#the eyes are supposed to be blue normally then switch to red when in danger but ami got hit on the head real hard and his got stuck

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

the daisy synth gang [left to right: Connor, Amphion, Cherry, El. photo taken by Babs of course]

[honeysmokedham]

Not While I'm Around || Metzli & Nora

TIMING: The night of 5/1/2023 LOCATION:  Around PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte  & Nora @honeysmokedham  SUMMARY: Nora fucks around and finds out it wasn’t all a lie. Metzli is there to save her. CONTENT WARNINGS: Vomit TW

“Hey!” Metzli whistled to get the hunter’s attention. Normally, the vampire wouldn’t care. They were on their run, and that was much more important than some stranger meeting their end after a pitiful fight. Didn’t they know they needed to train? To learn how to defend themself? Metzli supposed they should’ve been a little more lenient. Not everyone was taught with chains and starvation. Those people were lucky in that regard. Unfortunately, that also meant they couldn’t fight off a hunter. And even worse, Metzli knew the prey. Friend.

Their hand gripped the scruff of the hunter’s jacket, and they flung him and his knife away from the young woman. She looked much more concerned than she had when the two first met, and Metzli stared blankly at her for a moment, forgetting the danger behind them. They couldn’t help it. The bear reminded them of someone. Of—a knife plunged into Metzli’s back, interrupting all thought. Annoying. The knife was removed and immediately landed on its mark again, and again, and then it stopped. Metzli had calmly retrieved their own knife in the process, swiveling on their heel to paint the ground with much brighter blood than theirs. 

Crimson eyes met with blue for only a brief second before becoming a blur. The blood motivated them forward, beckoned them to spill it, especially in their mouth. A tussle ensued, the dance led by each side until one took over completely. Metzli was decorated with red and black, the thickness varying until the thinnest of the two was applied as the final layer. They didn’t have to go that far, they really didn’t. But it was so fun to drive a blade into a hunter’s neck and make a smile with the finale of tearing a trophy from its home. The hunter became the hunted, and now both Metzli and Friend were painted like soldiers set to war. 

Bugbear. The word echoed around Nora’s mind. Bugbear. ‘Hey, bugbear! You think scum like you can just walk the street terrorizing people?” Bugbear. Nora hadn’t paid attention to the knife he’d held towards her, flashing in the moonlight, promising a quick end. “What’s a bugbear?”The words tumbled out of Nora’s mouth as quickly as the knife flashed toward her. The question was met only with his answering look of disgust. Time slowed as Nora’s brain raced through the implication of the moments. It was a setup for a bad joke where Nora was the punchline. A ranger and a bugbear stood in the dark. The ranger’s blade poised to kill and the bugbear standing still, not even raising her hands in defense.

Nora was a deer caught in the headlights as her brain struggled to process this information. It stalled once more as a familiar tall figure showed up and kept the knife from digging into her. Nora blinked. Once. Twice. A reset to her mind. She couldn’t just stand here, this was what Metzli had been warning her about before she’d called them a liar and broke her phone. This person was actually here to kill her. A bugbear. She was a bugbear. The knife plunging into Metzli’s back was Nora’s official wake-up call. A switch clicked inside her and suddenly she remembered how to move again. “Metzli-” Her voice was hoarse and raw as if all those thoughts had been thousands of years and this was the first time she had been speaking after years of isolation. 

Nora’s hand reached out as if there was anything she could do to help. Warmth spread from Nora’s fingers, down her arm then across her body. Nora’s eyes were fixed on her suddenly red hand. Blood splatter had covered her, a sudden warmth from the chill night air. Once more lost in the eternity of her own thoughts, the warmth of the blood cooled quickly, leaving her sticky and cold. Nora's eyes flickered to the now-dead body. The first person she'd seen killed in front of her. A reflection of what she would have looked like if Metzli hadn't been there. Nora didn't feel afraid. Nora didn't feel anything but the numb sticky coolness that surrounded her. Nora’s  body reacted on its own without any consultation with her thoughts or choices. It keeled over wrenching onto the blood-soaked ground. “It wasn’t a lie,” Nora mumbled, spit coating her mouth, dripping to her excused dinner. “It wasn’t a lie.”

Right. Not everyone was cut out to watch a bloody and violent death. Again, Friend reminded Metzli of something. The weight of what she saw coming up, the dribble on her chin, the dissociation glazing over her eyes…it was like taking a look into the past, but the story was shaping out to be different. The roots were embedded in the unknown rather than the cold truth, but the terror held her body in its claws all the same. Even if her mind couldn’t process them. 

“Not lie. Said I hate lying.” Metzli let go of the hunter’s head, landing with a dull, meaty thud. It rolled a few times, and they stared with no emotion on their face. A stark contrast to the look of terror in knowing death was just a breath away that was forever marred on his expression. “Hm…” Their head tilted curiously, a little lost as Metzli wondered if they’d ever be that terrified themself. They’d like to think not. In fact, they welcomed death. It was a part of life, the cycle. How death would come though, no one knew except Fate. That hardly mattered in the moment though. Friend was struggling with the reality of the aftermath. This was the worst part. Emotions. Or, at least, the possibility of them. Friend was better than most in that regard. 

“Are you…okay?”

Hate lying. Another wretch convulsed through Nora’s body as pure stomach acid washed up her throat and into the growing pile of waste. Dry heaving followed as she crouched on her knees, bracing herself by her arms. The stench of the scene was overwhelming, it bore down on her sense drowning out what had been a pleasant nice breeze and the ambient fear of the town. Nora brushed her sleeve against her mouth, blood smeered across her face but atleast the spittle was gone. “I’m fine.” Nora struggled to stand, her knees felt wobbly. “I’ve never seen anyone die before. I..” Nora felt shame at her reaction. It was more emotion then she was comfortable showing. “I wasn’t ready.” 

How many times had Nora scared someone with scenes of brutal crimes. Why had experiencing it taken her out? Nora’s arms wrapped around herself, temptation to shift into the bear seeped across her. It would be easy. She could shift into the bear, her bloody clothes would tear and she could wade into the closest water source and wash the stains from her skin and feel clean. “He was going to kill me.” Fear didn’t accompany those words. Fear had no purchase in her emotions. It was only shock and confusion. “He said.” Nora swallowed. Had she discovered the secret she’d been searching for twenty years in one accidental night? “He said I was a bugbear.” Nora walked closer to his head, glancing down at it with distaste. With a surge of energy she rammed her foot into it, punting it away from her. “For trying to kill me. Thank you.” The thank you was thrown in as an afterthought. Nora didn’t believe she was going to die, but taking the knife would have hurt. Plus, it saved her the trouble of figuring out how to deal with this situation the hard way. 

“Yes, he was.” Blood dripped off of Metzli’s hands and knife. Friend was upset, or so they thought. Like them, she was difficult to read, hardly giving any indication on what she was feeling. As underwhelming and pleasant as that was, they needed to know what she was thinking if they were going to properly help. Or was she even more like Metzli than they thought? Did she even require guidance or gentle coos to chase away the darkness? They supposed they could still try, as still as it seemed. 

Metzli stepped toward Friend carefully, a slight limp developing in their gait. “Ow.” They spoke dryly, no shake or quiver from the way the pain raced up their back. It faded as quickly as it came, leaving the vampire stoic as before when they reached her bloody form and reholstered their knife. Metzli looked like any horror villain, red eyes and all, but their expression was anything but violent despite the blood. 

“Do you need help? Can walk you home. Or take you to mine. Has shower.”

Nora was dumb. Metzli had been stabbed in the back with the knife that was supposed to stab Nora. There Nora was vomiting like a dumbass while someone who had helped her was actively in pain. “Are you okay?” Nora asked, not sure what else to do. What did someone do with stab wounds? Were you supposed to sew it up? Could vampires heal? Their bodies were dead, right? So no regeneration? Metzli was missing an arm. Nora would have to ask about that story someday. “I don’t have a needle and thread.” There were a lot of thoughts missing between Nora asking if they were okay and then stating she didn’t have a needle and thread. She hoped Metzli could put the pieces together. She was having trouble completing puzzles right now. 

“I didn’t think blood was this sticky.” It was probably the dumbest thing Nora had ever said in her life. Nora wasn’t scared of blood. She wasn’t scared of anything. This was just a lot to take in. A shattering of her worldview. The harsh reality that maybe not everyone lied. “Can we go to yours? My water heater is broken.” A lie. Metzli hated lies. Didn’t Nora owe them the truth after this? Didn’t Metzli prove they were one person she didn’t need to lie to? “I’m lying. I live in a crypt. I don’t have water.” The words fell off her tongue like hot coals, burning as they left. It was a truth she had never planned to tell. Once the flood gates were open, they kept dropping all the lies she’d held in for years. “My name is Eleanor Pine. I go by Nora. I ran away. I don’t want to go back.” Nora took a deep breath, noticing for the first time that she was shaking. Nora swallowed. Her throat was already too dry and the swallow caused her to cough. “Please don’t turn me in. I don’t want to go.” 

“Am fine. No hurt. Not feel.” Metzli didn’t know how to be a person. Most days were spent imitating the people they observed, trying their best to use everyone’s voice but theirs. That was the problem, though. Every voice was intimate, an ingrained part of a person that was developed since birth. It was what expressed someone so sincerely and could be anything so long as it was connected to them. For Metzli, it was art. In more ways than one, they were an artist. Constantly taking the shards of themself and making art with them, a new beginning. As broken as they were, as much as they believed they were nothing, Metzli knew how to make art with very little pieces. Especially ones that bore a resemblance to their own. 

All this to say, Friend—no, Nora was just like the vampire in front of her. They’d recognized the confusion and the overwhelming sense of unanticipated horror. She lacked the fear Metzli first experienced when they saw their first dead bodies, but it was replaced with something just as horrible. The weight of knowing you were affected by something that made your strength waver. It happened to Metzli after Eloy took their ability to feel completely. They were hollow, and yet, there was a tug inside them when they killed their first family. Bloodied the walls with red and watched as all life drained from each one, even the younglings. It made them question themself and spill everything out when they returned to their room. This was different, though. Nora would not be met with angry hands or sharpened words. Metzli would not be their master. She wanted help, and she’d get it.

“Not turn you in.” They shook their head, offering a hand to her if she needed something to ground her as she shook like a leaf. “Thank you for truth, Nora. Understand why you did. Is okay. We can go to my home. Have supplies for stabs.”

The world was still buzzing around Nora. How could everything be in focus yet so far away. How could it all feel so real, the blood dripping from her, the stench of death, the feel of Metzli’s hand in her own as she took the offered appendage, and still feel so fake at the same time. The walk to Metzli’s home was in silence. A shiver would vibrate down Nora’s body every so often as she tried to sort through the event. Nora wasn’t paying attention as Metzli unlocked their front door and ushered Nora towards a bathroom. Nora had no recollection of the motions her body went through. Shower on. Clothes off. Surrounded by water. On a normal day Nora would lament the loss of another outfit. Each were precious from the lengths she had to go through to gain them. Today she didn’t think of anything but the scrubbing motion scraping the blood off her flesh. 

