

And still, past the swollen, blood-smeared skin, Zant did not take his gut-wrenching eyes off of him, trying to fool him into loving him again to save his own measly life. It was an outrage! A betrayal this massive, and Zant had the gall to try and garner his sympathy. To assert they were alike in fate. There was only one who had lost everything, whose prospects were null, and who was only living on borrowed time. Only one banished from his home, his every goal snatched from before his nose. Only one whom his Master truly abandoned, to never be forgiven.

… No.

There were two.

Before his fist could crash into him once more, a convulsion tore through Zant’s body below him. Within the blink of an eye, he changed. His skin lost all color, turning a deep, shadowy black, while his patterns dimmed, and his hair bristled into a brittle white, like spider’s silk.

Zant was dying.

The ties to the Demon Scimitar pulsed in his chest. There lied that rebellious little dagger, the one that thumped against the walls of his core whenever this wretch would look at him in his strange ways. Did it not feel good? Its little voice whispered in his mind. Even if it was such a small piece of you in his hands, did it not fill you with joy? Master will not wield us, and this world has so few who are worthy of us. Is it not better to rest part of you in capable hands, than in nothing at all?

Ghirahim clutched his head, begging for silence. He could not handle even a second of doubt, of weakness. If this man were simply dead, everything would be so much easier. If he were the one to kill him, Master would forgive him. But are you ready for him to die?

He was. He would have to be. He wanted to be. It would be so simple. He just wanted to be wielded. To be held in someone’s hands, to be part of something greater.

He wanted to be loved.

Please, help him.

Oh, God. What has he done?

He detested the despairing little squeak behind him as he walked away from that deathbed. Even more, he reviled himself, for glancing behind and allowing the teeth of guilt to sink into him at the pitiful sight of that beaten creature.

What he hated most was how he’d been convinced to return after his brief departure, healing elixirs in hand, and seeing tear-drenched eyes looking at him with a bloody smile.

Don't look at me like that, you horrible man. You’ve ruined my life.

But that pitiful part of him felt relieved how Zant could smile at the sight of him still. How Zant was glad to see him, even after attempting to take his life mere seconds earlier. A withered hand shook as it reached out for him. Ghirahim took it and squeezed.

The room was silent as Ghirahim nursed Zant back to health. Far, far into the desert outside, chaos was unfolding. The few remaining giant monsters were now surely being slaughtered, and their troops would have to cherish idle hopes of succeeding in their reign of terror, in their commanders’ absence. Deep, deep below the ground, Gerudo and Bulblin who could not fight were taking shelter in the dungeons, waiting for the pounding footfall to fade away and leave them in peace.

Neither side knew they were here. They would sit in this room, disturbed only by the glare of Zant’s portrait, judging this pathetic display. Zant strained to breathe. His complexion had inverted almost to its original colors, while his hair returned to its original, rosewood shade. However, some strands retained that ghostly white from before. Ghirahim hoped it would be permanent. He hoped he would remember this accursed day every time he was confronted with his reflection.

Never before had shadows bothered him. Now, in the deep darkness of Zant’s bedroom, it suffocated him. Neither of them said a word. There was nothing to say, but in this stifling pit of nothingness, he began to crave the slightest noise. He wished he could go back to a time when this dark was comforting, to be filled with nothing but idle chatter and the grappling of their bodies. Like this, through noise, through touch, Ghirahim could only think to hurt him.

So, Ghirahim seized the bridge of Zant’s nose and cracked what cartilage he hadn't shattered back into place. He took hold of his jaw, counted to three in his head, and popped the crooked thing back in its sockets. If Zant had cried out in pain at any of this, he wouldn't have noticed. The ringing in his ears was just too loud. His handiwork now finished, he trusted the potions to do the rest.

Then, he waited. For anything, really. For the battle raging outside to dissipate. For their forces to come bursting through the castle gate cheering with glee, or for the enemy to come raid it of every worth and woman inside, and drag the two of them to the gallows, while they were at it. But mostly, he waited for any change in Zant.

Look at him. He cannot even raise a finger to hurt you. You could end this right here, right now, Ghirahim thought to himself. Yet he sat and did nothing. When his eyes met the ones that stared glossily back up at him, filled with agonized gratitude, that thought snuffed out, and its wicker would burn no longer.

Ghirahim swallowed his apprehension, inhaled sharply, and sighed. “What will you have me do?”

Zant opened his mouth to speak, but the shards of crumbled teeth fell into his throat as he uttered his first syllable. Ghirahim sat and watched as he choked and spat them out on his pillow.

“We are to wait out the right time to strike back for the throne, but today, we cannot. So we will have to fool them with one more ruse. Return to the battlefield, Ghirahim,” he wheezed, swallowing the blood from a dry throat. “Strike at whoever is closest. Be vengeful. Be fierce. You must fight like you never have before.

Zant breathed deeply. With each chug of air, another wound closed up, though their scars and deep black bruises remained. “You are to disappear with me. They must be convinced that I succumbed to my wounds.”

You should have.

“And, to their knowledge, you will take to the grave with me. Come closer,” he said. His hand searched beside his face on the pillow and retrieved a shard of tooth, long and pointy, almost complete. With a tiny crack, he then reached over, and fastened it to Ghirahim’s earring, to an empty link remaining there. “A memento, to convince them of my death.”

Ghirahim rose again in silence. A little piece of bone so small dangled from his ear, but the weight of its burden could tip him over. Zant continued to speak as if this was the simplest matter in the world. “Take our blade. My power rests within it, still, and it is all the help I can afford you.”

Listlessly, mechanically, Ghirahim rose from his seat before Zant even finished his sentence. The sword lay by his bedside, hastily thrown to the side along with Zant’s armor. He picked up that shard of himself and apologetically wiped it of its grime.

A roar reverberated from outside, echoing past the sands and through the castle walls. Zant called to his attention again with his glowing eyes aimed straight at him. “The Gerudo are innocent in all this. The least we can do is scare this vermin away from their homes. I trust you to have tricks up your sleeve, Yima Mionaida.”

Despite it all, his little nicknames stirred in his chest. Ghirahim clenched his fist harder around the grip of the Demon Scimitar, as if to smother it. His Diamond. The miserable, manipulative cretin that he was. And Ghirahim was doing all his bidding.

Just before he could turn his back to leave, he was halted one last time. “Ghirahim,” Zant started, but he knew saying his next words would only draw his ire. His face said every letter anyway. I’m sorry.

Ghirahim ran. Within a flash, he was back in the sweltering heat of the desert, bolting from the Temple Complex and kicking up sand trails in his escape. He tore past keeps, the slain corpses of their monsters, and field battles still unfolding between forces too stubborn to believe the war was won. Those who dared bar his way were dealt with swiftly, their heads rolling. He left the perfect trail like this. A pristine white lightning bolt with a sword sharper than the cruel edge of time, such a description could only fit one man. The eyes he sought snared onto him. Enemy commanders, skeptically scouring the desert and leaving not a stone unturned for a trace of Ganondorf’s finest. Now, they found him and were giving chase just like he wanted.

Blood and plate mail carpeted the vast sands racing below his feet. Rock outcroppings raced past; trampled patches of desert scrub – Safflina and a type of sagebrush. The smell of drying vegetation filling the air was the same as when Zant held sprigs from them up to his nose for inspection – and, finally, the gate to the bazaar, zipped past him. Almost, he, the false deserter, had gotten away with leading the lot of them out into the wider desert, until a familiar rumble ripped him from his concentration.

Ghirahim swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding a boulder that barreled past him. It skidded to a halt before him and unfolded, though he didn’t have to see that transformation to know what nuisance stood before him. There was, once again, Darunia, Chief of the Goron Tribes.

“Not one step further, Pebble.”

The sight of him was enough to startle even Ghirahim, though he was too jaded to find any delight in it. Darunia’s torso was heavily scarred, and his right arm, gone. In its place was a jumble of machinery, with pistons and gears whirring noisily to heave the weight of a massive hammer at the very end of the prosthetic limb. Beyond a solid steel helmet, the Goron Chief wore a wide grin, though one less eye stared back at Ghirahim than last time.

“Thought to slip by us, did you? All on your lonesome?” said the Goron Chief, brandishing his weapon. “I wasn’t looking forward to facing off against that nutcase anyhow, but a lil’ something tells me my siblings took care of that for me…”

Ghirahim looked back. The peaks of Gerudo Palace were no longer in sight. For whatever chaos he would unleash… This would have to be far enough. All he had to do was stall for time until the rest of the Hyrulean commanders caught up to him.

“You truly wish to keep me? Very well,” Ghirahim replied, holding the Demon Scimitar up to the sun. Sand powdered his bodysuit from top to bottom, crusting gray and gold in every crease. But their blade remained immaculate. Its silvery edge still shone into his pupils, like teeth flashing in a hungry grin. “Make this worth my while.”

Darunia’s hammer pounded into the ground fiercer than ever. The springs on his arm, hefty as it might have been, gave him untold speed and force with each swing. Ghirahim couldn’t stop the speed of that hammer anymore – where there were once bulging veins now sat machinery, forged from a steel he dared not chip the Demon Scimitar on. So, he had to settle for the rest of this massive creature. They clashed like this for what felt like hours, neither showing any signs of tiring. The resounding clanks of the warhammer striking upon resonant steel had surely deafened them both, and everyone daring to come near them. It was thoroughly inelegant. Ghirahim hissed, roared, lunged at him with wild swings wielding a sword leagues to big for his frame. Such wild desperation hampered him as much as it worked in his favor. A grief-stricken foe was always quickly underestimated. Even with his new accessories, Darunia would not leave this battlefield unscathed. A blade made from the heart would know how to find another without effort. As he riddled the Goron’s bulging ribcage with scars, a foreboding chime in his core once again alerted him of his pursuers. They were getting closer. He could feel it.

Then, for a second, he could feel nothing at all. A split second of distraction cost him dearly, when it allowed for Darunia to come within arm’s reach and drive his hammer straight into him. The flat of the giant hammer drove into the side of his head with such a deafening impact he thought his head might snap clean off. Instead, he remained intact, launched across the bazaar to tumble through ruined market stands and trampled carpets. When he came to a halt, all he could see was dust, the approaching Darunia not more than a shadow in the clouds of sand. Ghirahim stood up, a hand to his wounded cheek to find it just that – wounded. Through his false skin, he could feel chips taken out his face, like little razor-sharp dimples on his cheek.

The rest of them were approaching now, right outside the gate. Ghirahim found the least he could do was give them a proper welcome spectacle. Concealed by the dust, he launched forward at the shape of the Goron Chief in ambush. Its wicked, curved tip aimed at the jugular. Darunia staggered away, but every twitch of movement just made the scimitar slice him deeper. With just one more stumbling step, Ghirahim got the vengeance he wanted. An arc of blood gushed from the Goron’s collarbone, splattering to accessorize Ghirahim’s wounded face. Clutching his bleeding wound, Darunia thrust his metal arm forward to push the Demon away from him and hobbled back into the dust.

Ghirahim gave chase until he remembered his task. Wind whipped through his hair and took the sands with it, revealing at last his surroundings to him. Standing in an arc around him, barricading his way to the desert, stood the mightiest of Hyrule’s army. There was nowhere left to lure them, this would have to be his final stand. He could not fight all of them at once – not Link, not Fi, not Zelda, not all of the other pompous royals gathered here. But he could make them see. The blade, the tooth dangling from his ear. Now, he would make them witness his sorrow. To their knowledge, it would be grief for a fallen friend, but in the depths of his core, he felt nothing more than disgust for obeying the word of another.

Tears gushed from his eyes. He was doing this – he was betraying his Master. Ghirahim (was he even worthy of a name?) contorted his face into a maddened grin. The carnage, the destruction, the pure, unfiltered chaos this final gambit would unleash might have pleased Him, but it would not be in His name. It was moot! He should have accepted his fate in the Arbiter’s grounds. He should have stood patiently waiting in executioner’s row, to be pierced by the very same arrow that he saved his conspirator from. If his Master willed him to shatter, to turn to dust and forgotten in the eyes of history, then that was to be his fate, and nothing more.

Instead, the Sword Spirit glared down the approaching Hyrulean commanders with the same manic grimace, and readied his spell.

“Šamu dullu-ya, Majora! Bēlu ellāmu-adāni, Lā Naparkû Umṣu! Anāku bussuru kâti bursaggû, naqrabu napištu. Banû annûm āra-šu ašītu, baqāru tidintuka!”

He danced and danced through the sand, flickering himself atop every surface he could find to evade the grasp of his assailants. Midna and Lana were the first to stiffen, to call for someone to put a stop to this, but none of the arrows sailing past could hit their mark. Every word drained more and more energy from him. This was a true summoning, a bargain driven. Within the first uttering of the Arch Demon’s name, he could feel it watching, stalking around him like a wolf with gnashing teeth, licking its lips until it found his offer sufficient.

He would have thought it an infernal illusion, ripping him to some other plane of existence, did he not notice the straw hat atop the mask and the blue sky expanding behind it. The Skull Kid floated before him upside down, looking him dead in the eye. With a single tap on the nose, it shook him out of his paralysis.

“Took you long enough. Don’t let me get bored again, Ghirahim-ili!”

It mocked, it shrieked with laughter, and it rattled its mask. Arms to the sky, it hovered squeaking and groaning with strain, and then with the same great effort, swung its clawed little hands down as if pulling a massive lever. Then, it waved cheerfully and disappeared within a blink.

Silence. Nothing at all. The commanders still around him stood waiting with caution, alarmed by the Arch Demon’s arrival, and just-as-sudden departure. Only when a rumble shook the pebbles on the bazaar grounds did they think to look up.

Not Ghirahim. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the skies for even a second. He saw it the second Majora disappeared. A small dot, a mere speck in the endless blue of the cloudless heavens, approaching rapidly. The Moon was falling down on Gerudo Desert.

Cries of panic, of retreat. Chimes of magical transportation rang around him. Hyrule’s commanders were fleeing en masse. Perhaps he would not strike his intended targets, but he didn’t care. This battle would find no spoils or prisoners. Nothing but a wasteland would be left, leaving not the slightest bone for the vultures to scavenge. Swirling clouds of condensation shrouded the Moon in its rapid descent. It was hypnotic, almost, Ghirahim thought, standing in the center of its massive shadow. He considered then what would happen if he simply stayed here. The clouds dissipated as the Moon crossed their threshold. By all means, he was insane for dawdling here, and yet he took the time.

Head cocked curiously, but eyes blank, he peered up at a giant visage that scowled back. Like it challenged him, almost. He was forged to survive any impact, surpassed only by weaponry that rivaled him in magic ability. But he’d never been hit by a meteor before. Would it shatter him? Did that matter? Oh, how tempting the thought was. He was a dead man walking either way. Where would he go if he survived such an impact? Master would break him.

Ah, his trump card was getting a little close for comfort now. He could feel the heat of its approach on his skin, its tremors shaking the ground beneath his feet. There were mere seconds between this moment and the inevitable crater the Moon would leave. He turned his stare away from the skies and turned to look around. Not a soul remained in the bazaar, but the soldiers that fled – be they friend or foe – certainly weren’t far enough to escape the blast radius. They’d be dust soon, blend in with the sands.