Reality came back to Nora sitting at a kitchen table with a ham sandwich in front of her. Nora was warm, wrapped in a robe two times too big for her. Her legs were pulled against her chest as she stared down the sandwich in front of her. It was what snapped her back. Nora had noticed her ever constant hunger had vacated. Where it used to be was a name. Bugbear. “Do yo-” Nora coughed, her voice once more caught in her throat. “Do you know what bugbears are Metzli?” 

Disassociation. That was the word Metzli had learned when it came to instances becoming blurred. They watched Nora experience it. When time became meaningless and the clock ticked less and less. More so, it droned. It echoed and vibrated, shooting sensations that would go lost until one, at random, snapped everything back. No more reverberations, no more quakes that cause a heart to skip a beat. Just the reality fully sinking. It did so for Nora, finally. Her eyes were no longer glazed over, and life bloomed with a finite sparkle. It was a relief, really. 

Metzli was beginning to worry she may never make it out. There was a reason she reminded them of themself though, wasn’t there? She was resilient, felt very little—if at all, when it came to fear or pain. How far that went, Metzli didn’t know, but they were determined to be there if the time came for her to make that discovery. For the time being, she had questions. The likes of which the vampire wasn’t sure they could answer. Their knowledge wasn’t as in-depth as they would’ve liked, but they were going to try nonetheless. 

“No. Not very well. Hear of them, but never meet one. Unless…” Brows bounced up and down, coming to the realization that Nora may have finally put a name to her kind. “Is that what you are? We can find out more. Have people. Help if you need.”

Nora's eyes never left the sandwich in front of her. If Metzli only ate blood why did they keep buying food? They were always offering Nora food online. The thought of the dry bread touching her mouth at that moment made her want to wretch again. The idea of having to force something solid down her throat created another wave of physical sickness to wash over her. Nora pushed the plate away, looking away. She found herself face to face with a wall. Was this why Metzli spent so much time staring at the wall? The thought of facing other things just seemed unbearable in the moment, and the only thing that seemed tolerable was a slab of blank plaster? 

"He called me a bugbear. Do you think he was lying?" There was a chance that a murderer was a liar, right? Nora buried her chin in her knees, tugging her legs closer to her. There was a coldness that washed over her still. Part of her wondered if this was an elaborate lie set up. An illusion to back up Metzli's claims. But Nora's illusions had never come with anything tangible that followed her home afterward. Her blood-stained clothes still lay in the bathroom as a reminder that it had been real. And if it had been staged with actors... Well, which actor would agree to be killed for a point? Nora was just going to need to come to terms with the fact it wasn't a lie. 

Eyes still glued on the wall Nora continued. "I think I'm a bugbear. If he wasn't lying. He said I couldn't go around scaring people." Which was a lie. She could always scare people. 

She was called a bugbear. How did the hunter come to that conclusion? Rangers sensed shapeshifters, sure, but Nora could’ve just as likely been mistaken for a werewolf. Metzli could only surprise that she had been caught somehow. Regardless, the name fit. She could shift into a bear. While it was awful to have gone through such an illusion-shattering experience, it came with much needed discovery. Nora no longer had to wonder what she was. It was good news, and yet, she found herself practicing the vampire’s favorite activity and unable to eat. Opting to consume answers instead. 

Metzli shook their head at Nora’s thoughts, pushing away any notion that a lie could have been made. “Not lie. Am sure. Name has sense. Forgot about it until you say it. Only know they change shape to bear and eat horror. Fear.” Metzli fixed their eyes to the light fixture above the dining table. Eye contact wasn’t something they enjoyed, and it looked like Nora wasn’t up for it much either. “He say you can’t because he is idiot. You need to feed, yes? Feeding is not something you can help, but you know this. It feels good and natural.” They were rambling. What else was there to do? Metzli didn’t comfort people, so they used facts in hopes that the truth would grant Nora some sort of solace. Some of them, even pertaining to them. 

“It gets easier.” Metzli waved vaguely over where their room was. Which was filled with their bloodied clothes. “I mean what happen. My first kill make me look like you. Time will help. And experience. Me and Leila help too. If you want.” A pause, eyes  trailing to where Nora stared. “And you can stay here. Take time.”

Feeding did feel good. It was something she enjoyed. Nora had only experienced that fear once, and it had been exhilarating and towards herself. It had been a moment of being alive. All her senses had been on edge, and she had wanted to run. That memory was so strong in her. It formed it. It was part of the confusion she held towards humans. How could they be so angry at getting scared when it was so thrilling? Nora pushed the thoughts aside. She didn't want to think about this right now. So much had happened these past few days. So much she would need to weave into her worldview, she wasn't sure she had a big enough loom. 

Nora's eyes moved around the blank wall. It wasn't enough to hold her attention, but it landed on a box of Legos. Without asking, Nora marched over to the box, plopped herself on the ground, and spilled the pieces onto the floor. Her hands worked from memory, building the basic home every child learned how to build. The tiny pieces were cold and harsh in her hands. Every now and then she would press too hard on a piece, just to remind her body that this was real. This wasn't a lie. "I gotta get back to Babadook." Nora finally answered. Metzli was kind. Metzli saved their life. Metzli offered a lot, but she still couldn't accept too much help. Nora wanted to do things on her own. No, she needed to do them. She couldn't leave the safety of one life just to fly into the shelter of another. She needed to work this out for herself. 

"I didn't take you for the Lego type," Nora mumbled, placing the house she made to the side. Nora was constructing a cave now. Did Nora want deaths to get easier? Was the loss of life something she couldn't care about? Could she live with being the reason someone died? Or being friends with people who killed regularly? She thought she could. If those people had been bad first. It was just more to think about. More that was going to chorus around her head in the middle of the night. For now, there were legos. 

Distractions. Those were always best when it came to fending off the darkness in one’s mind. There was a safe haven to be found in them. Nora didn’t want any more help, so she moved on to something easier to digest, something she could control, and that was okay. Metzli couldn’t hold that against her. They’d wanted to do so much of everything on their own terms, discover what life meant, and if what Eloy said was true. 

Some days, it was difficult to debunk what Metzli once thought to be fact, but one thing was certain: Nora had no one else, and if she asked them, Metzli would be someone she could turn to. It wasn’t much, and they were hardly anything in regards to a person of value, but they could offer her the sentiment of trying. That’s all they could do, really. More than likely, it would not be enough, as per usual, but no one could say no effort was put in. 

“Will get you home whenever you want.” They rose from their seat, limping carefully over to where Nora sat. Metzli couldn’t bend around too much, so they opted to lean on the wall, watching as the young bugbear created a small house. Was that something she yearned for? A home? Or was that just the only thing she knew how to create? Metzli could interpret all they wanted, but the only person who would truly know the answer was Nora, and she didn’t seem up for a therapy session. Would probably never be. Besides, she was making something else. “Good way to pass time. Like how they feel and how you can make things. Do you want to take a box with you?”

[biteofcherry]

Bucky and reader plus sex pollen and stuck in a cabin in the woods?

Petals

Bucky Barnes x female reader

warnings: sex pollen; slight dub-con due to sex pollen (but otherwise consented); unprotected sex; fingering; 

~ * ~ 

“There’s not a single pill in this goddamn cabin!” You yell, slamming the cabinet door shut.

The heat unfurling in your belly, spreading its burning tentacles through your whole body, clenching around each limb and squirming in your insides, makes you impatient and angry. 

Fear of what the unknown adds oil to this fire.  

You went through every nook in this house and found nothing useful to help your state. For a place that belonged to a scientist it sure is poorly equipped in medicine.

It was supposed to be so simple. A boring reckon mission. Just to check the cabin and secure any samples of the ongoing experiments the former Hydra doctor ran in this place. They weren’t even that groundbreaking, it seemed at first glance. 

He focused on plants and their genetics. No human experiments so far, no especially suspicious or dangerous ingredients. Just various plants, basic chemical reagents, stacks of Petri dishes. 

As a member of doctor Banner’s scientific unit you were tasked with gathering all the potentially dangerous or simply unusual items. Bucky was your security. A one person army to save your civil ass if you got in trouble. 

You made sure to take the highest precautions. With masks and gloves on, you carefully placed each item in a container which you later locked in special cases. 

You tried not to show any reaction to seeing Bucky in a mask. The blue of eyes striking a more vibrant color in contrast to it. They seemed more piercing, too. 

You saw Winter Soldier only on footage, with his black muzzle covering half of his face. Bucky was always Bucky to you, since the day you were introduced. But you couldn’t help the jolt of adrenaline as his attentive gaze observed your every move. 

Once done with the inside of the cabin, you took the masks and gloves off and checked the garden behind the cabin. It was filled with completely normal herbs and vegetables, nothing out of the ordinary.

You admired the few flowers that grew along the fence, swaying gently on the breeze. 

“I haven’t seen those in a while,” Bucky said then as he stepped right next to you, his eyes focused on the tall stem and deep red flowers cascading from it.

“They’re not very popular,” you nodded. “Some people have them in their rustic gardens, but it’s not a flower shop's desired item. Which is a shame.”

You traced one of the crimson flowers with your fingertip, gasping in surprise when the petals shivered and fell off at the mere touch. 

One petal after the other, like ruby domino pieces that swung on the wind before dropping to the ground. 

A puff of pink pollen gushed from bared stigmas, dispersing in the air. 

It got into your airways quickly, itching the back of your throat then transforming into a very sweet aftertaste that dried out your mouth and made you thirsty. 

Not more than ten minutes later, sweat broke out on your skin. A weird type of itching prickled your skin, making it oh so sensitive that a single brush of Bucky’s shoulder against you, as the two of you barged into the cabin, caused your whole body to tremble. 

When it became clear he was experiencing some effects of the pollen too, you were instantly worried. 

You were just a human, but if a super soldier reacted to a substance it meant serious trouble. Even if he was less affected compared to you.

Bucky stayed composed, only revealed his temperature starts rising and his muscles tensed. 

When you ordered an immediate cleanse, Bucky simply walked out of the cabin to dive into the lake in front of it. You locked yourself in the shower, scrubbing your body over and over again. You had to switch the water to cold when your body started heating up.

Cold shower didn’t help much, sweat dampened your skin a few minutes after you stepped out of the bathroom. 

Your first aid kit consists of dire needs medicine, there are epinephrine shots but no simple antihistamine pills. And your current state doesn’t call for pumping yourself with adrenaline. 

Your body is producing enough of it. 

“No pill would help anyway.”

Bucky’s low grunt startles you. In your frenzy you didn’t notice him coming back, but now that you turned to him you can’t help but notice everything about him.

He’s still wet from his swim. Drops of water shimmer on his skin, his brown hair seemingly ink black, heavy with water. He’s got only his pants on, not even fully zipped. 

He’s standing by the kitchen counter, leaning over it, head bowed, arms strained as he grips the edge. Wood dents beneath his metal fingers.

“What do you mean?” You wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Skin on skin contact, though it’s only yours, makes you shiver. 

“That heat-” your breath hitches when Bucky looks up at you, his eyes so intense. 

Your thin tank top and flimsy bottoms that cling to your damp skin feel nonexistent with how he takes in your body. 

He straightens and slowly walks over to you. Your heart rate seems to increase with each step that he takes. He backs you up against the cabinets. Towers over you, his massive form filling your vision and limiting the world for you to his body alone. 

“That itching-” he trails his fingers down your arm, eliciting goosebumps along their way. 

He slips his flesh arm around your waist and hooks his metal fingers under the strap of your tank top.

“There’s only one way to fill this hunger.” Bucky yanks on the strap, ripping your top off of you easily.

He captures your surprised yelp on his mouth; lips and tongue battling your resistance. 

Bucky’s touch sets your body ablaze. The kiss both satiates a growing need, as well worsens it. 

But he’s right - the itching beneath your skin melts into a pleasant hum, restoring energy in your body and making it shake with an urge to take more. Blood rushes through your veins, throbbing in your erect nipples and swelling clit. 

“N-no.” You pant when Bucky’s kisses move from your mouth to trail along your jaw and down your neck.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, but you don’t exactly put any strength into pushing him away. Your protest, too, is more against the meaning behind Bucky’s words not against the pleasure he strums your body with.

“No, it can’t be.” Your eyes close, body jerking in a jolt of sensation as metal fingers squeeze your breast. Smooth, cool metal grazes your stiffened peak. 

“It was just-” a whimper escapes your lips when Bucky pinches your nipple, his other hand pulling down your bottoms. “Just petals. Just flower petals.”

Bucky kicks your legs wider apart as he slips his fingers between your folds.

“It made your petals weep for me,” he groans, stroking you and smearing your wetness around.

His intimate caress stirs up the flames of need, deepening the craving. It becomes painful, how each cell in your body seems to scream in need. Heat grows, trickling sweat down your back.  

“Make me come!” You beg, fisting Bucky’s hair. “Just please, make me come!”

“It won’t help much.” He warns as he eases a finger inside you. “The pollen made your body receptive. It craves its counterpart.”

Your brain feels scrambled, unable to fully understand what Bucky means. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it, just want to feel more of him, take more of him. A second finger slips along the first, stretching your walls, and you moan. 

“You need seed to fill you.” Bucky growls, pushing his fingers knuckles deep and pressing the heel of his palm against your clit. 

You gush all over his hand, your pussy soaking at the mere mention of being full of him. 

“You like that idea, Petal?” Bucky’s new nickname for you and the way he groans his question right next to your ear, make you shiver. “Want me to fill your sweet pussy?” 

“Please, please,” you start mumbling, lips pressed to Bucky’s bare shoulder, lavishing it with your tongue. 

His fingers feel good inside you, but it’s not enough. Like a burning after a really spicy pepper that no water can cool, the only saving is to dip your tongue in milk so the casein can break down capsaicin. How fitting that you need milky semen to wash out the burning in your womb.

“I need you to come for me first.” Bucky starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, his pace gradually increasing. “Have to loosen your tight cunt, or I’ll hurt you.” 

“It hurts more without you.” You whine, hips rocking back against his hand.

“So needy,” he mocks you. 

Bucky curls his fingers inside you, flicking them in a come-hither move as he presses his palm against your sensitive nub. He commands all of your tension to draw into that spongy spot he’s tormenting, clenching your walls and stealing your breath.

Until the coil snaps and you come with a wail.

You sink your teeth into Bucky’s shoulder when he keeps rubbing you raw, prolonging the tremors. When he pulls out it’s with an embarrassing squelch. He pushes his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free. 

Your legs are shaky, knees almost give out, but it stops being a problem the moment Bucky hoists you up. You cling to him, hands pressed against his back. Bucky hooks your legs over his elbows and slams you against the cabinets. 

His dick rests against your pussy; red, leaking head of him bumping into your oversensitive clit. 

You often heard your friends at work giggle as they made dirty speculations if super soldiers were also super endowed, but you never considered you’ll have a chance to find out how close to the truth they were.

Bucky might be even bigger than they imagined. 

“Guide me inside you, Petal.” He grunts, licking the shell of your ear. 

He rocks against you, his cock sliding up and down between your swollen folds. You slide your quivering fingers down across his chest and over his abdomen. You can feel his muscles flexing under your touch, your effect on him as strong as he has on you. 

A needy sound escapes your mouth when his cock throbs as you trace up the length of him. When you close your hand over him, the tips of your fingers don’t even meet because he’s so thick.

You guide him to your entrance, gasping and throwing your head back as his tip stretches your opening.

Bucky stays still for a moment, his head tilting until he catches your gaze. Steel blue of his irises flashes something lethal and then he’s slamming into you in one stroke. 

You scream, your fingernails needling the skin on Bucky’s back. 

A prickle of pain seems to spur him on, his sounds low and gruttual as you slash his back in desperate attempt to ride out the mixture of pleasure and ache his rough fucking causes. 

He presses against you harder, plowing into you with fast, deep strokes. He’s chasing to sate the hunger gnawing at his own bones, his care for you yielding to his own need. And in a twisted way it turns you on more. 

Your back starts to hurt, the cabinets creaking louder and louder with your each move. When something behind you creaks and splinters, you let out a yip. 

“Fuck!” Bucky curses, stopping for a moment.

A second later the world twirls in front of your eyes.

Bucky drops you both to the floor, taking the impact on his back first then swiftly rolling on top of you. 

Your arms fall next to your head, cushioned on the wild fan of your hair. Cold tiles beneath you make you hiss at the contact, but don’t ease the heat that still licks your body with flames. 

Bucky pulls your legs up against his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders. When he thrusts back inside you his cock pushes deeper, nudging your cervix. 

He falls forward, bending you in half as he reaches for your hands and intertwines your fingers. 

His hips slam against your ass, snaps of slapping skin echoing through the kitchen. Your slick trickles out of you, sticky cobwebs stretching between your buttocks and Bucky’s balls each time he withdraws. 

You’re almost nose to nose, Bucky’s gaze catching every flinch on your face, every twitch of pleasure. 

“Beg for my cum,” he rasps out, feeling your cunt pulsing around him. 

And you do. With eyes closed, head tilted back, you splutter pleadings and prayers as if Bucky was your god and you begged for a drop of water while stranded in the desert.

Each broken sentence urges Bucky on. Every cry and sound of his name falling from your lips makes him fuck into you harder, faster. 

You truly cry, tears streaming from the corners of your eyes and down your temples, when he rips another orgasm out of you. Your whole body writhes beneath him, Bucky’s weight pinning you down so you don’t slip away as he pounds into you relentlessly.

Your pussy tightens around him like a vice, yet he keeps pushing and pushing, rawing your walls. 

When Bucky finishes with a loud roar, his cum spilling inside you in hot, thick spurts, your senses seem to overload. Everything turns blank, your head filled with the buzzing noise of your blood rushing through you and Bucky’s groans of pleasure as his dick twitches inside you, filling you more and more. 

You don’t know how long you’re out of it. When your consciousness reconnects with reality and your eyes flutter open, Bucky’s peppering soft kisses over your chest and face. 

He’s still holding your hands. And he’s still inside you. Half-hard. 

“Can you get off?” Your voice is hoarse and weak. 

Bucky’s weight on top of you feels amazing. And that’s why you want him off, so it doesn’t become apparent you react to him even out of the pollen-induced haze.

“It’s not that easy, Petal.” Bucky looks down at you, then lowers his face so he can nibble on your bottom lip. 

“You think it’s all over now?” He asks with a chuckle. “That one round is enough?”

You’re not sure if it’s the lingering effects of pollen, or just Bucky’s proximity and words, but your body tingles anew. Warmth blooms in your belly, like an opening flower stretching its petals to touch every part of you. 

“Sorry, doll, but it’s not. It’ll take hours before it starts wearing off.” Bucky releases your hands and pulls himself up on his arms until he’s kneeling back.

He wraps his fingers around your ankles, gives each a kiss before sliding your legs down. He spreads you wide, throwing your thighs over his hips. 

“It can be hours of suffering,” he says as he kneels up, hands firmly holding your hips raise them along. 

“Or-” he rolls his hips into you, his cock twitching and hardening inside you.

Bucky spits down on your swollen clit and you cover your face with your hands to mask the flash of depraved pleasure it caused. But your body betrays you anyway, your pussy fluttering around his length. 

“So, what will it be?” He asks, holding your hips up with ease. 

“Fuck me!” You blurt out when a jolt of needy current sizzles down your spine.  

“As you wish, Petal.” Bucky withdraws slightly then slams your hips back onto him, moving your body like a rag doll.    

[oh-holy-slut]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, blood sharing, mentions of death, oral sex

Word Count: 2,6k

Summary: Stefan forced Damon to try his animal diet. Damon hated it, but didn't had a choice... until Reader makes a suggestion. Suddenly things get steamy.

Being with Damon was complicated. Him and Y/N have seen each other a lot in the past weeks. The two of them had a lot of fun; saw a lot of movies. Actually, Y/N was sure Damon secretly hated many of those. However, anytime Y/N suggested another dramatic, romantic cliché movie like "Last Song" - the vampire groaned, put his arm around her shoulder, let her head rest on his chest and endured every single second of the movie of her choice.

Damon even flirted and teased Y/N here and there, but didn't lead to anything more intimate so far.

Today was another of those days. Y/N stuck around at the Salvatore boarding house, brought a few of Damon's favorite groceries and a bunch of movies, of which she thought that they will suit his taste. Even if they were a little to bloody and brutal in her opinion.

"Pick one!", she demanded, holding all three Blu-ray sleeves in front of him. Damon just shrugged, not bothering to even look.

"Don't be a killjoy, Damon Salvatore!" Y/N sighed.

"Tell me what's wrong or pick a movie. You've got no choice. And besides that... Which number of drink is this?" Y/N frowned, pointing at the liquor in her friends hand. Damon usually consumed his beloved bourbon with pleasure.

But the man on the couch didn't seem pleasured at all. His facial features totally hardened and a look in his eyes like he was ready to rip someone's heart out.

You put the disc's back in your handbag, closing the zipper and put the bag on the floor.

"Fine. No movie night today. Who are we going to kill?"

A small smirk appeared on Damon's lips, finally looking towards Y/N.

"Stefan and his hero hair. He made me go vegetarian... well, for a vampire... and I can't get myself to eat one of those chipmunks, bunnies or bambis." He shook himself with disgust.

"And why did he count you in? You clearly aren't excited about the changing... So, why did you agree?"

"He said, he would kill me, which is kinda funny. But-" Damon made a wide gesture "he stole my daylight ring. And he wouldn't give it back until I stop feeding on innocent people - and kill them."