Playtime was over. He’d fantasized plenty. Zant was waiting for him; whether he’d find him succumbed to his wounds, or in a prime state to kill him himself, he’d have to see when he got there. Whether he’d have the guts to see him to his end…

Now, to get out of here.

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katyawriteswhump · 2 days ago

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the freak in the penthouse, epilogue 1/2

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :) On AO3

Chapter 17: Epilogue (part 1)

One year later

Eddie strode across the lobby of the Beverly Hills Yorkshire.

He slid his blaring Walkman headphones from his ears—savoring the delectable mutterings of high-and-mighty folks’ having their feathers ruffled by his mere presence—and slammed his credit card down on the reception desk. He slammed its hapless occupant with the mega-watt grin that’d studded his life more regularly this year than the last.

His fiendish gurning was set off to perfection by rocker hair that was ‘so last decade,’ an Exodus t-shirt featuring the band performing cannibalism; and jeans with a rip up his left thigh that artfully allowed the cool air to kiss through his underpants to his butt-cheek.

“Room for a little one, Sweetheart?” That brought a raspberry blush to the male receptionist’s cheeks. “Penthouse suite would be a blast.”

“Uh… right. Yes, of course. Let me see what we have available, Sir.” The guy eyeballed the card nervously, although, frankly, Eddie’s nerves were kicking off too. This had seemed like a hilarious jape last night, at least to Eddie, if only to make the forced-conformity piggies around him wriggle and squeal…

…and to get a bad day off to an unsettling start for one particular douchebag who needed bringing down a billion pegs or so.

The receptionist had wandered into the back office, and then… Eddie rubbed his sweaty palms together, and mumbled, “Showtime.”

Head concierge, Larry Kline, emerged from behind the scenes. Eddie detected some decidedly pinched lines at the edges of Kline’s oily smile.

I know why you’re sweating. You’ve been summoned to an ‘extraordinary’ meeting of the board of shareholders who own this hotel.

Unlike me, you don’t have the faintest clue as to why.

“Mister Munson.” Each syllable was a stabbing ice-pick. “I’m afraid the Penthouse Suite is occupied. In fact, we are fully booked.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” sang Eddie. Robin had already checked for him.

Kline pressed two white-knuckled fists to the counter, dropping his voice to a snakey hiss. “You’ve got a damn cheek, coming here, after you assaulted another guest.”

“Those charges were dropped, man,” announced Eddie, loud and theatrical. “I think you’ll find the lying son-of-a-bitch who made those accusations is now in jail. Then again, if this hotel ONLY WELCOMES JAILBIRDS then I’ll be on my merry—"

“Get out!” Kline jabbed a finger toward the revolving door. “Get out before I summon the police!”

“Cops, huh?” Pretty much everybody in the lobby was now gawking at them, and the lyrics of ‘I hate everything about you,’ by Ugly Kid Joe radiated tinnily from Eddie’s headphones. The snark-fest song wasn’t a favorite or the most subtle choice. Kline would never have appreciated the depths of any true thrash metal track. Either way, Klein was enjoying the show a lot less than Eddie. And Eddie was only the warm-up act. “Call ’em if you want, Sweetpea. I’ll wait for my room-key, or for the cops to come and arrest me for…” He drummed his fingers on his lower lip. “What exactly?”

“I should think rifling through your pockets for illegal substances would reap dividends,” seethed Kline. “We had to fumigate that suite after you left.”

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, dude. I quit my entire spectrum of smokey substances over a year ago.”

Eddie blew Kline a kiss then was pretty sure he detected steam hissing from the concierge’s ears.

The receptionist cleared his throat. “Mr Kline? The, uh, board of shareholders are waiting.”

Eddie didn’t miss a beat. As soon as Kline disappeared, tugging at his neckerchief, Eddie skedaddled to the nearest service corridor, where Robin was waiting for him.

“Is he okay?” asked Eddie.

“Yeah, I think so. He’s all set.”

She hooked her arm through his and tugged him through a small door. At first impression, they seemed to have entered a cramped space, almost totally filled by a table of used coffee-cups and leftover and half-eaten pastries. Then, as the hum of conversation rose in his ears again, he realized they were behind a curtain at the catering section of a huge conference room.

Robin peeped around the curtain. Eddie held back, fists curling so tight his rings and nails gouged his palms.

Steve had gone through a lot in this past year. Too much. He’d stood up in court, faced the most brutal of interrogations. With the help of other abuse victims, who Suzie’s legal team had traced and supported, he’d helped dump a whole bunch of nasty pieces of shit in jail. It’d been impossible to keep his name out of the press completely. On the other hand, the exact nature of the financial handouts to the Harrington heir—following early victories in his ongoing multi-million-dollar lawsuit against his parents’ lawyer, Martin Brenner—had been kept more or less under wraps.

In the final months before Brenner had been arrested on charges of fraud and sex trafficking, he’d purchased shares in the Beverly Hills Yorkshire. It had been why his current jailbird buddy, Dickchester, had switched hotels and had been allowed to treat the staff like dirt. Robin had known that at the time, even though she’d had no clue that these were Steve’s abusers. Now, the vast majority of Brenner’s assets were in the process of being transferred to Steve.

Eddie sucked a swift breath into his leaden lungs and peeped around the curtain.

The room was bigger than his and Steve’s entire apartment—and for LA, theirs wasn’t exactly a broom cupboard. On the other hand, the illusion of space was magnified by the small number of shareholders—six men and two women, all pushing retirement age. A little apart sat Vickie, the hotel’s newly recruited business manager. And, at the far end, a guy barely out of his teens sat at the head of the vast table.

Steve was rocking the power vibes. He’d paired his ray-bans with an Armani suit—Eddie reluctantly conceded his boyfriend made even establishment bling hot—countered by the pair of Nike Airs he’d gotten planted on the table. His hair was so perfectly groomed that Eddie fought an urge to run out and ruffle it.

Yeah, Steve had nailed the act. Apart from, perhaps, the arms he’d gotten wrapped tight and defensively around his middle.

Eddie’s own hand clamped to his stomach. He was so nervous, suddenly, he felt sick. “Should we—”

“Ssssh!” Robin pressed a finger over her lips.

Kline had entered at the far end of the conference room. Silence reared up. “To what do I owe this honor?” he smarmed. “Should I take a seat?”

“No,” said Steve, tipping back on his chair. He nodded to an older lady, sporting the archetypical blue rinse, twinset and pearls, who sat to his left. “Vera? Would you do the honors?”

She stood up: “Mister Kline, a multitude of instances of gross misconduct have been brought to our attention. It is the unanimous decision of the shareholders that you should be dismissed today. With immediate severance of all pay.”

“But… but…” Kline’s hands flapped wildly before clapping together in a prayer: “Ladies, Gentleman. I am sure this is a trifle—a misunderstanding that can be easily cleared up. Shouldn’t I at least know what these accusations of misconduct are? Who is making them against me?”

“All those questions can be answered by our new majority shareholder,” said Vera. “Mr H—”

“Thanks, Vera,” said Steve, cutting her off with a breezy wave. He changed the cross of his ankles on the table. “Kline, you’re a bully and a liar. You’re also one hundred percent guilty of physically assaulting at least one member of staff in this shith… uh, I mean, in this fine institution. I’m happy to testify to that, but I’m sick of court cases. I want this to be over.”

Kline’s eyes stretched wide. Robin grabbed Eddie’s hand, finding it as clammy as his own. Had Kline figured it out yet?

Steve raised his sunglasses to nail Kline with a death-ray glare. “You’re fired, asshole.”

“You?” squeaked Kline.

“Yeah, it’s me. Let’s recap for your jumped-up little pea-brain. Treating me like shit? Treating anybody like shit, just because you can get away with it?” As the former chief concierge opened and shut his mouth like a beached fish, Steve smirked, apparently totally at ease now: “Big mistake. Big. Huge.”

…

Steve let Vera bark the final orders: “Clear your desk, Kline. You have five minutes to get out, before security will kick you into the gutter where you belong.”

Steve’s heart pounded against his ribs. Adrenaline tore through his veins. He watched Kline scuttle from the room like the cockroach he was, and then unleashed what felt like the longest, most heartfelt sigh of his life. He slid his sneakers down from the table and righted his chair with a loud clack.

The entire board’s attention swerved back onto him. For the briefest moment, he’d felt like there should be triumphant music swelling in the background. Now, there was simply an eerily reverberating silence.

“Mister Chairman?” said Vera, with a grandmotherly smile. “Shall we proceed with the rest of the day’s business?”

Steve recalled the list of agenda items, as long as his arm. He’d not even started to read it. Every ounce of his willpower had been dead set on getting even with Kline. Now, his mind fell disarmingly blank. And his mouth flapped off before he could stop it: “Absolutely. I’ll, um… Can we take a brief raincheck? I need to hand you over to the new majority shareholder and chairwoman of the board, Robin Buckley.”

A small shriek sounded from behind the catering screen. It was Steve’s turn to scuttle, as he sped to join his friends. He didn’t even have time to hug Eddie before Robin got right in his face:

“What the fuckety fuck, Dingus? I told you—I don’t even want to be promoted yet. Doreen deserved to be the new head of housekeeping. I’m not ready to be anything other than a sous chef!”

“That’s why this makes perfect sense.” It had been a spur of the moment decision, born basically of panic. Still, Robin’s wrath aside, he honestly believed it didn’t totally suck: “You’re smart. You could skim those minutes in seconds. Plus, who better to make decisions about the running of the hotel than somebody who actually works here? Somebody who will make sure nobody is ever treated like dirt again. Besides, these meetings are quarterly. Shouldn’t cramp your style, huh?”

“I agree with Alex P Keaton here,” said Eddie, hooking an arm around Steve, who gratefully sagged into him. “You are literally Frodo with the ring, Robin.”

“Oh God, not the nerdy ring book.” Occasionally, Steve missed the times when these two were at each other’s throats, rather than uber-geek best buds. He pinched between his eyes against the start of a tension and caffeine headache. Also, to evade Robin’s beyond death-ray glare.

“Okay, maybe you’re more Eowyn in war-cry mode,” Eddie conceded. “But the metaphor’s not so lousy. Power is best wielded by those who crave it the least.”

Steve peeped up. Robin had plowed eight shaky fingers into her hair, which was an uncharacteristic violation of hygiene standards. “Aaaargh! My stomach is a gordian knot right now, Steve!”

He was starting to feel really bad: “I don’t know what that is, but I’m pretty sure my stomach was in one too when I said what I did. Look, I’m sorry, but… please, Robin? Honestly, I can’t think of anybody more fitted for the job. I can have the shares transferred into your name today.” He took off his ray-bans, hooked them on her nose. “These totally come with the role. Tho’ promise me you’ll take them off when you’re making eyes at the new business manager. I swear she’s making them back at you.”

“Ssssssh,” hissed Robin, though the edges of her lips ruffled toward a smile.

“You’ll do it?”

She harrumphed loudly. Concealed beneath the shades, he was pretty damn sure she rolled her eyes at him.

“Next time, Dingus, a few minutes notice would be polite. Oh, and… there’s gonna be a few changes around here, starting right now.”

She grabbed a croissant, took a hefty bite. She chewed, swallowed, dabbed nutella from the edge of her lips, then swished aside the curtain. Her hands planted on her hips, she confronted the board: “Is it really so dreadful to watch somebody pouring your coffee?”

Steve and Eddie beat a hasty retreat to the corridor. “Okay, why am I starting to worry about absolute power corrupting absolutely?” Eddie moved a step behind Steve to give him a backrub.

“How long till she’s calling them shit-birds? We should start a sweepstake. Oh God, yeah, Eddie… that feels amazing.”

They paused in their progress, while Eddie eased a little more of Steve’s tension from him, and Steve leaned into him. Post adrenaline crash, he was starting to feel pretty tired. It was a few blissful moments before he turned back to face Eddie. Who’d plopped a bellhop hat on his head.

“What the fuck?” said Steve.

“Does it suit me, Babe?” Eddie touched his face and fluttered those long dark lashes.

“No! It looks Halloween costume levels of ridiculous on you.”

“Just because I don’t wear it as well as you did.” Eddie pouted, adorably fake-sad, then: “What do you wanna do now, Stevie?”

Melt into your arms. Stare into your eyes till it gets kinda creepy. Make love for days.

He opted for an equally honest answer, one that was bubbling-cheese-on-cheesy-toast levels of cheesy: “I want to be with you. Forever, pretty much, and… I dunno.” He nibbled his lower lip, unsure about this next part: “I take it you didn’t snag the key to the penthouse?”

“No. Don’t reckon there’s gonna be a problem, though. You wanna go up? I know you miss that plunge bath. I could…” Eddie slung both arms around Steve’s neck and waggled his brows. “Pretty sure I owe you an aquatic blowjob.”

“I guess.” Steve laughed. Nevertheless, behind Eddie’s goofing around, he sensed darker shadows shifting. Eddie had had one recurring nightmare this past year, and it was for sure to do with what he’d witnessed when Steve chained himself to the pillar in the penthouse. Steve still barely remembered having the flashbacks about his abuse at the hands of Godchester and the others. His shrink had helped him begin, slowly, to come to terms with what had happened to him. However, there were some ghosts best left in the past.

He sure as hell didn’t want to raise those ghosts for Eddie. They had become Eddie’s nightmares almost as much as his own, and Eddie had his own demons to battle too. Slowly, painfully, his agoraphobia had gotten better, though he was still on baseline anxiety meds.

Steve shook his head. “Nah, I don’t wanna go there again. I thought I did, earlier. I mean, it is where we fell in love, but… It’s not who we are any more. I guess it never was. Anyhow, next summer we’ll have that pool ready at our place up in Oregon.” They’d bought a house on the same block as Wayne’s. “Aaaand we’ll have the jacuzzi hot tub, so…”

“Not waiting till next Summer to blow you, my Princess.” Eddie flung open the door into the busy lobby. He bowed low, like a knight of old, for Steve to pass through. “Let’s go home.”

...

The end on AO3 The end on tumblr

If you have stuck with me this far, thank you so very much <3

perma-tag for the best inspiration friend ever: @wheneverfeasible

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

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afreakingdork · 2 months ago

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You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 13

RotTMNT x Reader

I'm not gonna lie, I'm obsessed with this week's chapter art by @birdsnout I MEAN LOOK AT THEM

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis: You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

Trigger Warning: The following chapter contains a depiction of assault. There are mentions of bloody injury, a knife, and needles. Please be aware and keep yourselves safe.

You were getting closer to Mikey. It was a day by day evolution and something you deeply enjoyed. He’d given you so much and yet continued to enrich your life. In some ways you thought you’d never be able to repay him and in others you were crushed by crippling guilt because of all the ways your relationship flower bed blossomed from Mikey’s tending sun, there was also an incessant weed that grew back every time you picked it: your damned crush on Donnie.

Your budding feelings were painfully incessant. Upon first glance you thought they would only be one-sided, but it was hard to deny how Donnie acted. While his exact words had been about how he thought your touch was inoffensive, he also clearly found you interesting. Though there had been no more larger encounters, it felt like you had an inside joke with the purple brother. You had since sought each other’s eyes during dozens conversations with others and much was said with singular looks. It was an obvious form of flirting that percolated the cauldron in your chest and sent you in a completely different direction.

Instead of dealing with one aggravation, you prepared for another. The mess of it all was it was occurring simultaneously. The talk with Donatello at the ice rink had reinforced your fleeting feelings for him. It had also opened up new territory with Mikey. Not because you sat with him after his concussion, but because you’d learned more about the Hamato’s trauma regarding the Krang. For Leo and Raph the sparse information you had learned felt more like peaks into the others psyche, but with Mikey it felt like betrayal. Mikey’s story was his own and he seemingly had already shared all he wanted on the matter regarding his tremors. You finding out more detail about it from someone that wasn’t him was prying in your eyes. Though you knew it was a form of procrastination on your crush, you had to relieve at least one guilt from your conscience or you weren’t going to make it.

You relied on your growing faith in your friend. While it had come at clawing expense, you felt as though there was enough trust built between you and Mikey that you could approach the topic without destroying your friendship. It spoke both to his actions and your growth. You were still timid so it was one afternoon during the lull of a hangout that you asked Mikey about the Krang. With a faraway smile, he shared his experience.

His version came with far more detail than Donnie’s. They were different lenses on the same event and Mikey spared no expense. The time on the ship was one thing, but your friend’s journey began from when he ripped through reality. He spoke of lengthy bouts of depression with a contrasting lightheartedness that would have been a red flag if said by anyone other than him. In his eyes, struggle was a stepping stone in one’s path. He was shaped by it and many other trials, which he expounded on in his carefree manner.

You were left sick with sympathy pain and thanked him. He’d bumped shoulders with you, an act he was preferring more and more, and said it was nice to talk about it with someone who wasn’t ready to jump over the table to help him like he was still an invalid. You paled at the thought and he disarmed your anxiety by saying you took knowledge of his trauma better than you did trying to talk to a waitress. You sported puffed cheeks as he teased you about your faint heart and with that you understood a very large piece of Mikey’s past.

You loved him.

It was a revelation that hadn’t come from that conversation, but one of the next. Things were never so linear when it came to Michelangelo. You selfishly asking about the Krang had marked a paradigm shift. By asking him to divulge, you had inadvertently signaled Mikey of your growing strength and feelings of safety with him. He took your questioning as a step in both your solemn and combined journeys and with it he pressed for more.

He asked you out to a bar which Mikey had categorized as a level five event. Akining it to a hurricane, it marked one of the first times that he promised he wasn’t going to leave your side and you believed him. He had never cared to chart or graph your progress and instead chose the liminal space of feeling out when you were ready to push your anxieties. He’d turned to you with severity and said it was time to crank it up a notch. You would meet up for drinks on the peak hours on a Friday and you would have one week to prepare.

It was marked by further milestones. You and Mikey went out the preceding Sunday morning to pick out new outfits. Mikey invited you over to his workplace after hours on a Tuesday so you could meet the sommelier who used to be a bartender and discussed drink options. You asked to meet for lunch on Thursday at a place just down the street from the bar and Mikey had cordially walked you by the closed business more than once to scope it out. It was all little steps to help you prepare for the onslaught.

When it came, it was as expected. It was loud. People jockeyed for the bartender’s attention. You couldn’t believe how the employees could not only keep track of drinks and tabs, but also make anything from a menu that didn’t seem to exist without so much as a recipe. Meanwhile, you could barely remember what drink you had pre-planned to get.

Mikey acted as a tacky barrier, but he could only shield so much of you. Patrons bumped you and you hung your head trying to block out the booming music while a cacophony of voices threatened to swallow you up. Eyes unfocused as the bartender asked you a second time for your drink order, you heard Mikey say the first syllable of it before you squeaked it out. The employee was off and you shrank, wanting to hide beneath the sticky wooden surface of the bar.

There was a bathroom here somewhere.

That might be a good hovel.

Or better yet, you could dive into the dumpster out back.

That was where you belonged.

Mikey had slipped an arm around you to grab the bar without fear of what reside it would leave on his hands. He kept the threading near your body modest and left space for you to freely turn. It brought your gaze up to him where he smiled genially and gestured to the counter. Looking there, two drinks sat, his and yours, and he picked his up to toast. You slipped yours from the dainty napkin it was sat upon and he tipped his glass with a smile.

“I’m proud of you.”

He’d clinked to that and you nearly sobbed on the spot.

Heart swelling to a painful degree, it was the moment you realized the depth of your love. Immediately struck with fear by it, you’d chugged half your drink and then soured. He laughed and his arm jostled you as a connection point through which you could feel every bit of his happiness. You thought his joy might overwhelm you, but you found yourself inoculated. You had spent months adjusting to his light and now you could take a straight shot of liquid sunshine as if it were courage.

From setting your glass back down on its square throne, you had the berth to examine. It might not have been the love he wanted, but it was one you relished in. It carried with it trust and faith. You had once worshiped the sun and you weren’t sure when that point that had shifted. You still considered Mikey benevolent, as you imagined you always would, but it was clear now that he was also someone tangible. He wasn’t millions of miles away and hung in the sky. He was your dear friend and he had journeyed the distance to meet you.

This was a culmination.

You loved him.

He was still authentically him, but he could better use his attention. You didn’t have to fight for him to look at you and when you needed him, asking no longer felt like groveling. He would probably still flitter off for whatever caught his fancy, but it now felt like a touch to his arm would bring him back no matter what.

That was an assured love.

Something reciprocated.

It was love that was heralded.

It was what the Greeks described as philia.

Deep friendship.

He was your best friend and you were going to hurt him.

You’d sipped your drink and numbly talked about this and that for the rest of the evening. When you emerged from the bar, Mikey gave a puff of air. He’d heaved and put his hands on his knees as if he’d given some huge exertion and then turned to you as if waiting for you to do the same.

You felt oddly okay.

You were going to break your friend’s heart and you felt emotionally afloat.

The quiet of the night enhanced his radiance and he approached you with curiosity.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t been a lie.

Why did you feel alright?

By all accounts, you should have been miserable.

You waited for the negative thoughts to emerge.

They didn’t.

Weeks went by and the current of your comfort held steady.

You had love.

You had improvement.

You had happiness.

It was fine.

On all accounts, you were exactly where you needed to be minus one invasive species in your heart.

You were painfully aware of the cause, but refused to give it time.

You missed Donnie.

Those little glances might have been precious slivers of stolen time, but they were just that. You hadn’t been able to truly speak to him since the night at the diner. It felt so far away now. You had shared a lifetime worth of words and your regret was that you hadn’t thinned them out. It made you think about a phrase regarding hearts growing fonder, but that felt moronic. The saying was supposed to mean that time apart illuminated what someone took for granted.

You never took Donnie for granted.

Moments with him were known and brief. Time apart was a given and in it all you found was a war waged on your imagination. You refused to give into daydreams. You had let your imagination run wild long enough. The reason you had started going out was because you were sick of your brain’s excuses. You’d lost your twenties to hope and it was only with the last of them that you were rectifying the situation. Dreams were fine when you were driven toward a positive goal. You were making trip plans with Mikey; those were tangible hopes.

Those made sense.

It was only in that way that Donnie didn’t. What you knew about Donnie was always in close contrast to Mikey. Where you and Mikey had to flounder around each other, things came too easily with Donnie. Being around the older brother was as simple as breathing and there was something foreboding about that. Nothing in this life came like that to you. Mikey and you fought for your friendship and it had gotten you to this place.

It was wonderful.

It was earned.

Mikey had to be removed from the equation time and time again just for Donnie to ever have time for you.

That spoke of something sinister. Not in an evil sense, but of a kind of ancient warning. It wasn’t the same for the other brothers. Leo would join in when he felt like it and you could easily talk to him without discounting your friend. Raph could probably lift you as high as his huge reach allowed and there would be little distance between you and the youngest. The girls were always in a rambunctious tizzy, but none of it took you away from Mikey.

Donnie took up space.

He zapped your attention and caused it to collapse.

You’d almost think he was the one with the spatial powers.

Being around him slowed everything down to just him.

He was distracting.

He was attentive.

He was interesting.

That was allure talking. It was the bitter hand of emotion trying to deviate from logic. Those things made sense because whimsy said they did. This was the one instance where that little worried voice in your head was just. It spoke of ill tidings that you knew to be true. It said this would lead to ruin and you knew it would. It said that tiny pockets of pleasure were drug hits and Donnie was a supplier.

Quitting him was the right choice, you just needed to convince your heart.

Mikey was busy and you had been thinking too much without your best friend’s distraction. Where the younger’s absence revealed the older, the former was also your only tie to him. It marked a strange double standard that frustrated you because there was no helping it. Instead, you tried to focus on yourself while the Hamato were busy. A Junior you had heard whispers about was in town and Mikey had impressed upon you what a big deal that was. He was an illustrious figure among the Hamato lexicon and someone you had learned about during Mikey’s history lesson about the Krang.

There you had been granted the knowledge that Junior was a time traveler. It had been a dizzying enough tale without the dubious additive, but that in and of itself represented the Hamato. It was a precious secret and because of that, you kept quiet as, no matter what happened, a part of you would always feel unworthy of knowing them. The best you could do to make up for that was being dutiful, so you took the task along with your safest method of spending your time: hiding away at home.

The Hamato had plans for vicious catch up with energy levels that you could barely fathom. They hadn’t bothered to invite you and you hadn’t felt slighted. Instead, it spoke to how much they adored Junior because of how ruthless they were. Blood was apparently spilled while drawing straws in an attempt to divvy up Junior’s time in town. Every member wanted to spend their own special time with him and you were moved by how loved this technically displaced man was. You bet it made him feel appropriately wanted so you didn’t mind in the slightest when Mikey had said he’d be unavailable for a bit.

Outside of silly intrusive thoughts, you had a backlog of TV shows that you were pretty excited to tuck into. Being busy with friends was fun, but in some ways you missed the freedom of your hiding. It almost seemed like a staycation outside of work. Buying groceries that reflected fun, you had just gotten settled on your couch for your third night in a row of tame debauchery when your phone rang. Terror ran through you as you dug through your blanket for the device only to see Mikey’s name run across the screen.

Not fully returning to relaxation, worry shifted into fear’s place as you answered. “H-hello…?”

“Y/N!” Mikey laughed and voices battled in the background. “Stop! Stop! Y/N picked up!”

“Uh…” Your voice wobbled.

“Sorry!” You could hear a crackle as Mikey presumably moved. “I forgot something super important!”

“Y-yeah?” You pulled your phone away from your face to check your notes app in case you knew what it was.

“The future test!!” Mikey’s voice clipped.

“The…” You watched your phone time out in your hand. “W-what?”

“The future test!” Mikey parroted at a lower volume. “All new peeps have to go through it! I can’t believe I forgot!”

“Peeps…?”

“You know! That’s like friends, lovers, con-fee-dants, prospects, that one time with the contractor!” You could almost see Mikey trying to count it off. “Everyone who sticks around has to do it!”

“M-Mikey… I don’t…”

“You don’t…? You don’t know what the future test is! Duh!” He laughed heartily and then his voice came in a little too close to the receiver. “Junior is from the future, right? He’s knows the plug on all our futures, but refuses to spill. He says this mumbo jumbo about different timelines and how it could change things or the circumstances, blah, blah! The thing is, he’s got tells and we’ve totally sussed them out. That means we can’t know what he knows, but we can throw our new people in front of him to see if he knows them! Great, right?!”

You quieted and brought a thumb to the plump of your bottom lip.

Churning the information, you heard Mikey muffle as he talked to someone just off the receiver.

He was giving you processing space and you sorted through until you cleared your throat a little. “Your… No… Um… You w-want me to… meet Junior to see if… me and you, um, know each other… in the future? Or Knew…? Knew each other then? In that… timeline?”

“Exactly.” Mikey’s voice flowed with pride.

You smiled to yourself.

“So yeah, sounds like you’re in. What do you say we meet in like, what do you need? Twenty minutes?”

“What!?” You slammed the phone back to your ear. “Mi-minutes!?”

“Oh, sorry. Thirty? We’re about to hit the arcade. I’m sending the deets… Now!”

Your phone gave a weak vibration and a text preview appeared with an address at the top of the screen. “M-Mikey!”

“Tomorrow we’re going up to the cabin! It has to be tonight! Everyone else has Junior booked!” Mikey whined and you could see him pleading. “Please!”

This time you pinched your lip so hard you thought it might crack.

“I know short notice isn’t great for you. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“My… my name…wasn’t enough?”

“No…” Mikey gave an understanding sigh. “He was just a kid. Didn’t always catch ‘em. He’s good with faces though…”

You gave a weary whine. “How… how f-far away did you say you… thought I was… from spontaneous outings…?”

Mikey chuckled. “Gotta be like six months at least! You are nowhere near ready enough!”

You sighed with a bitter chuckle. “Then I guess this really is important…”

“It really is.”

“I guess… I could… test drive…?”

“You don’t even have your license.” Mikey clicked his tongue.

“S-says the a-accident guy…!”

Mikey laughed.

You tapped the pin he’d dropped. “It’s… at least… f-fourty with traffic…”

“Take a cab, I’ll pay.”

“T-that’s-!”

“I’m calling last minute! I’m asking too much! I just got paid!” He sang. “I’m blowing it all! Big money!”

“O-okay…” You could tell he wouldn’t be moved. “I’ll t-text you when… I’m close?”

“Yes!” Mikey paused for a building. “Yes!! Great! See you soon!!”

You hummed an agreement and watched him hang up. Sitting in stasis for a moment because your whole evening was about to change, you let out a loud groan before rushing to get ready. Your heart rate stayed infernally elevated as you went on to fail at hailing four cabs, caught the fifth, and then sat in agonizing silence with a driver who kept flicking what looked like a glare at you through the rearview.

Tucking yourself as close to the door and wondering how to best keep your limbs when jumping out of a moving vehicle, city lights passed until your maps said you were close enough to text Mikey. Shooting out your imminent arrival along with the exact time table, you spied him on the street, waving frantically, as the cab pulled up to him.

“I got a fare, pal!” The driver rolled down the window.

“Yeah, for me! I’m paying!” Mikey waved a wad of cash.

“This you?” The man’s heavy brows glowered at you through the little mirror.

You squeaked and gave a furious nod.

“Thought you’d puke. Get out before you do.” The cabbie told you.

Bobbing with confusion as that was why he’d been watching, you scurried out as Mikey paid the man.

“Let’s go!!” Mikey quickly got behind you to steer your shoulders.

“A-ah!” Your voice warbled as you shot through two sets of doors and the boisterous drone of dozens of arcade games filled your ears. A crack of a distant bowling alley came along next with prehensile chatter of bystanders. Not packed, but dotted with people, Mikey led you to where the others were gathered around a machine that loaded cards with points to play games.

“Everyone back off!” Mikey snapped once and jumped in front of you to act as a shield.

In your periphery you noted it was just the boys for this outing. They peacefully bowed their heads and backed up to reveal a man with a shock of black hair who still had his card in the machine.

“Almost…” The man held anticipation. “… got it! All by myself! Told you!” He turned and you caught a sliver of an adorable gap shining in his smile and a freshly loaded card in his hand before they both fell. “Not this again…”

“Future test!!!” Leo whooped.

“Mikey…” Junior sighed. “I keep telling you. All of you.” He did a quick sweep that the other’s dodged. “Me knowing someone is not an indication of who you will, should, or don’t end up with! My timeline was different! It changed!”