"So, you truly let your younger brother blackmail you like that?! Wow... I don't know how to feel about your dieting or your new path. Or whatever this is supposed to be."

"You don't like me killing people either", Damon maintained, while taking another sip of bourbon.

"Well, I don't", Y/N agreed, took a step forward, stole the glass from the vampires hand and put it on a small table nearby. "But I don't believe in forcing as a method to get people to change their minds. I believe that change for the better must be an intrinsic motivation," she added quickly, giving the vampire an innocent smile.

Damon's lineaments suddenly turned from annoyed to curious. "Any suggestions, little one?" The vampire raised an eyebrow and a little smirk showed up on his lips. On the one hand, Y/N blushed over the nickname, Damon called her.  On the other hand she felt skittish looking forward to making a deal with him. Not only a deal. It's far more than a simple agreement.

It's Y/N, actually giving Damon a part of her. The red elixir of life. She was about to give him total control of her body and she not even for a heartbeat doubt that Damon will use it against her.

"Actually... Yeah. There's something on my mind." Y/N said chewing on your lip. "I could open up a vein for you. I mean, you could feed on me. And since you have my permission, there's nothing for anybody to have objection about."

Damon frowned and gave her an incredulous look. "You would do that for me?" The vampire couldn't believe, he understood correctly. Why would Y/N want to get involved with him feeding on her? What's in it for her? Damon tried hard to connect the dots, but he wasn't able to. It all seemed to make no sense. Y/N wouldn't have an advantage of that. The vampire hesitated, pinning his dangerously blue eyes on the girl in front of him.

"Is it so suspicious of me, that I'm trying to help my closest friend?" It pierced Y/N's heart, realizing, Damon's trust in her was rather fragile. "Never mind", she waved the pain away and forced herself to keep her composure. "I only had a hasty idea; you really don't need to fee-"

Suddenly Damon appeared behind Y/N, using his vampirism. "Shhhh", he whispered softly. "I never said, that I don't want your blood. I'm thinking about if we are going to cross a line? Blood sharing can be very personal..."

"It can be? It is personal already. Believe it or not - I'm not gonna offer my veins to all the vampires of Mystic Falls." Y/N rolled her eyes, her arms folded on her chest to point out the indignation she felt right now.

"Kinda sensitive today, huh?" Damon gently stroke a strand of hair behind her ear, Y/N could hear this smug smirk through his words. It was a true 'Damon thing' to do. "I didn't mean it like that, princess." He sighed; unsure if he should agree or not. Damon didn't want to act selfish towards Y/N. He compelled a lot of girls for the purpose of drinking blood in the past. He literally used them as long as they weren't too annoying - and then he acted like they have never met. Damon Salvatore couldn't imagine this scenario with Y/N. They've been so close, the vampire couldn't stand loosing her. The offer was risky, but it also could bring each other even closer.

Damon tried hard to avoid any serious attraction between Y/N and him, afraid of messing up. Indeed, he found himself thinking, and even dreaming, about Y/N more than he wanted to admit. She was smart and had this special sense of humor, the vampire adored so much. She was the only one, who could make him feel good no matter what. Needless to say she had that glimmer in her eyes, when she did something she truly loved. In these moments she was even more pretty. Y/N was hard to resist.

And maybe now he could have her like nobody else. At least the vampire gave in. He wanted her blood. He wanted her.

Y/N flinched by the feeling of Damon brushing her neck with his lips.  "Oh, Damon", she gasped. "Bite me." Y/N almost begged for the vampire's teeth breaking through her skin. Damon loved the sound of her husky voice. In less than a heartbeat he turned into his vampire shape. "If you insist", he grinned devilishly, ready to place his teeth on to her skin.

Suddenly Y/N made a slight move forward with the intention to interrupt her friend. "Did you change your mind?" Damon was close to switching back to human, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. Mostly a lack of understanding, but also a little of disappointment and even anger. Was Y/N playing games on him? While Damon Salvatore was sorting feelings, Y/N turned around, standing now in front of him.

She was so close, not even a piece of paper would fit between them.

Y/N slightly exhaled breath, her eyes darting between the vampires eyes and lips. It was the first time Y/N saw him like this. The icy blue of his eyes, she loved so much, has turned darker. Purple veins appeared under his eyes; Y/N couldn't help herself. Damon's appearance fully intoxicated every fibre of her being. Her fingertips found their way gently brushing over his dark purple veins. She felt heat and softness, while tracing one of them.  It took her a few seconds to get out of trance, realizing what she had done. "Sorry", she murmured with a voice barely audible. "Don't apologize, little one." Damon tilted his head, his lips curled up in a self-assured grin, exposing a perfectly white vampire fang. "I never saw you like this before, you loo-"

"... look like a monster?"

Y/N shook her head. It was nothing like that. Yes, he did look unfamiliar. And she should be scared under normal conditions. Instead, his look hit her in an unexpected way. He looked hotter as a vampire, if it was even possible. 

Y/N cleared her throat, looking up at Damon. "I feel... attracted to you."

"So nothing's changed", Damon teased, raising his eyebrows. The girl in front of him softly slapped him on his shoulder; which was only possible because the vampire permitted. "You are always so full of yourself." She smirked, feeling more confident being to something, they have had been so many times before. Granted, he was terrifying accurate, but she wouldn't serve her feelings on a silver platter.

"I'm still into it. You can bite me; feed on me. I only needed to see you before..." 

A shockwave of electricity flowed through her body the second Damon took her hand and pulled her close.

"I'll be careful", he promised, nuzzling his head into the nap of her neck. Damon once again placed his lips on her soft skin. 

Suddenly a harsh pain made Y/N feel like in a kind of haze. She flinched and let out a groan at the same time, unintentionally biting her lower lip. 

During Damon embedded his fang deeper and deeper, she started feeling dizzy. Her hands searched for the vampires upper body, finally wrapped around his neck. She needed him to lean on. A narrow trickle of blood flowed down her neck. Let Damon feed on her felt like flames licking up every fiber of her body. 

With every passing second Y/N could feel her control slip away. Her body was now firmly pressed against Damon's, like she would want to merge them into one.

Damon noticed her staggering, wrapped his arms around her waist, supporting her.

Bloodlust already messed up the vampires mind, so he continued feeding on Y/N.

A tempting moan escaped her lips, but she didn't care to cover up. Y/N's heart was racing, her eyes flattering. It was almost as if he was about to push her over the edge, but in a different way. "Mmm, this...this… feels soo weird... and so good...", she whispered under a shallow breath.

As soon as Damon heard her fading voice, he abruptly

quitted drinking from her.

"Fuck!" He rapidly laid her on his lap and checked Y/N's vital signs, to make sure she was okay. Instinctively he bit his wrist, pressed it against Y/N's mouth. He knew his blood would heal her, but it wasn't going fast enough. A few seconds passed through, to him they felt like centuries. Y/N finally blinked and Damon was relieved. He cupped her cheeks, his gaze never leaving hers. "I thought, I'd gone-" Damon cleaned his throat. "I'm so glad, you are doing well", he whispered, while trailing her lips with his fingertips. "So, fuckin' glad..." The vampire exhaled a deep breath. 

"It... You made me feel good. Strange, but good", Y/N appeased and flushed over the memory. "Maybe you got a little carried away, but I don't mind. I wouldn't trade the feeling for anything."

Y/N quickly interrupted herself, before she could reveal too much.

However, Damon used his vampire skills, noticing that Y/N was hiding something from him. "Isn't there anything else you want me to know?", Damon asked without taking his eyes off her. Y/N shifted and flushed even more. "It's unfair. You use your vampirism to get everything out of me."

"Well, if that were the case, I could easily compel you." Damon shrugged and found back to his smugly self. "Tell me, what you are hiding". He said in a seductive voice.

"I wanted to get lost in you."

Her confession sent shivers all over the vampires body. At first he could not decide, how to handle this. "Are you sure that's what you want? I could really hurt you..." Y/N hummed.

In the next split second, Damon pinned Y/N against a wall, smashing his lips on hers, kissing her with all the passion he had to give. The vampire devoured Y/N with a new kind of hunger. He didn't know he could crave someone so much.

"Fuck me, Damon..."

The vampire felt him getting hard, only by hearing those little three words out of her mouth.

"Say it louder. Tell me, what you want me to do."

Y/N pulled him closer, gently biting his earlobe.

"Fuck... me, Damon." It took her a second to focus and forming the words again. After she was near to climax earlier, it wasn't a long way getting to the edge once more. "Make me cum... You almost had me there..."

A deep moan got over the vampires lips, once he understood, what Y/N was trying to tell him.

With the next blink Y/N found herself in Damon's bedroom, lying on his bed.

From now on there weren't many words needed. Damon's hand's found their way under her shirt, cupping her breasts and make her moan over and over again.

He closely listened to the rhythm of her heart, making sure he would be able to delay her climax to the point he needed her to.

"Don't cum yet... I want to taste your little pussy first."

Y/N grabbed the vampires head, running her fingers through his dark hair - pushing him down, since she was unable to form a single word.

As Damon got down, he didn't take his eyes off Y/N.

He used a hand pushing up her skirt and lightly stroking over her panties with his fingertips.

"My girl is so wet", he praised in a low husky voice."-and I barely touched you."

His dirty words in combination with his touch lead to another moan, almost turned into a scream.

Damon pushed the fabric aside, leaving sloppy kisses on the inside of her thighs.

Y/N's eyes fluttered, when his soft lips reached her middle.

Damon's tongue licking around her entrance was driving her nuts.

"...so delicious..." were the only words she was able to catch up. Damon knew, he couldn't thrill her forever, so he got back to her. He spit on his palms, stroking his hand over his crotch. In under a second Y/N finally felt this releasing pressure of his cock. It was like a switch went off in her brain and she braced herself for the hard thrusts that would follow.

Damon dimmed the whining noises Y/N made with a passionate, hungry kiss.

He cheated with his vampirism to give it to her deeper and faster, knocking out all the air of her lungs while Y/N screamed out Damon's name. Her walls clenched around him and made him twitch. It was like her pussy massaged his dick the best way possible.

Every time he hit her harder and rougher he was making sure he hit her spot with every thrust.

Damon gathered speed one last time and pushed her over the edge until she was a moaning whimpering mess.

With her last contraction around his shaft, Damon was cumming inside her.

"You are so tight, little one", he whispered under his breath. "We should make arrangements more often."

Please like or/and reblog if you enjoyed reading or/and want me to write more stories about Damon.

Thanks guys ❤️

[bokettochild]

Sisters, Scoldings and Seaside Memories

My excuse? I wanted to write the Oracles meeting the heroes and it spiraled into some Legend angst, because, well- this is me.

I do have a prompt I blame for this though, so go yell at the folks at @linkeduniverse-prompts for inspiring me with this idea.

The heroes had landed in Legend’s world again, jolted across time and space by yet another sudden switch, one that had left them more shaken and out of sorts than normal, and which, quite to everyone’s panic, had nearly made Four pass out. As was, the smithy had clutched ahold of the nearest hero at the moment, Legend, and refused to let go, resulting in his getting picked up and carried by the vet after they had figured out where they were.