“Don’t care. Future test.” Mikey bobbed excitedly. “Ready?”

“No, but yes.” Junior shook his head knowing he too also wasn’t a match for Mikey’s determination.

You understood that well.

The others watched on with curious eyes and Mikey stood straighter. He then swished his arms to the side. “Presenting…!”

You did a nervous jog in place.

“Y/N!” Mikey stepped away and you got a good look at the man that had to be around your age, if not a bit older.

You blinked at him once and brought your hand up from your hip in a tiny wave. “H-hello… N-nice to meet… you?”

Junior stared at your face, blinked a few times, and then did a single up and down.

Your lips crinkled as you waited.

Leo was the first to loudly groan and do a lap.

“Nice to meet you.” Junior held out his hand and his grin returned. “I’m Cassandra Jones Junior.”

You shook it. “Y/N… as Mikey said… I’ve, um, heard a lot about you…”

Mikey slid up to Junior’s side and interrupted his response. “Okay that looked like a fail, but you sure you haven't been practicing your poker face?”

“Poker?” Junior sneered. “I haven’t played since someone conned me out of all that money…” He sent a glare at Donnie who whistled his way behind Raph.

Mikey gave into a drop in his features for only a second before bouncing back and hopping towards the others. “Fine, fine!”

“C-Cassandra…?” You asked as the turtles huddled up to discuss.

“Oh, I thought you said…” Junior looked at you with surprise. “They told me you know this version of my mom… Was that not…?”

“No…” You held up your hands. “I d-do! T-that’s not… It’s well… h-hard to s-see her with a kid..? Th-that sounds bad! I’m sorry!”

Junior took in your worries with a minor gawk and then waved you down. “No, no. I get it! You know she says she won’t bother having another because she wouldn’t be able to match my superior genes?”

You bobbed. “T-that… that’s f-flattering… from her…”

“Yeah, but also weird!” His arms dangled forward as he slumped. “She thinks I’m a powerful warrior because I was an apocalypse baby. I survived just like anyone else! It’s not like I was a super powered!”

“Ah…” You nodded to him and in the corner of your eye you saw the turtles break apart with jokingly bitter words. “You… had them…”

Junior checked your eye line and then gave you a warm smile. “Exactly. I had the best senseis and masters you can have at the end of the world. You get it. That’s pretty cool.”

You turned to him in question.

“They tend to attract… Not like the same people as them, but…?”

Picturing the girls, you pursed your lip with understanding.

“The word ‘normal’ has been a tough one for me. I don’t like using it. Normal’s different all around the world.” Junior faced you openly. “I’ve been all over, but here… with them? Even though they aren’t… my them?”

“You feel… safe?” You leaned in a little.

Junior gave glowing embers before he burst into a fierce smile. “Exactly!”

“No new developments. Final conclusion is Y/N is an unknown.” Donnie eyed Junior with his goggles one last time before a flick tossed them back onto his head. “May I?”

Junior stepped out of the way so Donnie could fill his card.

“W-where… did… um… you just… get back from?” You asked, moving with Junior.

“Yemen!” Junior lit up and launched into talk about the humanitarian work he did.

You listened with rapt attention as he stumbled around an untidy timeline. Since Junior had never seen the world whole, he decided to go out to make the most of this one. It took him on a globetrotting adventure where he saw the best and worst of humanity. His passion and strong spirit then led him to aid efforts. Since he knew everything there was to know about survival, he quickly became integral in teaching his ways and being pulled to the harshest corners where he could held those in need. He found his work fulfilling and only seemed a little put out that he couldn’t come back to New York often.

The turtles got their cards situated and Raph pardoned an interruption to call the night a go. Junior apologized saying he would pick up the talk later and he and Leo quickly split for some fighting games with words about a previously interrupted competition. Donnie pointed Raph towards a rhythm game which the oldest told him he’d beat him like a boss at and you were left alone with Mikey.

“O-oh…” You looked around in the different directions everyone had gone.

“Ah… Yeah, I forgot about this part…” Mikey swept a stray lock from his face. “This night’s been confusing and random for everyone, me included.”

You waited for him to expand.

“I didn’t expect to drag you out, for one!” He lifted a hand up in demonstration. “The whole future test. The bets on the future test. Getting you to the future test. It was very future test related.”

“It… didn’t look like it… worked?” You offered, unsure if the talk the guys were having was about split results.

“No…” Mikey looked off toward where Leo and Junior had gone. “Leo’s got the best eye for it. If he tapped out saying Junior doesn’t know you then that’s that. Not everyone has the same faith though so we met up to study Don’s goggle footage and deliberated. Nobody saw any tells, so Junior doesn’t know you…”

You nodded, feeling a little guilty even though there was no way you had any influence over any of this.

“Anyway! Enough about that! You’re here now! So, our whole arcade bit is: split up! We like too many different things and staff always ends up asking us to separate when we get stuck in one place too long, damages or whatever. We do… regroup at the end though! We try to pool our ticket points and see if a prize is worth it, one of the few things we sometimes can agree on, and that’s pretty much it!”

“Oh…” You shrank and tried to calculate how you were going to go about getting a game card.

Mikey held one up as casually as he could muster.

He looked like he was offering you a cigarette.

You giggled as you took it. “Mikey-”

“Consider it a thanks for coming out last minute.”

You nodded. “I’m g-getting a lot of those…”

“It was a big ask! Stop!” He jeered.

You feigned looking away as if you couldn’t help it.

You both shared a laugh and then Mikey rocked on his heels while you waited for him to dictate a game he surely had in mind.

He stopped while hunched forward and examined you long enough to realize you were waiting on him.

“So, uh…” Mikey’s eyes flicked towards some cabinets with a grimace. “I guess maybe this is the part where the thanks stop…? Usually I’d be my best attendant self ever, but I have an IC card for Time Crisis and I’m beating it this time for sure!”

You stared.

Mikey sat still until he blinked with recognition. “And… I’m realizing you don’t know what any of that is.”

You shook your head dutifully.

“Man, Japanese gamemakers are on another level. Not greedy like Americans… well mostly, huh. It is and both isn’t a coin eating game. An IC card is like a paper memory card that saves your progress! You can jump back in where you left off without having to play the whole game again.” Mikey showed you his slip.

You reviewed it genially.

“I kinda had a whole plan to finally beat the game, which you can totally watch, but you might get bored so don’t feel like you’re stuck with me.” Mikey threw a thumb back where you assumed the cabinet was.

“O-oh…” Your gaze lowered.

It wasn’t like you’d been able to prepare for much past getting here.

You also guessed you had drummed up a little hope in that cab that you’d soon be playing games with your best friend.

“I-I’m sorry!” He ducked his head to catch your eye. “This is how it is with us! We had an arcade in the lair for the longest time, so it’s like second nature. We don’t even think about it. I mean, this could be good though! Are there any games you want to play? You can scout! After I beat mine, I can come find you! I’m your bestest game buddy as soon as I’m done.”

You glanced at the space and didn’t have the heart to tell him you had never actually braved an arcade alone before.

“Or…!” Mikey leaned in. “Wandering around without a goal might be too much now that I’m thinking about it… Come with me and we’ll set a timer! Framework! Instead of being aimless, you’ll have a goal. When time’s up, you go find one of the guys! Do another timer and feel out the next. You can see the arcade with purpose. How’s that?”

“I guess… that works…” You reminded yourself Donnie was with Raph.

“Great! C’mon!” Mikey caught your hand and you were soon running through the twinkling lights. Winding through machines with learned ease, you were flung through the sensory cacophony. There were too many cabinets and you got little information off them before Mikey came to a halt and you crashed into him. “Woah!”

He righted you and gestured to one machine in particular. “Time Crisis!”

You stared at the distinct red and yellow pattern.

He went on to explain the plot he’d played through as he swiped his game card. He maneuvered screens without looking and the machine ate up his IC card when prompted. You stood by as his speech tapered off and he became engrossed in firing a little plastic gun. For a while you watched him, forgetting about the timer, and instead admired his aim. That went on until the action became a certain type of repetitive and your eye wandered to the surrounding cabinets. There were all kinds from newer ones geared towards kids to imports that had little to no English. Just as you were rounding from your search, a loud thwack startled you. It sounded distinct from other beeping noises and you tilted your head. You wondered what it could be paired with when you heard Mikey groan.

You returned to find he’d lost and was reloading a life. “How ya doing?”

“A-alright…!”

He flicked you a knowing look before getting back to the game. “I’m remembering we forgot to set that timer.”

You lowered your head in shame.

“You could start one now…” His voice pitched with a teasing edge.

He knew you were losing interest.

He was going to make you say it.

“I… I’m going to…” You tried.

“Fighting cabinets are toward the UFO Catchers and to the right of the prize counter. Can’t miss them.”

Having a map soothed you. “Thank you…”

“Have fun!” He fired off a few shots.

You parted with more appreciation before hearing him yell after you.

“Try the first game that catches your eye!”

They all did so how were you supposed to choose?

Setting that aside, you instead focused on following your scant instructions.

Walking a mostly straight line, you came to row after row of claw games and passed through them with a wandering eye. A few toys looked cute, but the rigged nature of the game kept you from trying one. For now, you passed them up and looked up the prize kiosk before turning the appropriate right. A straight line revealed dozens of cabinets with little stools and Junior and Leo sat side by side among them.

“Get good!” Leo elbowed Junior.

“You’re mad cause I’ve beaten you three times in a row!” Junior dodged and spoke through his bitten tongue.

“You’re cheating cause you have an arcade stick at home!”

“I have five and can’t even use them here!”

“But you get practice in your down time! Online play! Blech!” Leo blew a raspberry and went ham on smashing some buttons.

“H-hey!” Junior huffed having been distracted.

Keeping a certain distance, you watched and saw that, even though they were at different booths, they were clearing playing against each other.

“Hey, Y/N!” Leo responded without ever having looked.

You jolted.

“Wanna play me after?” Leo tossed.

“You play winners!” Junior mocked.

“Loser says what?”

Junior sat in studious silence which caused Leo to get just annoyed enough that he turned to glare.

The game made a loud noise and when Leo returned he cursed.

“Guess you’re playing me!” Junior spun in his stool with that flaming smile.

Your hands went up and your game card flickered between your fingers. “O-oh… I-I h-haven’t…!”

“You just mash the buttons. Newbies sometimes win cause of it!” Leo hopped one seat over and offered you his. “One time won’t hurt.”

You nervously looked between the pair's encouragement and sat down.

“First you pick a character…” Junior and Leo walked you through the process.

Junior then held back as Leo showed you some of the more minute controls. You got in a few hits before the game started up. Much slower than what you had glimpsed from the previous pair, Junior still won, but Leo urged you to go again. You played about five rounds before the tittering excitement made your hands start to shake.

“Tag in!” Leo tapped a nervous digit and you evacuated his seat. “Where you headed next?”

Opting to stand behind them, you stared at the back of Leo’s head.

“You’re scoping the joint out, right? You’re a total deer caught in headlights.”

You shifted. “T-that… obvious?”

“Only cause you look like this guy.” Leo tipped his head toward Junior. “We still surprise him with stuff now and then.”

“I’ve experienced things you can’t even imagine.” Junior’s smile flickered as he played.

“Yeah, yeah, but New York will always have that n'est pas!”

“Je ne sais quoi.” Junior pressed the vowels mockingly.

“Wah! I was a baby of the apocalypse! Get new material!” Leo laughed. “Ha!! Got you!”

“Low blow!” Junior hissed having lost.

You smiled fondly at the pair before turning. Not moving away just yet, you ran your eyes over more machines and a line of doors. Imagining they were for private parties, you heard a holler that sounded very much like Raph cheering.

“Someone’s playing PPR.” Junior chuckled.

“Go check it out, Y/N. Follow the karaoke doors.” Leo lifted his hand long enough to throw a thumb.

“Those are karaoke rooms?” You wondered.

“Yeah, but we probably won’t do that tonight. Junior’s trying to save his voice.”

“I have to talk to the family, don’t I!?” Junior rolled his neck and you could tell it was his eyes without seeing them.

“T-thank you…” You quietly murmured.

“Uh huh! Sure, sure! Junior, dangit!!” Leo lit with renewed anger.

Leaving the pair, you led up to the wall and avoided interrupting the privacy of the karaoke rooms. As soon as you shirked the first glass window, you saw straight down a line where Raph was excitedly jumping up and down on a dance machine.

Donnie wasn’t there.

Heart sinking at the prospect of having to find him, you headed towards the oldest turtle before you heard a bang. It sounded like that same strange one from Mikey’s cabinet and sounded closer since a chorus of kids yelling followed chase it. You searched high and low for wherever the gaggle was, but you couldn’t find them by the time you reached Raph.

He did a spin, hitting multiple arrows on a dance pad at once when he saw you. “Y/N!”

“H-hey…”

“Jump on in, I’ll hang back on the song selection while you swipe your card in three… two… one…!” In a few more taps, Raph got a stellar letter score and wiped his brow.

“I don’t…” You frowned at the machine.

“No judgment. Raph used to suck at these. It’s all practice.”

Gaze low, you thought you should at least try and climbed up onto the adjoining game pad.

“That’s the spirit!” Raph cycled through the songs. “We’ll start with an easy one…”

You nodded and tested out stepping after getting your player marked up as two.

Raph activated the song and spoke each direction out loud as he did them. Between him and the screen, it helped you at first until you got mixed up and fell out of sync. The screen scolding you, you nearly fled when Raph stopped mid-game and pressed himself to the bar that separated your two platforms.

“Hey.” He greeted you casually.

“R-raph…!” You gestured to where his score was plummeting.

“It’s just a game.” Raph folded his arms as if it didn’t interest him. “How’s it going?”

Blinking and still not sure if you could just stop, you struggled before giving him a nod.

“Mike treating you right?”

You blinked so fast that you shook. “Y-yes, o-of course!”

“Good.” Raph nodded. “He gets excited.”

You knew that well.

“Hey, we lost!” Raph glanced with a snaggletooth smile and started up another game that he continued to ignore. “Surprised Donnie didn’t catch ya.”

Your chest tightened. “I don’t…”

“’Is okay.” Raph tipped his head with closed eyes. “Watching the two of you talk the other day was something.”

“I didn’t…”

He reached out only enough to get your attention. “I’m not saying nothing. I’m just saying you looked happy. You look happy with Mike too. I’m glad.”

Your defenses lowered some.

“Doesn’t matter who. Compared to the first time we met you, you looked like you were ready to jump out of your skin. Now look at you! Losing with the best of ‘em!”

You glanced to see the screen still complaining.

“We forget sometimes. Not just us, us, but like… what do they say? The royalty ‘us?’ Whatever, people forget how much effect they have on others. Sometimes ya gotta point it out. Look at all you did for Mike. I’m glad we returned the favor… Or two of us did…? Or just him…?” Raph was clearly puzzled.

“What… could I have done for… Mikey?”

“You changed each other.” Raph lobbed you a meaningful grin. “For the better.”

You had noticed a shift, but you had thought that was Mikey trying to accommodate you.

“Mike’s always been confident in himself, but we haven’t had the best track record believing in him.” Raph leaned so heavily on the bar it creaked.

You checked it with a flick of your eye.

Raph seemed none the wiser. “He’s spooked you a few times. You get it, but lately he’s been… more present? When he was younger, baby bro and all, not paying attention is one thing, but then… Ugh…”

Your worried eye moved to the man.

Raph wiped a hand over his beak. “He gets results in a roundabout way…” He snapped. “His way!”

“R-right…” You couldn’t disagree with that.

“Which doesn’t always… account for others. He’s like the most selfish selfless guy on the planet.” He chuffed.

You pondered with a scrunched brow.

“But you… saw him different.”

Your lip pursed.

“Not the box we put him in.”

Your gaze softened.

“As something more, like the sun doesn’t shine without him.”

You startled and searched Raph.

“Different than hero worship…” He seemed to be juggling words. “Different… Good different. He saw something too. You saw each other as more than meets the eye.”

The machine made an abysmal noise and pulled both your attentions.

“Ah, we got kicked!” Raph only glanced at the ‘faliure’ written on the screen and scanned back in. “Wanna try again?”

“No…” You stepped off the pads. “I’m… I have a lot…” You adjusted your posture to face Raph head on. “I mean… T-thank you…”

Raph hummed with gentle compassion and turned to pick a song. “Don’s still at the drums. He’s mad I beat him.”

“I was… going to… Uh… Mikey was at… Time Crisis so…”

Raph shrugged and returned to dancing.

Not wanting to interrupt further, you trailed away. Spatially, you thought you were to the east of Mikey’s cabinet was which meant if you cut west you could find him. That also meant you’d be going through uncharted territory which concerned you. Glancing back and wondering how Leo and Junior would react to you passing by a second time, you looked down a new line of games and inched forward with the intention to be brave. You saw few people as you venture forward and, from glances at the machines, these games seemed like ones that weren’t as obviously attractive. You took solace in the fact that you wouldn’t be in anyone’s way and felt more comfortable in walking at a leisurely pace.

Without anyone to worry about, you took your time to review each selection. The games here were primarily in other languages which was what you guessed was keeping others from playing. As if to make up for the folly, each machine had a video screen with visual instructions on the game mechanics. You watched a few seconds of each as you drifted down the line until you reached one that had half a fake table sitting within its confines.

There weren’t any controls and the whole machine was set low to the ground. You stooped a bit on approach so you could easily look at the screen. On it, an angry person flipped the table and the wreckage that followed decimated everything in its path. Little polygonal people kept their neutral faces as they were tossed about and things like hitting office supplies seemed to garner extra points. Chuckling at how ridiculous it was, you reached down and patted the table’s plastic surface. The object immediately bounced underhand and knowing that it had a spring mechanism made you connect the banging sounds you had kept hearing to this game.

Pulling your hand back, you stepped away, wary, and trailed toward where Mikey was. Without realizing it you had stepped out far enough to glimpse him. In just a sliver you could tell he was still firing his plastic gun. You didn’t catch his eye so you walked over. Instead of bothering him, you stared on the screen as a digital gun representing him fired away at miscreants. He eventually caught wind of your presence and checked in with how things were going. You told him about the fighting and dance games to which he nodded and gave you little factoids about the brother’s preferences.

“Was Dee not playing PPR?”

“Uh!” You turned away and hoped he was distracted. “R-raph said… he was… still playing drums…”

“Taiko’s fun! How’d you like that one? You didn’t mention it.”

“I didn’t… There…” You lifted your gaze. “There was this… um… like… table flipping game?”

“Table… table?” Mikey murmured first before he lit up. “Oh! Chabudai something! I know that one! That’s a silly one. It doesn’t give tickets or anything. It’s like stress relief.”

“It’s… loud…”

“Yeah!” Mikey reloaded. “That’s what’s so fun about it! Bang! Ha! Take that judgey family! I had a tough day!”

You tried to make yourself smaller.

“If you’re looking for something easier on the ears, there’s a piano game that’s pretty fun.” Mikey took aim. “It’s behind me kinda. The tower!”

You turned and located the black and white pillar.

“A calm game might be your speed?”

“O-oh…” That did sound nice.

“Hey.” He stopped and turned to you. “Are you having fun?”

“Y-yes!” You leaned away from his attention.

Mikey frowned and studied you closely.

Your chin dipped down into your body to hide.

The game said he was getting injured.

“Fifteen minutes and I’ll find you so we can explore the prizes.”

You did like a timeline. “Y-you s-sure?”

“Yeah.” Mikey’s features complained and returned to his game. “I’m still too far to beat it apparently.” He gave a loud sigh that turned wistful. “One day!”

“One day.” You reassured him and trailed toward the piano game. It had a seat so you sat down and had time to review the game before you started. The keys were too large and too few to look like a real piano, but you tapped away in rhythm. It was the perfect amount of calming and distracting that they time flew by until Mikey came to fetch you. He regaled you in his game’s history as you slipped past a sleeping attendant and into the prize area. Wandering the brightly lit space felt like a stark contrast to the arcade floor. You and Mikey alternated showing each other the silliest items you could find. From giant glasses to gaudy hats where the ears could flap, you laughed at golden poop and mimicked an electronic lucky cat.

You soon broke apart where Mikey was doing math for a skateboard and you checked the glass counter where both the cheapest and more elusive small prizes were held. Down near the bottom was a series of tiny plush key chains that looked like they would have been more at home in the claw machines. They were clearly dog-like, but their shape was strange. Their eyes gazed up at you with a quality of sad puppies begging to be adopted in a shelter. Squatting down to study them, you found they were some kind of brand name unknown to you and seemed to have something to do with beans based on their names. The longer you stared the cuter you thought they were.

“Hey, Don!” Mikey suddenly chirped.

You hunkered further down where you were.

“Michael.” Donnie addressed breezily.

“So let’s say I came here every day, for five hours a day, do you think I could get that skateboard?”

There was only a second of silence. “With that time frame, I estimate five years.”

“Years?! No way!”

“With the games you play.”

“I’m good!”

“True, but you need to play with tickets in mind.”

“Ugh, the ticket games are boring!” Mikey groaned.

“Five years.” Donnie repeated.

“Five years.” Mikey clicked his tongue, annoyed. “You hear that, Y/N!?”

Your body tipped and your arms flailed to keep you upright. “U-uh… y-yeah!”

“Find something?” Mikey’s voice wandered up behind you.

“N-no…” You got yourself upright and took little steps in place to shake out your legs.

“Liar. What are those?” Mikey dropped similar to how you had been and pointed at the plushes. “‘Mameshiba?’”

“A pun.” Donnie loomed overhead. “Bean dogs.”

“They’re gross shaped.” Mikey chuckled and tipped his head back to you. “Which did you like? I’ll get one for you.”

You waved your hands furiously to stop him. “N-no…! I w-was just l-looking!”

“You sure?” Mikey hopped up to his full height and his grin grew smarmy. “Ah, I see…”

You looked around, not sure where that was coming from.

“You like the orange one.” He tossed an arm over your shoulders to rock you back and forth. “It’s okay. I know I have a trademark, but I’ll let you in on it just this once. What do you say?”

“O-orange?” You had to look because you hadn’t noticed one in that color.

A little guy with glasses in the back stared back at you.

A frown must have painted your lips because Donnie had to turn with bubbles of laughter.

“H-hey!” Mikey’s offense skyrocketed. “H-he’s like smart or something! He’s cute!”

You chewed on a smile.

“Rude.” Mikey released you.

Donnie returned and glanced down at the case for his own look.

“Wanna help me max tickets in your boring way?” Mikey looked over Donnie expectantly.

“Not with that attitude.” Donnie returned one for his insolence. “I came in here to grab something.”

Mikey’s head lolled with surprise. “You said the stuff in here is ‘cheap crap you can literally buy anywhere else for half the price.’”

“True.” Donnie gave a nod. “There is also a children’s science set available here that was banned in the states due to its volatile nature. Overseas shipping price and times are nonsensical. I wish to recreate said results.” A growing grin split wickedly across his face.

Mikey rolled his eyes as if it couldn’t be helped. “We’ll start without you! Meet up at the fish game!”

“Coins make more sense!” Donnie yelled after as Mikey led you out.

You helped Mikey with a few games until Donnie joined. He kept back and walked Mikey through strategies to maximize ticket output. You listened curiously for a while and were almost conscripted into the fervor, but your distraction was just enough that only the two brothers got sucked in. They went back and forth, cheering when a load of coins would fall and you looked across the room to where that table flipping game was.

You had already forgotten what Mikey had called it.

It was too disruptive.

You wondered what kind of timeline it would take for you to be able to play it without worry.

It seemed as unlikely as you flipping a real table which struck you as a comical image. You couldn’t imagine yourself getting that mad. The closest you’d come was knocking a drink over at a restaurant once and your family had berated you all night long until you’d cried. Shoving that memory down, the only scenario you could come up with for actually flipping a table would be one of distraction so you could run.

Gaze lowering, you matched patterns on the dizzying arcade carpet.

“If we keep this up it’ll be skateboard time!”

“The cards are only worth triple. Unlikely!” Donnie scolded.

“Cards, smards!” Mikey responded and a coin fall sounded. “Let’s go!”

“Guys!” Leo ran up with several plushies hanging from his jacket. “Guess what?!”

“We’re busy getting a skateboard!” Mikey responded.

“It’s not likely!” Donnie chased him.

“Whatever.” Leo rolled his eyes at them and then landed on you as the likely prospect to listen. “One of the claw machines is busted and you’re guaranteed a prize!”

You blinked.

“Want one?” Leo gestured to his full color set.

“Um…”

“Not these. These are mine!” Leo turned his body away protectively. “I meant I’ll show you which machine.”

“Um…” You glanced at the two other brothers still playing their slots. “S-sure?”

Leo nodded you along and you followed just a step behind him.

“How many games have you played?” He tossed over his shoulder.

“Four…? I think…?”

“Not a lot.” Leo didn’t look back and maneuvered you to a UFO catcher.

“No…” You admitted sullenly.

Leo offered the machine to you and you didn’t miss how he scanned his card for you to play.

You looked over your options as the game twinkled out a melody.

Leo leaned against the adjacent machine and watched.

Studying closely, you picked a likely toy candidate that was also cute and moved the claw into position.

“Be honest.”

You almost pushed the button to release too early. “W-what…?”

“What are you avoiding?”

You split tiny glances between him and the game. “I’m… not… I…”

“There’s a game, isn’t there? Which game are you not playing?” He seemed to clarify, but there was something in his tone that made you think that wasn’t what he was referring to.

Getting the claw in place, you hit the drop button and didn’t watch the machine go about its capture. “Leo… I’m sorry… I don’t… I’d rather… not…t-think about… it. The night’s… almost over…”

You could feel Leo watch for a moment before he sucked in a breath and sighed. “You won.”

You grabbed your prize and stared into the plushie’s cold gaze.

You almost missed the bean dogs’ curious gaze.

You weren’t sure if you really wanted this other one, but you pulled it close.

“Change your mind or don’t…” He ruminated. “It’s not really my business, but I think you should at least make a choice. I get not making a choice is choosing too, but…”

You glanced to see his beak wrinkled.

“Kind of a boring, don’t you think?”

“Boring… can be… fun?” You held your plush to your chest.

“Sure, if you know you’ll get a prize.” Leo nodded to your win. “Unknown’ll get you farther. Risk-reward and all that. Isn’t that what you were doing? Risking it for the going out biscuit?”

You wondered how much Mikey had told him.

Leo shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I…”

“Hm?” There was an airy tone to him like he knew you’d bring something up.

You weren’t sure you liked that. “I… w-want… to… f-flip a table…”

He snorted loudly. “What!? What does that mean!? Flip a table?!”

You scrambled. “T-there’s a-a g-game..!”

“A game?!” He reared with laughter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“T-there i-is!” You pointed feebly.

“Show me.” He seemed unconvinced amongst his giggles.

You pursed your lips and tripped over your feet as you started to move. Just barely catching yourself, you moved with as much determination as you could muster over to said machine.

“Oh, this thing!” Leo gave a few more plucked strings of chuckles. “Let’s see it then! Show me your rage!”

You wilted at the actual prospect. “Oh… um…. “

Leo reached into your person and you whimpered before he showed that he’d stolen your game card. You frowned at him and watched as he scanned it into the game system before offering it back.

You snatched it from him.

“Guess you gotta flip!” Leo took a step back and waited.

Heart racing out of your ears, you drowned in the rush and caught the edges of the table. An announcer yelled at you in Japanese before a countdown started. Feeling very much like you would pass out right as it hit whatever number it was leading to, you squeezed your eyes shut as it screamed at you to go. With a surge, you meant to throw your force into the flip, but a cropping of nervous sweat meant the table slipped from you without smashing all the way back.

You stared a sort of numb as you watched barely anything in the room get knocked over and the game sneered at your terrible score.

Leo sniveled beside you.

You turned to find his whole body quaking with withheld laughter.

“Look at you go! Look at your f-fiery s-spirit!” He choked out. “G-good j-job!’

“I-I messed up!” You quacked and slammed your card through the scanner again.

It pinged with another game and you wiped your hands off before grabbing the table. Only wanting to make Leo stop, you gripped tightly and the countdown started. Each tick came with a strange distorted memory of you hiding away and by the time the game called, you roared to meet it. Feeling like fire was in your eyes, you tossed the table up so hard, it smashed into the machine. The resounding clatter blew your ears out and the table flapped on its springs. Bouncing up for a second crash, you stumbled backward and fell to the ground. On screen, destruction wreaked havoc and you watched multiple walls get blown out before a party started up.

There was a slow clap beside you, but you couldn’t look away from the game until it returned to playing idle animations.

“Now that’s the stuff.” Leo offered a hand.

You took it, gawking at him.

You’d done it.

No one was coming to yell.

It was so loud.

Was any of it real?

“Wanna share the good news or keep it between us?” Leo asked genuinely as he let go.

“Us.” The sound popped out of you nearly as fast as you’d just played. “Um…”

“Just us.” Leo confirmed. “Let’s go meet up with the others. Unless you wanna keep throwing down?”

“O-one is e-enough…” You fell in line close to him and he passed you a proud smile.

You were going for a full house of impressing the turtles.

You had no idea what you’d do with that kind of win.

Returning to where Raph had been added to the coin army, Junior soon came along and he walked you through a few more games while the brothers went all out for the skateboard. Time passed and you heard what seemed like rare stories shared as you moved around racking up experience points in a literal sense. Merging the groups at a later time meant you caught Mikey with his prize in hand. He tore into the box for the expectant crowd only for everyone to immediately realize it was a child’s skateboard. Way too small for actual use, Mikey toyed with it anyway as if he hadn’t wanted to admit his coveted item was a dud.

Exchanging your tickets for some candy, you split with the boys as you all walked outside. Fulfilled and hearing them bemoan the early hours they needed to leave for the trip, you listened comfortably to their excitement. Splinter and Draxum would be joining them and it would be an entire affair. April and Casey were meant to drive up later and there was talk of which rest stop they were going to hit. Everyone seemed on board and ready for more family time and you ruminated what that was like. They still lived together, had grown in different ways, but still excitedly pursued time together.

They were something special and you were glad you’d gotten a chance to know them.