The fact that they had been dumped so close to Legend’s house (they were only just a half an hour’s walk away) had unnerved the vet, and a few others, but there was no sign of monsters as far as their scouting crew could tell, even with the heavy rainfall, and if Hyrule, Wild and Twilight all agreed that the path was safe, then no one else was going to be the one to question them. After all, if you can’t trust the two best survivors and the best tracker on their team, who could they trust?

Ravio had greeted the group with open arms and cheerful welcomes, pulling the sopping smithy out of Legend’s hold and cooing when the multi-colored hero hadn’t even protested. Legend didn’t appear too very put out about it either, just shaking his head with a smile that he hid behind dripping bangs as he’d removed his shoes and barked orders at the rest of them to do the same.

While Legend stoked the fire and grabbed a blanket for Four, who Ravio was settling in his own favorite overstuffed arm-chair (if Ravio hated Legend's rocker, then Legend had already condemned that chair to the furthest corners of the dark world), the rest of the heroes stood about toweling themselves off and looking around. Ravio had reorganized again, although he’d left a few things, like the strange mask on the wall and a few other decorations, alone. It looked nice, cozier, although a bit less like a shop. When asked why, the merchant had waved off the curious looks from both the heroes and his housemate.

“I figured with all y’all visiting so much I’d probably better work out of the shed. It took a bit of tidying up- now Mr. Hero, don’t look at me like that, it was a mess! Anyways, I tidied it up, moved most of the things into the basement where you can get at them easier, Mr. Hero, and set up shop! Now y’all won’t have to worry about my things getting in the way.” Ravio smiled brightly as he finished, patting Four’s head and ignoring the smithy’s irritated look and looking pointedly at Warriors instead.

It was clear that Ravio’s adoption of Legend and Twilight’s use of the word ‘y’all’ was bothering the poor captain immensely.

The evening progressed as usual, with Ravio humming off key as he bustled about the house making ready the bedrooms for the heroes’ use. Wild, perhaps in wake of the pie incident, had finally been granted access to the kitchen, which allowed him to make dinner while the others offered Ravio their aid.

As “host” Legend had been assigned the task of sitting with Four until the smithy felt a bit better. The vet had at first protested leaving all the work to the others, but Ravio had finally persuaded him by pointing out that Mr. Smithy shouldn’t be left alone to stew too much in his thoughts, and wouldn’t Mr. Hero like to make sure the Hero of the Four Sword was quite alright in this particular Hyrule? Why that worked, or why Ravio had used that specific wording was unknown to the others, but Legend caved quickly after that, changing into a horridly oversized tunic and joining Four on the couch, the smithy leaning against him while the two talked over mundane things like metal imbalances in weapons and other such matters.

Time hadn’t been able to hide a snort of laughter as he caught wind of Four very casually explaining proper cooling methods to use on newly forged swords to a flushed veteran, and Legend had looked one instant away from snapping back about a recent mishap involving such a task, only stopped the smith’s continued softness of voice and weary eyes.

The knock on the door only sounded however, once most of the others had already bustled into the kitchen, leaving Legend and Four to eat their dinner together where the smith would be most comfortable and Legend couldn’t scold Twilight for his ‘wolfish’ manners at the dinner table.

Considering the vet had trouble keeping himself clean, Warriors had quietly commented that maybe the other boy didn’t exactly have room to be complaining about table manners.

The sound at the door was lost to those in the kitchen as they chattered and laughed, but to the two heroes in the living room it was clear as day, and startled them both so much that they both fumbled with their bowls, violet clashing with brown as sheepish smiles marred both their faces, light laughter on their lips at their shared startle.

The knock sounded again, this time urgent, repetitive and with a desperate air.

Amusement flickered to worry as Legend had risen from the couch, the line of his shoulders tight with worry as he’d reached for the sword he’d left at the door before even daring to lay his fingers on the door handle. Four’s own hand had scrabbled for his blade, but he’d remained sitting, tense and alert with his ears pricked forwards and eyes sharp against whatever might be outside.

There were a few things Legend was expecting to see when he’d opened the door; royal guards coming for the bounty that the king had still failed to lift from him, despite most all of Hyrule knowing by now of his innocence of the crimes attributed to him, or maybe it would be a villager desperately reporting a monster attack down in Kakariko, he had thought it strange they had been dumped so conveniently close to home with no danger immediately evident.

What was on the other side however was not any of the things on his mental list.

Three cloaked figures stood outside the door, two of them nearly looming over him as a pair of sharp blue eyes stared at him from beneath the shade of a hood, stern and wary, but not entirely devoid of concern. “Link! Oh, thank heavens you’re here!”

“Nayru?” The vet blinked in surprise, gaze falling first on the Oracle in front of him and then to her sisters, standing behind her and wrapped tightly against the rain. And for lack of anything better to say, or even think, he opened the door a bit wider, motioning vaguely with the sword still in his other hand. “Come in.”

Four’s eyes followed the three girls as green, red and blue had brightened the dimming room, the bright hair and clothes of the three Oracles strangely out of place in the muted tones of Legend and Ravio’s house. Legend stashed his sword back against the wall, taking the cloaks from the three ladies and hanging them on hooks with everyone else’s as Nayru turned to him with her face drawn and eyes flickering sternly.

“Link.” Nayru began, frowning down at the vet, who stared up at her with similar seriousness. “It has come to my attention that there has been a temporal and chronological anomaly that seems to have been following you, I’ve come to ask-”

“Four!” Farore’s trill broke through the tense atmosphere as the Oracle of Secrets rushed over to bundle the Hero of Four Swords into a hug. “How? Oh, my stars! It’s been so long! You look so much older!” The girl exclaimed, holding the sheepish smithy at arm's length and inspecting him. “I haven’t seen you in forever! Although, I suppose it seems like less time for you. Linky! How on earth did you rescue him?” That stopped the smithy silent, and he stared up at the greenette before him curiously as she chattered on, worry in her eyes. “Is that why he looks ill? Did you-”

“Farore.” For maybe the first time in his life, Legend actually managed a half decent growl. Sure, he still squeaked a bit, but it was low and harsh enough to nearly count.

“How-” Nayru frowned, blinking slowly at the smithy seated on the couch while Din waved to him quietly.

“Boys, is everything-” Time’s voice was cut off as the three Oracles spun to stare at him, color draining from their faces as Din buried her face in her hands, Farore tensed and Nayru stiffened, sharp blue eyes turning to Legend with a glare.

“I told you to never play with the Harp of Ages!”

“I didn’t!” Legend snapped back, glaring up at the older girl with something similar to a pout. For the other two heroes, had it not been for the painful tension of the situation, they may have smiled at how much the interaction looked like a pair of siblings arguing over a valued toy.

“Then how is he-” Nayru flung a hand out to point at Time, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. “-here?” The Oracle faltered, gaze turning back to Time in confusion before settling on Legend again. “Wait, which hero is that again?”

“Ouch.” Time deadpanned, completely on instinct.

“Hero of Time.” Legend returned with a scowl.

“Wait.” Farore stared from one hero to another in confusion. “Isn’t he dead? Linky, are you- have you been rescuing-”

“This one didn’t die.” Legend returned, looking increasingly done with the situation while Time and Four both winced.

“Split timelines, remember, Fare?” Din offered with a pained smile.

Nayru scowled, pinching the bridge of her nose as her other hand settled on her hip. “Link, I swear, the Harp of Ages isn’t even supposed to be able to cross realities! Do you know what you’ve done? Link, I know you miss her, but searching across time and space for her just doesn’t work! You’re going to-”

“I didn’t use the freaking harp!” Legend shouted, and to the surprise of both of the others, tears were gathering in his eyes. “So could you just not-” The vet’s voice broke as teary indigo glared up into startled ocean blue. “Could you just not bring that up? I know better, Nayru! Besides, which one of us is it that broke the timeline last time, huh?”

“That wasn’t me.” The blue-haired maiden sighed. “We both know I had no control over any of what happened. But your point stands, I’m- I’m sorry for accusing you.”

“Good.” Legend wrapped his arms around himself, a single tear trickling down his scowling face as Din flew over and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh, Sunshine, she didn’t mean it! We’re just worried is all, you know that, right?” The vet didn’t answer, but he did melt into the hold of the young woman as she patted his back gently.

The others chose that moment to make their respective appearances, peeking around Time to see Nayru standing awkwardly beside the embracing Oracle and Hero while Farore and Four exchanged a Look.

“Legend, who is this?” Hyrule frowned, instant regret flooding over his face as he saw Legend swipe the end of his over-long sleeve over his face with a violent sniffle and a huff, releasing Din as the red-head sighed sadly.

“The Golden Goddesses.” Time answered instead, nodding politely to the three ladies, who all offered him awkward smiles in return.

“The Oracles actually.” Nayru corrected with a strained smile. “Apologies, Forest Hero.” She inclined her head respectfully. “I meant no disrespect, it’s only that you are quite similar in appearance to another hero from this world, one that is near and dear-” The woman’s voice stuttered to a halt as she stared at the others peeking out from behind the eldest hero.

The room fell to silence for a brief moment as Nayru’s face fell, eyes widening dramatically as her shoulders slumped. “Is that- Link, how many Heroes of Courage are in your home?”

“Nine.” Legend huffed, crossing his arms and looking anywhere else but at the girl. “Counting me anyway.”

“Nine Heroes of Courage.” The Oracle repeated, dumbstruck, before rubbing her hands over her face. “That’s like half of all of Hylia’s Heroes in all! Why? Why would so many be gathered in one place? How did you even meet them?”

The vet shrugged, still not meeting the baby-blue eyes that turned his way in desperation. “A lizard. Also, portals.”

From where she was now sitting next to Four, Farore nodded. “That sounds just bizarre enough to be true.”

At Nayru’s nod of agreement, Din reached out to ruffle Legend’s pink hair. “Just like you to get pulled along in something like that, isn’t it, Link?”

The soft chuckle earned a hesitant smile from the vet as the others pushed further into the room, only to freeze again as Nayru’s startled again, staring across the room at Warriors, eyes full of horror. “Oh no. Not you!”

The captain blinked in surprise, offense taking over as he stared at the young woman. “Excuse me?”

Nayru shook her head, no long paying attention as she cupped her cheeks. “No, not the blasted Hero of Warriors! Oh, why me!”

“Okay, now that’s just offensive.” The captain huffed, crossing his arms indignantly as Legend chuckled softly.

Sharp blue eyes made the captain still again as the Oracle of Ages whimpered softly. “Of all the people in your home, Link, you had to have the one Hylian that my daughters obsess over? Why?”

All eyes turned to the vet, who now looked similarly dumbfounded and horrified, blinking slowly at nothing as one hand buried itself in his long bangs. “My niece has a crush on-” the vet viably gagged, face screwing up as he looked up to meet the confused stare of the captain, “-Oh my gross!”

“Seriously?” Warriors huffed with a glare before throwing his hands up, voice raising slightly as he spoke. “Could someone kindly explain why all of you suddenly find me disgusting?”

“Not you.” Din laughed. “My nieces just have something of an obsession with you, and Nayru’s sick of it. Add to that that-”

“Of all the people,” Legend interrupted with a horror filled mumble. “For my nieces to have a crush on, it had to be my brother? Just- oh that is just so incredibly gross!” Violet met twinkling red as the vet leaned back to stare at Din. “Why do the ladies in my family always have such weird taste in men?”

“Says the guy who had a crush on his now sister.” Farore sniggered, now fully wrapped up in the blankets with Four, despite no one having noticed either of them move. The smithy didn’t appear to mind either, his smile matching that of the Oracle of Secrets’, even if he didn’t appear to know exactly what was going on any more than the rest of them.

“It wasn’t a crush!” Legend near shrieked, stiffening as his face turned nearly as red as the long hair that shimmered in the firelight behind him. “You get asked to dance by a girl you don’t know and see how you act!”

Nayru, now somewhat recovered, grinned impishly at the blushing hero. “That’s right, besides, I’m pretty sure our little brother had a crush on a certain farm girl.”

“I didn’t like Ropely like that!” The vet huffed, brightening further. “Or Malon, if that’s what you’re implying. She’s my freaking cousin and that would just be gross.”

“Malon is your what now?” Time blinked, confused.

“I have a Malon in my time too.” Four offered, very unhelpfully, as the eldest hero looked like he was descending into mental acrobatics. “She works near castle town and even lives on a ranch. I think Malons are a constant in our worlds, just like Zeldas.”

“I don’t have a Malon...” Wind mused quietly while Time began to look increadibly distressed.

“It’s a family name.” Legend huffed, rolling his eyes as his blush began to fade. “Mine was named after our great-something-gramma. The same is probably true of Mamalon, Time. She’s probably named after an ancestor from Four’s time or something.”

“Great!” The smallest Oracle exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can I please make you recognize that my babies are in one place for once?”

Her sisters stared at her, blinking slowly. “Um, Fare, that’s sort of why Nayru just had a freak out?” Legend snorted but his...sister? Ignored it.

“Yes but,” Farore nodded at Four, who she’d once more wrapped in her arms. “Look!”

And they did. Four was cuddled up with a resigned smile, looking positively tiny in the Oracle’s hold and, admittedly, rather cute. There was not one person in the room left unaffected, and several actually cooed when Farore hugged him tightly, burying her face in the smithy’s hair. “All of my babies, I love you all so very much!”

Warriors laughed at that, shaking his head. “What, do the Golden Goddesses have favorite heroes too? I thought that was just Hylia!”

“Unfortunately, that is the case.” Nayru shrugged. “We can’t help getting attached, just like any other Hylian.”

“Who are who’s favorites?” Wind chirped; eyes eager as he stared from one Oracle to another.

It was Din who answered, wrapping her arms around Legend’s shoulders as she stood behind him, smile warm even in the chill of the evening as she stared at the sailor hero. “Sunshine here’s mine, he’s my baby brother after all!”

“Adopted, as all of our other siblings are.” The Oracle of Ages interjected, earning her a pout from her sister and a laugh from the heroes.

“Nayru’s favorite is the Hero of Time, it’s why she calls him by a nickname, and Farore, well...” The red-head grinned to where the youngest of the three Oracles was cooing and fussing over Four. “I think you can guess.”

“Do any of you have second favorites?” Wind pressed, curiosity flickering in ocean blue and silver.

“I haven’t had enough experience with most of the other heroes to really say, although the Hero of Wild’s never fails to make me laugh when I watch him through Nayru’s mirrors.” The Saesonal Oracle laughed, making the hero in question flush lightly. “Both for his pranks and clever antics, and, of course, having a horse named after you means you simply have to adore the owner!”

“Farore has several favorites, she’s just only ever interacted with Link and Four.” Nayru chuckled. “She’s quite fond of those who had to strive for Courage though, so I suppose the Hero of Hyrule and the Hero of Winds likely tie for her second favorite.” The two boys in question grinned brightly at each other. “As for myself, I find that as the Keeper of Time, I have quite the fondness for its hero. Although, my baby brother and brother-in-law are also dear to me.” Twinkling blue settled on Sky’s flushed face as the Oracle winked. “Hylia could have chosen no one better to be her lover, and I approve the match wholeheartedly.”

Sky proceeded to flush a color o one had known existed and quickly lower himself to the floor, smiling madly and covering hisface with his hands, earning tender laughter from the blue-haired maiden as she turned her attention back towards the other heroes.

“And for some reason, I’m the only hero left unfavorited.” The captain sulked.

“If it’s any consolation.” Farore called out. “Our other baby sister thinks you’re cute! She says she’s glad you married her daughter!” The Captain Hero choked, and it was only due to Twilight thumping the others back that the poor man didn’t choke right then and there. “The same goes for the Twilight Hero, Lolia absolutely adores him!”

“How did the same goddess choose us both? We are nothing alike?”

Warriors coughed in what might have been agreement.

Farore only shrugged. “I suppose it’s the same reason she adores Ravio so much, it’s the hero who makes an impression on her world that earns her favor.”

The heroes in question took their time processing that, and in the meantime, Legend darted off toe retrieve dry things for his elder sisters, only to come back to Ravio chattering to the three, who’d now gathered on the same couch as Legend and Four had been on earlier, all answering his questions fondly and politely while Farore continued to suffocate Four with hugs. The smithy didn’t seem to mind though, resting easily, eyes glimmering reddish-brown in the fire-light as the Oracle of Secrets toyed with his ong hair.

“I brought warm clothes.” Legend called, offering the things with a brief shuffle of his feet. “They’re Fable’s, but I don’t think shell mind.”

Ravio frowned, looking up at the offered garments with furrowed brows. “Are you sure that will warm them enough, Mr. Hero? It would be horrible if your poor sisters caught cold!” Grenn flickered knowingly, and Legend huffed as he met the expectant gaze.

“Fine, I’ll brew some cider, since I expect that’s what you suggest?”

“Oh! Mr. Hero, how kind of you! I didn’t mean to ask, but since you’ve offered I’m sure your lovely sisters will love to have some!”

Din straightened in her seat, eyes sparkling brightly. “Cider? Oh, Link! I haven’t had your cider in ages! Please make some! I’d actually kill for a cup about now!”

And really, who was the veteran hero to argue with the will of the Oracle of Seasons?

“He’s made you cider before?” The Oracle of Ages frowned.

“Oh, all the time! The whole circus troupe loved it! Auntie Impa always used to beg him for the recipe, but it was that one thing she could never convince him about. It’s absolute heaven, Nay! You’re going to love it!”

The bluette huffed, crossing her arms and faking a put. “He never made me any cider.”

“Because you tried to kill me!” Legend’s voice called back from the kitchen, making the three girls startle slightly. “If you hadn’t, maybe you could have tried some along with Ralph and Raven.”

“I wasn’t- I was- Link!” Nayru spluttered as a cackle arose from the kitchen. “I was under mind control!”

“Still tried to kill me!” The vet chirped back with far too much cheer considering what he was saying. And really, none of the others could argue his point, either because they didn’t understand what was being discussed or because it was true.

Cider was passed around after a brief wait, during which the others had made idle small talk and Farore had finally agreed to release Four from her grasp. The short hero still sat at her side, trading smiles with the three Oracles as he chatted amiably with them, clearly familiar with all three and quite happy to see them again, even with the drama from before.

No one brought up what Farore had meant about ‘rescuing’ him.

When Legend finally emerged from the kitchen, Ravio’s tray stacked high with mugs of steaming cider, silence had quickly fallen save for the quiet sips and louder slurps of the three as Legend handed out the mugs, finishing with the three Oracles and promptly plopping himself down in their midst, entirely uncaring of the looks they exchanged over his head while Four shifted a bit closer to his brother.

“Link,” Nayru settled her mug in her lap and stared over at the pink-haired hero, unfortunately gaining the attention of the rest of the chain in the process. “About earlier, I really am sorry for accusing you. It was wrong of me to assume-”

“You already apologized, it’s fine.” Legend cut her off, yawning softly as he sipped his cider.

“No, it’s not. But I’d like to make it up to you.” The mug was set aside as long fingers had begun to glow with a soft blue, catching the vet’s eyes and making him stare as the Orale of Ages waved her fingers gently, a blue orb appearing in her grasp as a soft smile graced her delicate features. “Anything you’d like to see, baby brother?”

Violet eyes stared fixed on the orb, glistening slightly with wonder as the vet floundered, nearly spilling his cider only to be rescued by Four’s quick thinking as the smithy removed the mug from his grasp. “A-anything?”

“Anything.” The Oracle reaffirmed.

Legend stammered softly for a moment. “C-Could I see Raven? Where he is now?”

There was some murmuring from the others, curiosity and confusion in their tones as Nayru frowned. “Raven lived four-hundred years ago, Songbird, he’s dead now.”

“Oh- uh- I knew that.”

“I can show you what he was doing today four-hundred year ago though.” She laughed softly, spinning the orb in her hands slowly before turning it to face Legend. The veteran hero stared intently, brows furrowing slightly before his eyes widened and he was pushing back into the couch and away from the viewing orb.

“Oh yuck! Nayru! That- ew!” At the girls’ laugher he shot them all a glare. “I did not need to see a woman eating my mentor’s face!”

“That would be kissing.” Time smirked. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“That’s my ancestor though!”

“And I knew that would happen.” Nayru giggled. “That was a prank, here’s the actual thing.” A small child and a man looking suspiciously like Time appeared on the surface of the orb, both lying on the floor of what might have been a farm-house as the little one played with a few small toys, the man watching with a fond gaze as he relaxed, looking as if he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

“They look happy.” Legend hummed, gaze softening as he watched the duo a moment more before smiling up at his sister. “Thanks.”

The bluette smiled in return. “I accused yo twice though, so you may have a second. What else would you like?”

Anyone who was watching could see the conflicted emotions flying through Legend’s eyes as he stared at the now blank orb, the vet fidgeting with his rings and long sleeves as he gnawed his lower lip, torn about something that remained unknown to the others but clearly was tearing him up inside. At long last however, the vet’s voice, small and vulnerable, more so than they’d heard even when he was half asleep, spoke his request. “I’d like to see her.”

Ocean blue eyes softened as the Oracle nodded, spinning her orb slowly before handing it over to the vet as the scene of a beach crossed the surface of the ball.

A girl with curly red hair and sparkling eyes sat on the beach, voice rich and lovely as she sang ou a tune that had the vet’s eyes watering as he smiled as the vision, his brothers crowding close curiously as several of them muffled soft gasps.

“Marin?” The voice of a boy rang from the orb, gentle, uncertain and young, but resemblant of Legend’s own in an odd, gentle way.