Nearing a point only a few blocks from your apartment, you felt everyone idle at the separation point. Raph lamented not getting food at the arcade and Junior asked Mikey to make nachos. Mikey said it wasn’t time for that and that he was missing a few ingredients. One crestfallen look from Junior had Mikey backpedaling about how he could do grilled cheeses instead and that seemed to hit the guys in a nostalgic way. Presumably a childhood delicacy, you watched on favorably while feeling the pull of your time to go.

“T-thanks…. Everyone…” You snuck in between lulls in conversation.

“Oh!” Mikey bobbed. “Want me to walk you?”

“I-it’s only a couple m-minutes.” You dismissed him politely.

“Mkay. Text me.” Mikey offered a fist bump and you took it.

“Night!” Junior waved. “Nice meeting you.”

“See ya!” Raph grinned.

Leo shot you a peace sign and Donnie gave a little nod of his head.

You bobbed yours back and hoped you weren’t obviously averting your eyes to instead give Mikey the final goodbye. “Have a good trip.”

“For sure!” Mikey waved after you and you took off.

The first thing you did was check that you hadn’t dropped your plush. It watched you at the ready and you picked a bit of fluff off its face while wondering if you should name it. It probably already had a name like the bean dogs so you turned it over to check the tag. It was written in a language you couldn’t read and you tried to figure out what sort of internet search could reveal it.

Soft fluffy crane game prize?

Round orb plush UFO?

Staring plushie doll Japanese?

An arm grabbed yours and pulled.

You had a scream on your lips but something musty slammed over them.

Shoved and then tossed, your knees scraped the ground and you lost your toy.

“W-wha…?” You came out of a wince to find you were staring down black boots.

You were in an alley.

Mugged.

You were getting mugged.

Your heart slammed in your chest cavity.

Stupid.

You always watched.

You never once let your guard down.

You were smart.

You were wary.

You paid attention.

You had forgotten because you were thinking about search phrases.

Why had you let something so stupid distract you?

“Empty your pockets.” A gruff voice spoke above you.

You knew the procedure.

In a scramble with your head down, you tossed the person everything you had.

You even made a show of touching your socks to illustrate nothing was hidden in them.

“T-that’s… e-every…thing… I did-didn’t…s-see y-you… p-p-please…!”

The mugger choked on a laugh. “What the fuck?”

You kept your hands out and obvious while refusing to look up.

“You just rolled over? Wow…!” You saw clips of gloved hands grab your belongings. “Never been so easy. What’s wrong with you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and waited.

A boot made contact with your face.

Not a kick, more of a pressure, he forced your head up.

Tears fled down your cheeks as you refused to open your eyes.

“Look at me.”

You couldn’t shake your head. “T-that’s… a-all… I-I… h-have…!”

“I said-” Something cold and sharp bit into your cheek. “Look.”

You cracked your lids and saw a man with stubble staring down at you along with the hilt of his knife.

“You’re a scared one…”

This time you nodded.

The knife slid along the plump of your cheek.“Shame. I always thought I wanted it easy. Guess I got used to a little complaining. It doesn’t feel like I earned it otherwise.”

Your eyes widened.

“You’re really just gonna keep crying?” Keeping the knife steady, he used his other hand to fist your shirt.

You squeaked as he yanked you up.

Something whistled through the air.

You screwed your eyes shut and tried not to vomit as you waited for impact.

Metal came in contact with flesh and the gush that followed was one etched into your very core.

You dropped to the ground and felt the wet pavement cut your palms.

A second strike happened and this one came with a splat against bricks.

“Y/N!”

You shuddered, waiting for consciousness to fade.

Of course, Donnie’s voice would be the last you heard.

Stupid imagination.

“Y/N!” Your shoulders were taken.

A shake opened your eyes.

There was light pollution marring the murky blacks.

The clip of brick.

The mouth of an alley.

You were alive.

“Hey!”

Your head lolled down to where Donnie was fervently petting your cheek.”Y/N? Can you hear me? Were you injured?”

Yeah, you meant to say, you were hit by…

Nothing.

You were fine.

Suddenly fighting to get away, Donnie lifted his hands in a show of release and you scrambled backward.

Laying on the ground behind him was the mugger in a heap.

Slung through one of Donnie’s arms was a large staff.

The silver tip of it was darkened.

“D-Don…nie?”

“Hey… It’s okay…” He continued to hold his hands up. “I went to make sure you made it and found… this.”

“You… what…? Why…?” Your brain screamed about the point.

“You… should have texted…” Donnie’s gaze flicked away exactly one time. “After seven minutes and me asking three times for Mikey to check his messages, Leo told me to go look if I was so worried… I… left right then.”

“Mikey…”

“Said you were probably settling in…”

“Mikey…” Tears burned your vision. “Why…?”

“Are you okay…? I don’t blood, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Why you!?”

His gaze opened up.

“Why…!?” You choked on a sob. “I-it c-can’t b-be you! You know that! I k-know you know!!”

Donnie’s fingers curled into fists. “I… see…”

“I’m… not hurt… Not p-physically…” You tried to get up, but fear had taken your legs.

“I called the police, if you want to make a statement…”

Another sob broke from you, but it was enough to get you upright. You stumbled and watched Donnie in your periphery struggle to keep himself from catching you. You felt all the worse for it because you wanted him to and made it a few steps out of the alley before you felt compelled to see the scene of the crime for what it was.

It was a dirty alley.

The mugger was on the ground.

Donnie looked up at you from where he was gathering your belongings.

More tears came and you tucked yourself against a brick to keep what was left of you together. He seemed to get everything and then came to stand quietly behind you. From there you moved, watching bitterly for every shadow as you headed straight to your apartment. The walk a short one, it was still enough time that you got space and clarity.

A cop car whizzed by.

You watched it drearily as you reached your stoop. You stopped just shy of the first step and gave a nasally sigh as your nose was plugged. A hanky appeared over your shoulder. You went to take it when you saw a silver thing clutching it instead of a green hand. Turning out of deadened surprise, you found some sort of mechanical arm coming out of Donnie’s back. You pinched unconsciously at the tissue and the mechanism let go to disappear back into his person. Not having enough energy to deal with that, you blew your nose far louder than you were proud of. Smearing the still clean parts over your face for any semblance of decency, you hid behind the cloth to look at him.

His eyes were down to give you privacy.

“I’m… sorry…” You croaked. “I…want to t-thank you… for saving me…”

He gave a single nod.

“That… wasn’t fair… I’m sorry… I don’t know where… that came from… I don’t know… where I’d b-be if you h-hadn’t…” Tears rushed you again and you despised them.

He surfaced with worry. “No… You’re right… It shouldn’t have been me. I should have forced Mikey-”

You shook your head. “No… I mean… I just…”

Donnie met you with a pinched expression. “You’re sure you aren’t hurt?”

You nodded. “You… got there just in time…”

“I should call Mikey.” He went for his phone.

Your hand pushed into his stiff chest to stop him.

You both startled at the appendage.

“S-sorry…!” You scrubbed away errant tears. “I can’t… handle him… like this…”

Donnie continued to stare at your hand.

You wanted to hug him so badly.

He would hold you.

You knew he would.

He would offer that same comfort he always did.

Even if he didn’t return the hold, it’d flood you.

Those ridiculous feel good chemicals that came from an illogical source.

You couldn’t fold.

Not as you were.

You were too weak.

You’d just been mugged.

You’d been threatened.

That man was going to hurt you.

You pressed into Donnie as more tears came.

He swept you up tight against him and you soaked his shirt for a length of time that you lost count of.

“I’m sorry!” You choked against him on repeat.

Each cry came out more wrangled than the last and the phrase refused to stop.

He seemed to squeeze more with each utterance and you hated how much better it made you feel.

Him.

He was warm.

Him.

He was safe.

Him.

You turned your head to try to make use of what was left of the hanky.

He petted your head as you did so.

“It’s gross…” Your voice broke.

“Very.” He agreed without delay.

You bobbed with a bit of comedy against him.

“I have another.”

“Give it.” You held out your hand and a mechanical arm gave you another tissue.

You blew your nose again and felt the way Donnie twitched ever so slightly with disgust.

When you came up, you cleared your throat and looked at him.

He stared down with a swirling gaze.

Concern.

Care.

More.

“Damnit, Donnie…” You grumbled, leaning into him.

He nodded above you.

“We can’t keep doing this…” You pushed him back.

He slid away save for his hands at your elbows.

Even that was an act of attrition.

“I’ve… I’ve been trying to avoid you…” You told him.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry…” You threw your head up. “That sounds terrible…!”

“It makes sense.”

“But you…!” You gestured to him and it broke your arms from his hold.

It brought you a little closer to eye level.

His gaze was down.

“I don’t want to…” You whispered.

He slowly blinked before looking up at you. “I’ve had a thought.”

You leaned against the railing.

“This could not be a worse time to share this and I’d labeled this particular idea as… absurd. You see, I have many ideas that aren’t applicable to anything. Be it because the technology doesn't exist yet or fleeting one’s that society frowns upon.”

From the hanky giving robot you’d just seen, you figured the former was one he could easily rectify.

“In this case, I thought it would never come up. I assumed this would pass or you would not be receptive.”

You needed to see him better.

You took another step back and it raised you to his height.

He looked over your maneuver before shuffling as far forward as he could to close the gap between you.

You held out a hand.

He took it.

“I see… and correct if I’m wrong, that we both feel it… Are we drawn to one another?”

You nodded and added your other hand.

His second joined and split the pair.

A hand for a hand.

“I’ve long considered how to dispel it. It’s… good…” There was heavy disdain in the word. “… to hear we agree…”

You swayed slightly.

He felt it too.

He liked you.

How?

Why?

He bobbed as if to hurry. “I believe it’s the taboo.”

You jarred still.

“I’ve considered every possibility and the list of aggravations is aggressively long. There’s, for one, my penchant for wanting objects I’m expressively told I can’t have. I also dislike being told what to do and try to find work arounds to get what I want.”

“I think this is different from being told not to… hack the… Pentagon… or… something…”

A glint in his gaze said that was a likely scenario. “We also have to acknowledge the timing. It’s why I’m stalling! Scientifically, we can prove that no matter what your answer is, you are not in your right mind. By that means, it can only be labeled manipulation which is why I’m trying not to say it because you will be swayed regardless and-”

You pulled on his hands to reign him in.

He gave you a withered look before it was clear he gave in. “I will stress that this is only a hypothesis, but I believe we can dispel these feelings if we acknowledge them. If the allure is only for that which we cannot have, then we see to it and move on.”

“Isn’t that what we just did…?” You leaned into him.

He came his own marked distance. “I was thinking… something more concrete…”

“We say it…? Your face smoked with growing embers.

“I like you.” Donnie said, his own skin looking flush.

“I… like you… too.” You responded.

For a moment it felt like your tethered fingers were the only thing keeping you from floating away.

Then Donnie winced. “It’s not enough.”

In an intangible way, you agreed.

You only wanted more.

You wanted to hear it again.

You didn’t want to let go.

It seemed obvious that he didn’t either.

“This was what I feared.” He squeezed your hands. “A confession under duress is one thing…”

You had a dawning thought. “Saying it… wasn’t what you meant. That wasn’t your thought.”

He looked painfully guilty.

“How…?” You tried to catch his eye and translate your presence.

He checked first then studied you.

You waited, feeling a little more stable by the second.

“A… kiss…” He finally admitted and his gaze flicked down to your lips and back up. “One. That is how we dispel the desire. That’s tangible. We both acknowledge this was a mistake of greener grass and nothing more.”

“One…?” You drew close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.

“One…” He confirmed and had to blink heavily to keep his eyes open. “I dislike the state you’re in. These circumstances…”

“Would we even be talking about this otherwise?”

He searched you.

“How… long were we going to pretend this wasn’t happening? It… hurts. I hate… the feeling. I hate feeling like I’m doing something behind Mikey’s back… You’re right… I was just mugged!” You shook your head. “But we like each other and knowing that-!”

Your heart stuffed itself into your throat.

It felt great to hear.

Donnie’s confession was still running on repeat in the back of your mind.

For the terrible thing that had happened tonight, you imagined in the long run you wouldn’t remember it.

You’d remember this.

Euphoria flooded your veins.

“How long, indeed…?” His lids lowered and you could tell he was imagining possibilities. “I guess until one of us moved on and made a smarter choice or until it drove us mad and we did something out of sheer desperation.”

“Is it dopamine?”

His head tipped with in question.

“When you cry. Is that…?”

“Oxytocin and endogenous opioids…” He caught your meaning.

“Sure…” It hadn’t really mattered which, you just needed him to understand “Don’t they… make your head clearer too…?”

Donnie’s gaze flicked as he processed. “I suppose… the parasympathetic nervous system does shift the body out of fight or flight… You know the opposite is called ‘rest and digest,’ but it’s not a term that’s often used…” He trailed off sheepishly.

You smiled and very much wanted to kiss him just cause.

You also wanted to listen to him.

You wanted this, forever.

“I’m sorry…” His thumb caressed your knuckles.

“What I meant was… I can make this decision. Yes, you saved me. Yes, what just happened was haunting. Yes, I’m indebted to you, but I also owe you way too much already. It won’t sway me…”

“You’re… agreeing?” He balked. “That we should kiss?”

“One.” You nodded. “We need to… move on. To stop this. I don’t… I don’t want to be scared to be around you.”

Donnie gave a withheld nod. “I refuse to hurt Mikey.”

“I wish I could say the same.” You gave him a watery look.

He understood and leaned his beak into your cheek for reassurance.

He was there.

You pressed hard into him and turned it into a nuzzle.

For those blissful seconds of contact, it felt like your worries melted away.

He pulled away like he had to.

“We shouldn’t…”

“I know…” You softened in spite of yourself.

Donnie ate the expression up.

“Isn’t that the point…?”

Donnie gave a bare nod.

“None of this makes sense so one… and the magic is gone.”

Donnie shook himself out and adjusted his posture as if to decide that was the truth. “It was mystique. We wanted the unknown. Now, we’ll know and be better for it.”

“This is the choice. My choice.” You mumbled, feeling ghosted by a strange memory.

Donnie took you in with an arched brow.

You gave him your best hopeful smile and tried to translate you weren’t sure how to explain it. “Risk-reward.”

“Which am I?” His curious air shifted to a teasing one.

“Let’s see...?” You moved closer.

You both stood staring at each other for what felt like too long.

Your lips pursed to break the silence and he leaned in.

It surprised both of you.

Sharing the farce and nerves, it brought the two of you together. Arms slipping away to make room for bodies, you perched your hands wide on his shoulders to steady yourself. His slid comfortably around your waist to balance you and, in a flick of your gaze, you were back in his space. Tilting your head and with him mirroring, goosebumps ripped through you in anticipation. It came with a bump of his beak to your nose where you both smiled before your lips caught.

For a moment there was nothing.

The cold lunar surface.

Then, there was warmth.

So much of it you thought you might explode.

It flooded every single neuron as you pushed all your weight into him to siphon more despite its scald.

Everything else fell away.

If he took up space in the sky as just him, touching him like this made him everything.

No worries.

No anxiety.

Only him.

You were safe.

How many times had he saved you?

You were comfortable.

Talking to him came so easily you forgot yourself.

It was effortless.

The gravity a light one, you could make leaps and bounds with him around.

Just enough that you wouldn’t spiral off into space.

His arms held you tight.

What a guiding light he was.

Why had you ever thought the moon was cold?

The moon controlled the tides.

The moon kept everything in place.

The moon was.

With a final needy nudge, Donnie disengaged.

It took every fiber of your being not to chase him.

He openly panted some sort of exertion and butted his forehead to yours.

You stroked his cheek and held each other like that.

Warmth settled a heavy weight in your stomach and you committed his blurry visage to memory.

You weren’t going to see him like this again.

“How do you feel?” You whispered something like a wisp.

“Light.” He spoke.

You giggled.

You could feel a ferocious grin on him more than see it.

He tugged lightly and it bumped your noses together again.

You turned it into the faintest nuzzle.

He made a sweet chirpy noise.

“That…” You spoke and something about it dispelled the magic.

You were both pulling away.

The self-consciousness set in.

“Well!” Donnie cleared the air. “I will… see you around… I suppose…”

“Y-Yeah…” You folded your arms around yourself to trap the heat leaking from you.

“I… apologize. I’m going to watch you go inside. I want to make sure you make it…” He took a calculated step back from the stoop.

“Yeah… I don’t blame you…” You readied to go inside before a different emptiness caught your attention. “Um, my… my stuff…?”

“Your…?” For a second, he didn’t understand and then he did. “Y-yes!” He patted himself down and grabbed several objects to pass to you. “Here.”

The largest object was your plush which was now covered in muck. “Oh…”

“Raph knows a way to wash them…!”

“O-Oh…. G-good… I’ll ask… Mikey to… uh, send that over…”

Donnie nodded so hard it affected his balance.

“I just need my…” You searched for your keys in the pile and found a smaller foreign object stacked amongst your things.

Time slowed as you turned over the object in your palm to find it was something soft, small, and black.

Its face emerged like a little puppy looking up at you hopeful for adoption.

You immediately recognized it as one of the bean dog key chains from the counter. “This-! Where-!?”

Your gaze shot to Donnie.

He was grimacing with his entire body.

“I… meant to keep that…” He wheezed.

Your heart plummeted as you held it out for him to take back.

“No!” He shouted too loud for the both of you.

Your hand closed to protect the dog.

“That…” His gaze weighed down with guilt. “It is for you. It was always for you. I mean… I wasn’t going to give it to you. I wanted to, but…”

You waited.

“Its name is Black Bean…” He spoke as if that would explain everything. “The tag says it has a tendency to… stare and hide…” Donnie glanced away.

It was a simile if you had ever heard one.

It was a memento for you.

You felt your very being percolate.

“You should keep it…” He gave a little giving gesture with his hands.

You weren’t sure you could have given it back to him.

You needed Black Bean like your life depended on it.

He was now your prized possession.

He was your memento now.

Something tangible.

“I’ll tell Mikey about the mugging…” You managed, squeezing your prize tight. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course!” Donnie rubbed an arm. “I hope you’ll be alright…”

“I’m sure the trauma will hit me when I lay down…” You gave an awkward laugh before what you said sank into your spine like a cold injection.

“That’s bad…” He remarked with a sort of stunted horror.

“N-Not different from any other night-!” You held your full hands out. “I’m gonna go inside!!” You turned around. “Thank you!”

“O-of course…!”

“Good night, Donnie!” You wrangled your keys and yanked the door.

“Good night-!”

You rushed inside.

“… Y/N…”

The door closed behind you.

💛 NEXT 💛

This big papa chapter was kindly reviewed by my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

#sunshinemoonshinefic #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt Donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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felice-jaganshi · 8 months ago

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All fanfic links

I have decided to begin doing commissions! Here is a link to the rules and prices.

Alastor's Pet : 16 chapters

An angel fell from heaven, and alastor is the first one to find her! Oh how lucky he is~.

My Fallen Apple : 13 chapters

Adam shoves you out of heaven for refusing to date him, like the manchild he is. Luckily, someone sweet and kind finds you broken and bruised in hell. Will you keep this lonely king company till his wife returns?

Strawberry Scented Love: 10 chapters

Alastor takes over Valentino's studio. Now all the souls that work within belong to him. Including Angel Dust.

Well, maybe things won't be so bad with the strawberry pimp in charge?

Made With Love: 6 chapters

(Yandere lucifer) Lucifer and Lilith have been falling out for centuries now... but they kept up the charade of love out of convenience, and now because of their daughter.

However, when one bold human summons Lucifer, and offers him a delicious meal, temptation is impossible to ignore.

He must have this human, even if they don't want to be had.

Send Me An Angel: chapters ??

Stolas just wanted to be left alone of figure out his feelings! Lucifer decided "NO" to that.

Stolas obtains a new friend, and finally, life is starting to feel a little less awful for awhile. Like maybe he can move o- OH no wait- here comes Blitz over the wall! Ah damn...

Lucifer's Ducklings: chapters ??

A little over a year ago, you fell into hell... a little over a month ago, you married it's king, and have been crowned queen... now you feel like you're dieing a second time as your head is stuck in a toilet and your husband dances around like fool... (this one will only be available on ao3)

#hazbin hotel #alastor's pet #alastor x oc #ace alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #aroace alastor #platonic alastor x reader #fallen apple #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #fallen angel #Alastor's Leash #angel dust #radiodust #stolas

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year ago

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The Nurse (Part Thirteen) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13...

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @hopefulatrocity @fuseburner @idkseraphine @emo-potato-virgil @mcuclintasha @8crazy-freak8 @peepeepoopoobutt @crazyunsexycool @alixxhere @allthetroubleiveseen @dxrkymxrchy @taylormarieee

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You’d always wondered where he’d ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: mentions of death, survival instinct, injury pain, gun violence (just violence in general), gunshot wounds, swearing, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Short chapter but the next few may be much longer, bc we're prepping for the sequel: The Lover. Hope you enjoy lovelies !! Thanks for reading !!!]]

"You doing alright?"

You startled for a moment, hovering over the chopped tomatoes -Carol needed help with dinner, you needed to use your arm. It worked out. You hadn't even realized you zoned out, the tomatoes laid out in front of you, and the knife raised to start chopping into the next one.

The juice was all over your hands, and it just felt a bit like... like at the hospital. And... And when-

You dropped the knife.

"Y/N?" She was now turned fully toward you, hip popped out and head tilted to the right -looking at you, "-I asked if everything was alright?"

"What?" You cleared your throat, blinking to get some of the blurriness out of your eyes, "-Yeah, I'm. I'm fine, really, I just need to-"

"Take a break, hun," she hummed, all syrupy sweet, but her eyes were rather serious. If you didn't go, she'd make you, "-I can handle it for now, go see loverboy."

You laughed, "Loverboy?"

Carol neatly continued, as if you hadn't spoken a word, "And do me a favor?"

"Of course," you answered, on your feet and ready to exit -eager to help.

"Talk to him," she spoke, frankly, "-he's worried about you. We all are. Just-"

You frowned.

"Talk to him, please."

Your walk felt short. You knew it wasn't realistic, you knew that the walk out to the farm was longer but everything felt a tick off. Everything felt like it was so fast around you -your heart pounding out of your chest loud and clear in your ears.

It was all you could focus on.

"Hey, sweetheart," Rick appeared in front of you, smile big and something in you softened, "-whatcha visitin' me for?"

And then he seemed to pause, blue eyes settling on you in a manner that felt curious -like he was seeing something new. Something he hadn't before.

"Gimme just a second, baby," he whispered to you, meeting your eyes, "-wait right here."

Your lips moved before you could think about it, rehearsed, "O-Okay."

He looked at you for a moment, concern sweeping over his eyebrows, "You wanna come with me? It'll take just a second."

"Yes, please," you murmured out, "-with you, it's... I know it's safe."

"Go," Hershel spoke, suddenly interjecting -you were a little embarrassed he had heard, "-I can finish up out 'ere."

And normally, you thought Rick would've lingered, finishing up a few things before setting off. But this time, with you holding his hand as your life depended on it, he made a quick decision.

He merely wrapped his fingers tightly around yours, squeezing and guiding you back to the cell. His cell.

Like he knew it would best calm you, since he was your home now, and something in you softened even more. Your eyes were starting to get foggy, as he gently sat you on the bed -decidedly kneeling just in front of you, holding your interlaced hands on your lap. You sink into the bed, and the smell- it smelt like Rick all around you.

You wondered distantly if it would be too much.

"Alright," he spoke, softly, and taking his freehand to guide your eyes to his, "-I ain't gonna push ya, you know that. But-"

You tightened your grip on his hand, brushing your fingers along the back of it -a combination of the turmoil deep in your stomach. You thought for a second you couldn't.

"Take your time, darlin'," he hummed, brushing his fingers along your jawline, "-I ain't got anywhere to be."

You laughed, a sort of wet laugh as you wiped at your eyes, "You so do."

"Not when you're upset," he corrected, tilting to match your eyes, "-nothing else matters, ya know that?"

You sighed, pulling both your hands to your face (which included his own), and covered your eyes, embarrassment burning at your cheeks, "It's just... I didn't. I didn't want you to worry."

"I'm always gonna worry."

"Rick," you echoed.

"No, I-" he started but seemed to recenter himself, quiet and soft, "-I love you that makes ya somebody to worry about forever for me."

On instinct, you responded, "I love you too. It's just- It feels. I just want to forget it."

"I know ya do," he hummed, "-I wish I could make it better for ya. I wish I could take the... the pain just so you would feel better.

"Rick," you echoed, unlatching your hand and cupping his cheeks -tender and focused, "-you make it better just by being here, I swear. You don't... I can bear this, as long as you're okay, as long as I know you are."

"Promise me somethin'?" he muttered, eyes fluttering over your face, "-even if I'm not..."

"Rick, don't-"

"Even if ya don't know if I'm safe, or... or alive, stay safe. Just- Just on the off chance I'm alive, take care of yourself."

"Rick," you frowned, choking back tears.

"Hey, hey, don't cry darlin'," he whispered, taking his hands and wiping them away, "-I just need to make sure. I can't... I can't let you sacrifice yourself again for me."

"Okay," you sniffled, eyes matching his blue ones, "-okay. I will, I promise. And you- you do the same okay? If you can't find me-"

He stiffened under your touch -jaw clenched, but you kept speaking.

"-keep going."

He didn't say anything really, just pulled you to his chest and held you there -safe and surrounded by Rick. Lips dancing along your hair, you breathed in his scent and cried (just a little) into his shoulder.

"I'd never stop," he suddenly spoke, and you startled for a moment, "-I'd never stop lookin' for you."

Your heart beat faster in your chest then, as you whispered to yourself, "I know, Rick, I know."

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #the nurse #nurse!reader #doctor!reader

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kikyoupdates · 2 months ago

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⭑˚💋⭑ bnha x vampire!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, my vampire!reader, slowburn

As punishment for your sins, you, a young vampire, are banished — not just from your home, but to a different world entirely. Now, you find yourself in a foreign place where Quirks and heroes are the norm. In addition to coming to terms with your new life, you must also face your greatest challenge: controlling your massive thirst for blood.

00 — prologue: the sin of bloodthirst 01 — new world, new beginnings 02 — first bite 03 — a warm home 04 — picking a fight 05 — shop till you drop 06 — get schooled 07 — taste of humiliation 08 — arcade games and friends 09 — directionally challenged 10 — a fated meeting 11 — mark of a hero 12 — foul stench 13 — unexplainable hatred 14 — aftereffects 15 — just vampire things 16 — blood bonding 17 — startling debut 18 — a brother's love 19 — not very cash money 20 — bitter defeat 21 — video game mentor 22 — surprising run-in 23 — needlessly edgy 24 — joyous reunion 25 — broken and bloody 26 — still breathing 27 — competition 28 — friendly sparring 29 — setting the stage 30 — tackling obstacles 31 — strategizing 32 — burdened by family 33 — faceoff 34 — a sad sight 35 — hollow hunger 36 — monstrous 37 — seeking salvation 38 — forgiven 39 — the final round 40 — confrontation 41 — in a trance 42 — resurgence 43 — new meanings 44 — two of a kind 45 — prove them all wrong

More chapters are available on Quotev, Ao3 and Wattpad!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

💋 main masterlist ♡ oneshot masterlist

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mostthingskenobi · 3 months ago

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CASSIAN’S RECKONING - Chapter 26: The Beginning

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Here's a little present to say thank you for reading. Prepare for incoming fluff!!

It breaks my heart to post this chapter because it means it's over. However!!! I have something exciting to go with it...at least it will be available soon. I'm in the process of created a downloadable PDF of this fic, laid out like a real novel, complete with beautiful illustrations!!! It will be totally free and available to everyone. I'll announce it on my social media when it's ready. But for now, here's a sample so you can get a little taste (I'm so sorry there are ads on the sample...I can't afford to pay to have them removed, but you can skip them like you can a YouTube ad).

__________

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

REACH CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 “The Reprieve”

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 “The Rogues”

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 “The Heart”

READ CHAPTER 26 "The Beginning"

#cassian #cassian andor #andor #jyn #cassian x jyn #jyn erso #rebelcaptain #rebelcaptain fic #rebelcaptain fanfiction #cassian andor fic #cassian andor fanficiton #rogue one #rogue one fanfiction #rogue one fic #jyn erso fic

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hollyethecurious · 3 months ago

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CS AU: Pan Says... (10/13)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: You read that right! I have a final chapter count! We are nearing the end, and I can't thank y'all enough! I hope you enjoy these concluding chapters (they'll be updating on Mondays and Thursdays) and don't yell at me too much. (Actually, go ahead. I kinda like it 😘)

Much love to my @kmomof4 and @ultraluckycatnd for being amazing cheerleaders and betas! Love you, ladies!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine

Part Ten

“What sort of game is he playing at now, do you think?” Killian murmured as he and Emma made their way to the showers.

“Who the hell knows,” Emma groused. “I’ve given up trying to understand him or even attempt to stay ahead of his demented games.”

“Aye.” Killian sighed and gestured Emma towards the working showerhead, allowing her to go first.

“Not that I’m not relieved that our fears seem to have been… premature,” she said, stepping into the spray and wetting her long tresses.

Killian swallowed past the bolt of lust that always manifested when he saw her like this and added, “It is hard to enjoy the current peace and quiet, knowing there is likely a sword of Damocles hanging over us, though.”

Emma swiped the cascades of water from her face and gave him the look she usually employed whenever his “nerd side” came out, complete with an eye roll and stifled grin.

They spent the next few minutes in silence while Emma lathered, conditioned, shaved, and rinsed. In an effort to keep his libido in check, Killian let his mind wander over the past two plus weeks since he and Emma entertained Pan’s guests.

They’d gone to sleep that night with the worry of what Pan might have in store for them next and Killian’s dreams had been nightmarish reflections of those fears. None of which had come to fruition these past weeks. In fact, Pan had demanded very little of them at all, leaving them to their own devices much of the time whilst lavishing them with unearned gifts.

It was downright unsettling.

Killian’s eyes drifted down to his Swan’s lower abdomen and his jaw tightened from the equally unsettling knowledge that their recent activities may have already begun to bear their natural consequences, yet there was no way for him to know for certain. He knew she had not yet had a period, but he did not know whether that was unusual after the removal of an IUD. Of course, Emma was completely unaware that she was no longer protected from an unwanted pregnancy, therefore a lack of period was of no concern for her. He wondered, should they be fortunate enough to dodge the bullet of conception, what her reaction would be if and when her period did occur. Would Pan expect him to continue the charade of not knowing?