“Link! Don’t startle me like that!” The girl laughed, shaking her head and making her curls bounce as she smiled over at a boy maybe a bit older than Wind.  The lad was dark haired, but pink showed through at his roots and while he carried a sword on his back, he looked relaxed and at peace with the world around him, face gentle and unmarred by worries or fears as he walked across the sand to where the girl sat. A dopey smile and light blush touched the kid’s face as the girl, Marin, gently patted the sand at her side. “Join me, you’re done running errands for everyone now, right?”

“For today.”

“Good.” The girl reached up, tugging ‘Link’ down next to her firmly. “Lay down.”

“What?”

“Lay down.” Marin ordered. “You need a break. You’re always running everywhere and helping eveyone else, you need a bit of time to yourself.”

A smile pulled at the boy’s features. “Yes ma’am.”

The girl snorted, but patted her lap and tugged at the green tunic of the other, resulting in him at last laying on the sand, head in her lap as she smiled down at him. “You’re going to rest now, because tomorrow is a busy day for us.”

“Oh?” Already there was a dreamy quality to the boy’s voice as he relaxed into the hold of the girl, her fingers tugging gently through tangled black hair as she nodded.

“Yes. We have to sleep in until nine, and then eat a big breakfast before taking a long walk on the shore. Then, you’re going to help me conquer a huge basket lunch before you can then defeat being awake for an hour. After that, we have to chase the tide until it tires, and then dance in victory over the ground that it’s lost.” The boy laughed softly, lashes already fluttering softly across rosy cheeks as the girl continued. “Then, you and I are going to sit here and watch the sun go down, and we will sing it to sleep along with the island until the sun comes up.”

“And what then?”

“And then we do as we please!”

“We build a fire.” The boy hummed. “And I’m going to make you cider so good you’ll be ruined for any of your silly teas.”

“Hey!” The girl huffed, purposefully jostling the lad’s head as she huffed down at him. “My teas are good!”

“Not as good as my cider.” The boy replied, opening one eyes to grin up at her, a cheeky smile on his face. “Just you wait, you’ll see.”

Marin shook her head, eyes glistening gently as she ran her fingers through Link’s hair again. “I suppose I will.”

The orb shattered as it hit the floor, dissipating instantly as the heroes collectively startled.

“Legend?” Four rested a hand on the vet’s shoulder, staring in concern at the other boy, who hid behind his bangs with a faint sniffle.

“Thanks , Nayru.”

“Do you want me to fix it? I can give you another-”

“No, I know what happens.” Legend waved her off, sighing heavily and offering a teary smile. “I just wanted to see her again.”

“Well then you should have said something!” Warriors exclaimed, catching the attention of all gathered as he stared at the vet, caught between a grin and a scowl “Had I known you were Marin’s prince charming I would have said something by now! For pities sakes, the girls have been trying to hunt down her world since the war ended!”

Legend blinked.

“She’s still not home?” Wind frowned. “But, it’s been months!”

“No one knew where she belonged, she didn’t even know, said she knew nothing of Hyrule’s history, only that there was a hero.” The captain shook his head. “Hard to believe the sweet hero she described is this here ass, but who am I to judge?”

“She’s alive?” Legend stared.

“Yes,” The captain smiled slightly, gaze warming as he met the vet’s. “But between Cia, Lana and Midna, we never-”

“Midna too!” Twilight exclaimed, pushing into Warriors’ line of vision with a shocked face and watching the captain immediately fly through every shade of shock imaginable.

“Love of the goddess...” Warriors breathed. “Both of you? The two famed sweethearts of my team are the biggest asses I know? You have got to be kidding me!”

The Oracles laughed, or in Farore’s case, cackled, at the plight of the captain, and the other heroes joined in.

“Wars, I’m not even mad.” legend chuckled, shaking his head, and Twilight nodded in agreement.  “But I will say this, we can’t get to your Hyrule soon enough, and when we get there, Time, know for a fact that I don’t need to wait till I’m older to understand that thing earlier.”

“Okay, that's just gross!” Wind exclaimed. “I do not want to see Legend kissing someone! That’s just- oh yuck!”

The vet threw his head back and laughed, and no one could really help but join in. Except Wind, who scrunched up his nose in disgust while Wild and Hyrule shared a confused look.

[sirensmojo]

“KINDRED”, 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, romance, fluff.

Word Count: 6K+

❰ ​Previous Chapter

(...) 

Several days later.

You were walking London’s street with the confidence of someone that ruled the place. Your back, straight, your head high as the air moved your hair gently, as if you were starring in an old Hollywood movie. 

Your suit fitted you perfectly, a little loose so you were comfortable. You were wearing the jacket closed, one hand in your pant’s pocket as the clicking sound of your high heels resonated against the cobblestones of the empty streets.

It was early in the morning, so early the thick mist nearly extinguished the cigarette hanging on your red painted lips, but your gaze was already as determined as one can be. 

‘This day will be great’ was the mantra you were singing in your head. You were supposed to open the library in less than an hour now, and you had to meet with your new employees to discuss the rules before opening.

You thanked God some of them were already a part of your organisation, which made it easier as they knew the way things needed to be done under your management. 

Entering the building, the women were already waiting, in uniform and standing in a perfect line side by side. 

You offered them a warm smile coming closer to them as you took your woollen coat off.

“Misses and Madams, let me welcome you to the Bridgehead Library. Now, you may or may not know me, I’m Y/N, you, strong fighter for women’s rights & aspirant to a world where we would walk the streets unafraid of any danger. Because we know how it is, for those of you that are single moms, for those of you that were disowned by your own family, those of you who don’t want to get married.” 

You paced back and forth in front of the aligned women, looking at each one of them straight in the eyes, as talking with a firm and confident tone.

“You’re not taken seriously, you’re misused and abused. You fear the barmaid will not serve you a drink cause no man stands on your side, you fear the man that is staring at your body will be lurking in the shadows, following you, and rip off your clothes when you’ll be in an empty street.”

You stop in front of a face you saw in the files of Thomas Shelby while doing some research on him. You identify the individual as Ada Thorne, born Shelby, Tom’s sister. 

“Well, you should know, for as long as you're willing to work here, none of the things mentioned before should ever happen to you. And your family will be fed and more... I guarantee you fifteen pounds a week. If anything… A-ny-thing may happen to you due to your gender, consider turning to Bridget, we will find a solution.”

You motioned to a blonde-haired woman sitting legs crossed at the principal desk to their right. Her hair was middle length and perfectly waved to one side as the other was tucked behind her ear. 

The named Bridget glanced up to you before colliding her lit matchstick with her cigarette. 

“You’re under my protection, use my name for doing whatever pleases you, whenever you want. This is your ticket to a brand new life, for all of you. And all of us, together, we can achieve great things. If the counsellor job isn’t enough for you, I invite you to turn to Ana.” 

You pointed a brunette on your side, her facial expression was passive & aggressive, but for some reason, it was comforting. As if you knew you were in security in her presence. 

“Now, as for the library…” You gave your instructions. 

As soon as you finished your speech, it was 7, the hour of the opening. 

The day was slow at the beginning, but soon enough the library was packed. Not only by people here to find a book, but packed with numerous women, all in a single file that led to a small room at the back of the first floor that had been designated as Ana’s office.

It was almost impossible for Ada not to wonder what was going on. 

Were all these women wanting to find another job than counsellor?

All employees tried their best to keep quiet the visitors, following your orders, but as Ada was passing by the single file to pick up and put back books, she could hear murmurs. 

The individuals were talking about politics, but something so far from what she had ever heard.

Some were talking about the tragic death of a certain Emily Davison before the war at the Derby Epsom and how they rallied the WSPU(Women’s Social and Political Union). 

Others were talking about a recent speech by Emmeline Pankhurst to which they couldn’t assist due to coppers. The Shelby sister surmised that woman must be the leader of the political party given the amount of respect they paid her. 

No need to say Ada was drowning in a tide of data and names she vaguely heard of before.

She didn’t pay that much attention to the women’s cause. Even after the death of her Freddie, after which reality smacked her back into the world she was living in. 

It was either her family or her convictions, as being a Shelby meant drifting from the oppressed to the oppressor. But she was so focused on not being a Shelby that she closed herself to other opportunities. 

She wanted to be a part of something bigger and better to help those in need. But she ultimately admitted to herself she needed her family in order to survive, which led her to jump off the communist boat.

But a part of her was always keeping her beliefs close to her heart. 

(...)

*The library, fourth floor*

You turned the keys in the lock, opening your door’s office. You switched on the light and when turning back, stumbled on a man sitting crossed legs, at the edge of the sofa.

When he was sure he made his presence known, he lied backwards, extending one of his arms on the armrest, his head held high.

He was dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, white shirt, the chains of his watch knotted around one of his buttons with a fine red & blue tie around his neck.

Right above his upper lips was a full mustache, and as your gaze reached his dark eyes, you glimpsed the stranger’s neat hair flattened backward.

“What a surprise.” You let out, walking to the desk as if it was normal for him to be here. You then hung your coat on the coat rack, turning your back at Mosley.

“A good one, I hope.” The man put on his fake smile, lying eyes everywhere he could on the woman’s silhouette in front of him.

“Always, Mr Mosley. How could you be any other thing than a pleasure to see,” you came back to where he was and sat in one of the armchairs ahead “and meet.” You added, offering him a smile.

“It’s a shame we never had time to properly exchange--”

“That’s why you crept into my office.” You cut him and nodded to herself, your knuckles hitting on her thigh.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stared even more at the light-haired woman.

“It is to be said, your name doesn’t get quite unnoticed in society or amongst politicians.” 

“So you’ve heard of me, even more charming.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

 If he thought he could cajole you that easily, he was wrong.

“Not only have I heard of your deeds, Miss you, but I’ve been reported daily about the people you keep company with.” He stated as if it was normal for him to send people spying on whoever.

You remained silent, waiting for the man to say more. 

He was gauging your reaction towards his words, lurking at any sudden change in your expression, but you kept on an unreadable face. Mosley tilted his head to the side, curiosity animating his iris.

“Leading me to question the nature of your relationship with Mr Thomas Shelby.” He continued, squinting his eyes.

“Perhaps socialists are your thing?” He spitted that last part with all the distaste he felt toward both the worker class and Tommy.

By the way your piercing eyes didn’t flinch a bit at his sneaky comment, Mosley surmised you weren't impressed, which eventuated in him smiling while keeping up the stare.

“Did you come all the way down to my library to give me a lecture on your inauthentic Dasein, Mr Mosley? There are doctors for that.”

A rictus at the corner of your lips distracted the eyes of the man in front you, who unwittingly broke the stare.

You won.

You took great delight in the void of Mosley’s expression that surely didn’t understand what you just said. 

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps I’m using concepts you don’t understand.” You didn’t even cover the fact you were making fun of his ignorance, your eyes still as sharp as razors.