The continued deceit and knowledge that every aspect of their lovemaking wasn't completely consensual caused Killian’s stomach to tighten and churn painfully with guilt. He hated keeping it from her, but what other choice did he have?

“Your turn,” Emma said, pulling him from his tormented thoughts. His eyes snapped up and met the concern expressing itself through her furrowed brow and curious expression. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, love,” he replied, waving off her scrutiny with a quipped bit of sass that wasn’t entirely untrue. “Just a bit vexed by our esteemed host.”

Emma hummed her understanding and agreement, rubbing her hand down his arm affectionately as they traded places.

Once back in their now very cramped room, given the number of ‘luxuries’ Pan had provided them in the wake of their exhibition, they went through their normal, post-shower routines before settling back on their bed.

“Do you think he’d let us visit the terrace again without having to complete a ‘Pan Says’?” Emma inquired softly, tucking her legs beneath her in an attempt to get comfortable. “Like he did with the shower?”

Killian pondered her question. He knew they had both been surprised at the lack of quid pro quo when they’d finally broken down and begged Pan for an opportunity to shower. After all, it had been over two weeks since they’d been given leave to go and have a proper wash-up, and there was only so much a rinsed and reused washcloth, a small sink, and a vanishing bar of soap could do at this point. Killian had braced himself for the expected, unpleasant demand of a Pan Says in response to his and Emma’s request, but when Pan had simply agreed and opened the cell door with a reminder to not stray off the blue line, they’d both found themselves unnerved. Begrudgingly grateful, but mostly unnerved.

“Might be best to not push our luck,” Killian replied.

Emma’s shoulder sagged in disappointment, but the action was followed with a relenting nod of concession that he was probably right. He hated to dishearten her, especially when he’d love nothing more than to go out and breathe fresh air whilst basking in some sunshine. However, until Pan showed his cards and revealed what this new round of the game would entail, he didn’t want them lured into a false sense of security or led into a trap of their own making.

“So,” Emma said, changing the subject. “What will it be? Reading? A movie? Board game? What do you wanna do today?”

Choosing an activity - from the myriad of options their host had provided them over the past fortnight - that might keep them occupied, they spent the rest of the day, and the subsequent days afterward, in relative peace.

Too bad that peace couldn’t last.

“Pan says, you two are going on a field trip.”

Killian balked and noted the way Pan’s unexpected announcement had caught Emma off guard as well.

“A field trip where?” Emma asked warily.

“To another part of the compound,” Pan replied. “There’s something I wish to show you, so…” The cell door screeched open and revealed two Lost Ones standing at the ready. “Pan says, follow the orange line until my Lost Ones indicate you’ve arrived at your destination.”

~/~

Emma was probably going to end up with a crick in her neck from the way she kept craning it to look over her shoulder. The distraction of attempting to ascertain whether these were their original Lost Ones - the ones who seemed to have a connection to her and Killian - had her stumbling over her feet a number of times on the way to their mysterious destination. It was no use, though. Pan had changed their outfits, including their masks. Where before an opening had remained at their mouths and eyes, this new mask covered their faces completely. Emma doubted she’d be able to tell for sure, so she returned her focus to the new areas of the compound the new line led them through.

The orange line had run parallel to the green line, the one that led to the garden terrace, but branched off at the stairwell that led to the upper level. Killian had been silent since they’d left the room and hadn’t glanced her way once since the lines had split off. She knew it was because he was taking in every detail he could and adding the new information to the map in his head. He did finally peer over at her when the Lost Ones ushered them into an elevator, his hand still wrapped firmly around her own as they squeezed in beside the Lost Ones.

“So…” Killian drawled, startling Emma with the way he broke the silence within the elevator. “Are you them? The Lost Ones responsible for us being in this nightmare?”

“Killian,” Emma hissed in admonishment.

His eyes cut down to hers and met her incredulous expression. Why would he ask such a thing now?

“It’s not as though it’s a secret,” he said, turning his attention back to their guards. “Nothing escapes Pan’s attention, so I’m certain he’s well aware of the information one of you gave Emma. So let’s stop pretending we don’t all know you two are the reason Emma and I are here in the first place.”

Neither of them responded, though Emma did notice the guilty shift in one of the Lost One’s stances. Given the raise of his brow, Killian did, too.

Before he could question them again, the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. The first Lost One exited as the second gestured for her and Killian to follow, dropping in behind them both as they continued down the orange lined hallway. They hadn’t gone far when the Lost One stopped and punched in a code into a numbered keypad mounted to the wall. The click of a lock releasing echoed through the hallway and the door swung open, revealing an entryway one might see in a swanky city apartment.

“Come in! Come in!” Pan’s voice crowed excitedly from the speakers in the room beyond. Squeezing her hand, Killian led them through the door and entryway, until they were standing in a naturally lit, warm and inviting living room, lavishly furnished and a sight more welcoming than the cell they’d been inhabiting for the past six weeks.

“What…? Where are we? Who… Who lives here?” Emma stammered, trying to take in not only the spacious living room but the other spaces connected to it as well.

“That will depend entirely on the two of you,” Pan supplied with a familiar note in his tone that alerted them both of an impending Pan Says on the tip of his tongue.

“Let me guess,” Killian snarked in reply before Pan could issue the edict. “Pan says this will be our new home if… we agree to whatever depraved, humiliating, new heights of degradation he has planned for us now?”

Again, Emma stared slack-jawed at Killian. What on earth had gotten into him today?

“Actually,” Pan began, his words carrying a hard edge that was difficult to miss despite the light tone he was attempting to keep. “It’s nothing new. In fact, my request is for you to do a Pan Says you’ve already completed for me once. Rather successfully, as a matter of fact.”

Ripples of dread cascaded down Emma’s spine as she exhaled on a panicked breath, “You want us to do it again. You want us to… entertain them again.”

Killian stiffened at her side, his posture becoming even more menacing than it had in the elevator. “Absolutely not. Separate us if you must, but I’ll not have Emma endure that again!”

“Separate you?” Pan parroted in mocked inquiry. “Why on earth would I separate you?”

“But…” Emma began, a myriad of emotions sweeping through her all at once. “Last time you said if we didn’t, you would--”

“Well, that was before you proved to be such a smashing success with my guests,” Pan told them. “You wouldn’t believe the praise I received for delighting them with such a feast for their debauched tastes… or the amount they’ve offered to pay for a repeat performance.”

“And if we say no?” Killian questioned.

“If you say no, then my guests won’t get a repeat performance… they’ll get an entirely new experience with the two of you.”

“What does that mean?”

Pan paused, allowing the tension and dread to build before explaining, “I’ve never been very good at sharing my toys with others, which is why my monthly exhibitions have always been just that. Exhibitions. Performances. Looky, but no touchy. However…” Another pregnant pause stretched through the room and Emma met Killian’s anxious eyes with panicked ones of her own, both of them now deducing what Pan was about to reveal. “If you will not allow my guests the voyeuristic experience they’ve already paid for, then perhaps I’ll give in to the obscene amount they’ve offered to allow them a more… hands-on role this month.”

“No,” Killian grit out from between his clenched teeth.

“Oh, yes,” Pan oiled in reply. “You can either allow my guests to watch you ravage each other for one night, then have the freedom and luxury of this apartment to dwell in afterward, or I can have you tied down and give my guests what they truly desire. The opportunity to ravage each of you for themselves - in some cases several at a time - for All. Three. Nights. The choice is yours.”

Emma wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled over, a mournful cry catching in the back of her throat as Killian roared next to her, picked up a vase from one of the end tables and chucked it at the wall, shattering it into oblivion.

“Now, now,” Pan tsked over the speakers. “I’ll give you some time to mull it over. We’ve another week before my guests arrive. Pan says to have a look around and talk it over. You can let me know what you decide before my Lost Ones take you back to your quarters.”

Feedback rang through the speakers, but it was nothing in comparison to the ringing in her ears. Reaching up, Emma placed her hands against her hot, flushed face, wet from tears yet also clammy to the touch.

“Swan,” Killian said, somewhere off to her right, his words a mixture of apology and commiseration. His hand ran a soothing caress down her spine, but it did not have the calming effect he intended. Instead, Emma felt her stomach lurch.

“Swan, I’m so--”

“I’m gonna be sick!” Darting through the living room, she just managed to make it to the sink in the kitchen beyond before emptying the contents of her stomach through a series of retches.

“Emma!” Killian cried out in concern, making his way to her in time to hold her hair back for her. She wished he wouldn’t. Wished he didn’t have to see her like this. Wished… so many things, actually.

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian continued to apologize. “I shouldn’t have let my anger get out of control like that. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make things worse. I--”

“It’s okay,” Emma said, clearing her throat and reaching for a paper towel to wipe her mouth with. “Could you find me a glass?” she asked him. “I need some water.”

“Of course!” He tore open cabinets until he found one with drinking glasses. Handing it over to her, she could feel his scrutiny as she filled it from the tap and took small sips.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a turn to apologize for her own lack of ability in keeping it together. “I don’t know why I responded like…” Her words trailed off as something occurred to her. Something that nearly made her heart stop as she instinctively began to reach down towards her abdomen then thought better of it at the last minute, hopefully before Killian noticed.

No. Surely it would be too soon for that if I were…

“You’ve no need to apologize, love,” Killian soothed, though his voice was tight and strained. Glancing up at him, she noted how he only held her gaze for a moment before cutting his eyes away. His Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscle at his jaw flickered. When Emma followed the path of his eyes, she saw the shards of the vase littering the floor.

“You don’t need to beat yourself up either,” she told him. “I don’t think either of us was expecting…”

Killian slammed his hand against the counter, causing her to jump. “That’s just it!” he hollered. “We never expect it! We’re always several steps behind when it comes to his schemes! I’m tired of never knowing what’s next! Of always being on the defensive, never letting our guard down! I thought… I thought we might have the upper hand for once! I thought this might have been our chance to thwart him, but now…”

“What do you mean? Thwart him how?”

Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to take a calming breath. “I thought he might threaten to separate us, like he did the last time. I thought… even though I’d hate being parted from you and having someone else… I thought it would at least mean we could keep one another safe from…”

“I know,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. “I was thinking the same thing.” His eyes snapped to hers and his lips parted in surprise. “As much as I don’t want for us to be separated, I couldn’t help but think how choosing to do so would mess with his plan.”

“Aye,” Killian said on a heavy breath. “Instead, he’s backed us into a corner once again. Leaving us no option but to comply.”

“At least we know what to expect this time,” she said, offering up that small consolation as she looked around the apartment. “And unlike the last one, this prison cell has windows,” gesturing towards a glass door at the back of the kitchen, she quipped, “and a balcony we can throw ourselves off of if it all gets to be too much.”

“Not funny,” Killian clipped even as a smile twitched at his lips. Releasing another heavy sigh, he took her hand. “I suppose we ought to take the full tour,” he groused, nodding towards the big screen tv in the corner of the living room with Pan’s most recent edict scrolling across, “before our jailers come to fetch us.”

~/~

Begrudgingly, Killian had to give it to Pan. The flat was magnificent. Several times he had to remind himself that a gilded cage was still a cage, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to share the space, and the sense of normalcy it might provide, with his Swan.

The kitchen was state-of-the-art and fully stocked with all their favorites. It opened to a balcony that stretched the full expanse of the flat, giving access to the bedroom, bathroom, and…an additional room.

The bedroom was outfitted with a king sized bed, lush linens, a reading nook, and a spacious closet already filled with garments more keeping to their life before their incarceration. Adjoining, there was a luxurious, spa-like bathroom with a shower large enough for both of them to bathe at the same time, as well as a two person soaking tub. The room next to the bedroom was a bit perplexing, however.

“What do you think this space is meant for?” Emma asked after they’d swung the door wide to reveal a cozy, not yet furnished bedroom.

Killian swallowed thickly and shrugged his shoulders, hoping Emma would not take notice of his sudden change in demeanor. He had a pretty good idea what potential use Pan may have had in mind for the small room only steps away from the main suite, but just as he had when his suspicions had run rampant in response to Emma becoming violently ill earlier, he tamped them down and put on his best poker face. Fortunately - or unfortunately - he was spared from having to bluff further.

“Well?” Pan’s voice echoed in from the living room. “What’s the verdict?”

Making their way back to where the obvious camera was, though Killian knew there had to be many more hidden throughout the space, he and Emma glanced at one another with an affirming look before Emma sighed and said, “When do we move in?”

Pan practically crowed in response to their answer. “How about now?”

Killian and Emma both balked. “Now?” Killian said, incredulously.

“Why not?” Pan replied. “Call it a token of my gratitude and a reminder of how generous I can be.”

Killian wasn’t certain how to respond and found himself murmuring an astounded thank you alongside his Swan.

“Just remember my benevolence this weekend when it comes time to entertain my guests,” Pan commented with a slight warning in his voice. “Oh! And I have a few notes to go over with you later this week in preparation.”

“Goody,” Killian grumbled under his breath, earning him an elbow in his ribs.

“Until then… enjoy your new home.”

Killian shuddered and huffed out an exhale. Turning towards Emma, he was met with a stern look and disapproving hands on her hips.

“What has gotten into you?” she demanded.

“What are you--”

“Don’t give me that,” she countered. “You’ve been off all day. Earlier in the shower, then confronting the Lost Ones in the elevator, sassing Pan, smashing vases… Killian,” her expression softened as she reached up to cup his cheek. His face nuzzled into her touch as it was prone to do. “What is going on with you? Talk to me.”

Killian opened his mouth, but the words kept getting stuck in the back of his throat. He didn’t want to lie to her, didn’t want to keep this secret from her, but the alternative…

“I’m scared,” he choked out in no more than a whisper. “Scared I can’t… protect you. Scared that there will come a time when we are truly faced with an impossible choice, or that I’ll have to betray you in some way in order to protect you. Scared that I might be forced to do something you could never forgive. Something I could never forgive myself for.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” she said in an attempt to assuage his fears.

“You don’t know--”

“Yes, I do.” Her tone left no room for argument, but she continued on just the same. “Do you know how I know?” Killian shook his head. “Because I have the same fears. Because I know all of the terrible things you have imagined us having to endure and I have already forgiven you for each and every one of them.” Pressing her forehead against his, she closed her eyes and wet her lips before flicking her gaze up to his once more. “There is nothing - NOTHING - you could ever do in response to Pan’s insanity that I would not forgive you for, just as I hope you would be willing and able to forgive me for--”

“Always,” he said, cutting her off. “There is nothing I would not forgive, love. Nothing.”

A smile ghosted over her lips and she pressed in closer to him. “Then what do you say we get the broken vase cleaned up then make ourselves something to eat, hmm?”

“I suppose I could eat,” he said, pulling back slightly so he could gaze down at her. “Any requests?”

Emma’s brows shot up her forehead and surprise colored her features. “Don’t tell me you can cook.”

“I’ll have you know I am quite deft in the kitchen, Swan.” Waggling his brows, he added, “Almost as much as I am in the bedroom.”

Emma giggled and pulled him in for a kiss, but not before she murmured a final, affirming, “Yep. Total. Forgiveness.”

Part Eleven

#csff #csfic #cs au #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #pan says...#words by hollye

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