“Don’t you know Heidegger, Mr Mosley? He discusses a neat difference between what he calls Sein, that covers what Is, what constitutes human existence with the Dasein that covers the phenomenological analysis of human existence. In other words, he says there is a gap between how things are and how we perceive them.” 

You got up and walked to your desk, making sure to pass by him pretty close so your perfume would meet the man’s nostrils. 

You then opened the ceramic piece in which you kept your cigarettes, and as you grabbed one, you concluded.

“When it may seem to you something is occuring, that doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. It just means your senses want to believe it is happening for numerous reasons, but the main one is almost always the fear of something. You don’t believe it wittingly of course, it’s your inconscient working. But still, you just confided in me an unconscious worry named Thomas Shelby.” You ignited your cig.

By using a psycho-philosophical reference, you were showing him your hand, how studious you were, which meant he couldn’t look down on you or intimidate you easily. 

His attempt to pressure you wasn’t working. And you were setting the standards high.

Mosley didn’t miss any of your movement since you got up. Eyeing you top to bottom. It was crystal clear your monologue satisfied him the most. He, that considered you as illegitimate of the high-society status you had been given. 

Perhaps he was wrong?

“May I add, no offense here, that whatever concerns him, or me doesn’t concern you a bit? I’m afraid you came here in vain.” You smacked her lips at the end of her sentence, faking to be annoyed by the fact he lost his time coming here.

“I found you, Miss Y/L/N, I found you.” He repeated, fluttering his eyes as tilting his head to the side.

His way of intensely eyeing the individual he was speaking to would be quite uncomfortable for you if you hadn’t been a woman in a man’s world for so long.

No wonder why this man was so feared and yet adorned. His whole character emitted mysteriousness while arousing wonder and curiosity. It was hard, nearly impossible to read his face or even get in his mind, but you didn’t need that to face him head-on. 

“And to answer your question, no. Socialists aren’t my thing, Kings are.” His brows raised at the end of your sentence.

You stared at each other some more, Mosley trying to discover the implied meaning of your sentence as you were internally laughing seeing him struggle.

“Anyway, I hope you’re finding our city to your liking. You’re from Birmingham after all.” He paused and got up, walking closer to the door with a hand in his pants pocket.”Talking of which, may I ask why not opening in a library there?” It was obvious the displeasure he felt towards your decision.

“I’ll call it ‘modern conquering’.” You responded with enthusiasm.

(...)

Ada poured wine into two cups when hearing the keys turning in the lock of her house. She first thought it was Ben, her lover coming back from his office, or wherever he was working as they weren’t truly speaking of work when together.

Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother when she turned back to the entrance of the living room. “Tommy?” Her high pitched tone expressing her surprise. 

“Let’s sit down, Ada.” The man always looked worried and thoughtful, but this time it was different, his eyes were actually reflecting emotions, which usually never are. 

“What’s happened”

Tommy came nearer the table and pulled a chair for his sister, without looking at her. “Sit down, eh?” He repeated before sitting down himself.

Ada didn’t stop looking at her brother, she knew him too well. Something wasn’t right. She pulled a chair for herself. 

Tommy tried his best to look at the face of his sister while talking but he just couldn’t, his eyes kept drifting away. “Ben younger is dead. Someone put a bomb in his car.”

As the brunette wasn’t talking, her mouth slightly opened in shook, he kept on talking, “I don’t know how you felt about him or how bad this is going to hurt, but whatever happens just remember you have a baby inside of you.” He pointed to her tummy.

His sister let her back hit the chair noisily, searching the void for answers. “God.” She hardly sighed. “Anyone you touch. Which means anyone I touch. Which means anyone any of us touch. He never knew I was pregnant… I hadn’t told him.”

Tommy that was looking at her to support her pain, once again looked down hearing the hard truth. 

“God, I didn’t love him.” She sighed heavily. “But I liked him. He was decent and good. And I wasn’t gonna marry him. The baby was a mistake but that’s okay… because I didn’t ask anything of him. God he didn’t deserve us.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she exhaled loudly again.

“Well I’ve spoken to his family. They’re going to take care of the funeral” Tommy said as Ada sniffled. “It will go down as an IRA assassination of a British military officer.” He felt the need to divulge her all he knew.

“But what was it really?” She calmly asked, looking intently at him her head tilted to the side.

Tommy smacked his lips and breathed deeply. “It was… a consequence of good intentions. My good intentions.” 

She scoffed.

“I pushed him to report on the fascists. I thought it was the right thing to do. And as a result, Section D or the Branch or intelligence had him killed.”

She scoffed again, looking away this time.

He abruptly took back in hands his beret he previously dropped on the table and started fidgeting with it, looking down. “There was a kid, died in the explosion. He was ten years old. It’s funny isn’t it, how it works?” He cleared his throat and got up, starting to move forward the door.

“No, Tommy.” 

He stopped, his back still turned to the woman.

“Don’t give yourself this excuse. “ Ada’s eyes were filled with tears, some of which hurtling down her face to her chin.

“He was ten years old. if I would stuck to what I do, he’d still be kicking a ball in the street. It’s funny isn’t it?” The meaning of his words was amplified by the thunder rumbling outside. 

(...) 

Days later.

It was the end of the day, employees had started to leave when Ada came to the entrance.

“Can I get the changing room keys?” She asked Bridget, who was sitting behind the desk, lost in a book.

“Ada Shelby? Miss you would like to borrow you a moment.” She pointed to the stairs behind her. “She’s waiting for you.” The desk lady invited the woman standing in front of her to get on her way.

Ada rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelby name. “It’s Ada Thorne.”

The light-haired woman smiled at Ada’s comment.

She got up to the second floor and then to the third one before she wondered what her boss had to say that somebody else couldn’t tell her.

Ada rapidly caught sight of the wooden door at the end of the long corridor. She stops walking when hearing voices, a male and a female one. She stops, not wanting to get into their intimacy, but the door wasn’t completely closed, which allowed the voices to slip out pretty clear.

Not too long after she heard steps approaching and moved backward, so it didn’t look like she was eavesdropping. The door ultimately opened, and the fascist man she saw only once before with Tommy passed by her, without even glancing her way.

She knocked on the door and cleared her mind.

“Come in.” 

She cleared her throat. “Miss Y/L/N, am Ada Thorne, you asked to see me?” She peek into the room. 

“Yep, come in. Take a seat.” You motioned your hand that was holding a cigarette to the chair in front of her. 

Her back flat against the backrest, your E/C’s eyes entered those of the Ada’s.

You were searching for the same light that was twinkling in Thomas’ eyes, in vain.

“Do you know who I am, Ada? I can call you that, right?” 

“I heard about your achievements in Paris. What you did for women.” The brunette answered, uncertain of where this discussion was going.

“Do you know what I do?”

At the question, the woman ahead of you didn’t know what to answer.

Was there even a correct answer for that?

Of course, she knew part of her activities was illegal, she wasn’t blind. And, come on! She was a Shelby too, she could feel those things thanks to her brother’s choice of life. 

But what her boss wanted her to say, exactly? And for what reason? 

“You’re talking about the illegal part?”

“The criminal one” You snapped back.

Ada’s eyes widened.

“I surmised you didn’t. Why did you think there were that many women in here today? I offer them jobs in my London’s counterfeit money’s enterprise.” You leaned forward to Thorne, squeezing the cig into the ashtray. 

You crossed the fingers of both your hands together. “You don’t really want to work here.” You forced out the words as if to convince Ada.

“Understand this library covers an underground organisation that is beyond you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not particularly involved in the “business” of your own family. Tommy gave you a title in it but still, you’re here, working in a library to prove yourself something.

Why would I want someone like you in here? Someone that is unsure of what they are, what they want.” 

The venom entered Ada’s ear going directly to her chest, depriving her of oxygen for a short instant. But her eyebrows surely knitted in anger. 

“Stop acting like you know everything when it is clear you understand nothing.” She gained composure again.

“I heard, you didn’t even want to be a Shelby in the first place, running away from your home and your family.” You nodded, your eyes still deep into Ada’s.

“You ‘hear’ things and you take it as the absolute truth? And you’re the leader here.” Thorne chuckled to herself, her eyebrows raised high.

You sneered at the comment.

“What is the problem with my family anyway? If you want to fire me because I’m a Shelby then just do it. I’ll not come burning your library if that’s the matter.” 

The librarian cackled, putting your head into your joined open hands, elbows on the table. “God! No! That’s not that. It is more about the fact that the first time you’re getting involved in that kind of organisation it’s not your brother’s. Not your family’s.” 

Ada looked away, realizing what the light-haired woman meant. She, who never was included in the family business, rather by choice than by abandonment of her family, was employed in a pseudo library that was covering for dirty activities.

“It’s ironic indeed. But what makes you think I wouldn’t want to work here knowing the truth?”

You shrugged. “You never worked with your brothers. Even your aunt, Polly is actively working there.”

“It was my choice.”

“So you’ve changed your mind.”

Ada dismissed the talk, another question seeming to be more urgent:

“But why didn’t you just let me be unaware of all this and be like the others.” She retorted.

“Because you’re not ‘like the others’. You’re a Shelby and a Thorne. Your brother is sitting at the House Of Commons amongst politicians while getting his hands dirty here and there, and your deceased husband was a very known communist leader. You’re everything but random, understand that.” 

“So you’re telling this to me out of goodness?” She laughed at you without even hiding her reluctance toward this eventuality. 

“Respect.” You rectified with a solemn tone. 

The brunette stops laughing, her expression becoming serious again. She didn’t quite get your the true motives, but she had other questions.

“What are your relations with my brothers, are you enemies?”

“No.”

“Allies, then?”

“No.”

Even if you told Ada about the true roots of this library, she wouldn’t talk about the arrangement between her and Thomas. It wasn’t your place to do so, and you didn’t think Ada needed to know, at least for now.

“It’s not like you’re going to get your hands dirty anyway, but if anything should happen to me, they will associate you with me, so they’ll come for you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Coopers, I don’t have them in my pocket.”

Thorne seemed to be in her head, probably rethinking her intention to keep working here as a counsellor.

“You were already working here with the old owner so I’ll let you choose rather you want to stay or leave. But don’t stay because you want to prove something to yourself, or your family. I don’t need a crybaby. If the communist cause you defend isn’t matching with the cause I fight for, leave.” 

Your words cut in pieces the thick atmosphere that had settled between the two women.

(...)

Thomas convened a family meeting.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the pub. Charlie Senior and Curly were sitting at a table drinking from the bottle, while Johnny Dog and Jeremiah were sipping on whiskey at the counter, next to Aberama Gold, too occupied looking at his future wife Polly. 

She were sitting at a table with her son and his wife, Gina.

As Arthur and Finn passed the door, the oldest Shelby got behind Michael and didn’t miss the occasion to stumble wittingly on his cousin’s chair, pulling away the younger’s back from it. 

Next, he hassled to sit near the counter, pouring himself some liquor that he drank in one go. Finn reluctantly came and sat at the table between Gina and Polly.

Tommy finally arrived, walking around the table to place himself in front of everyone. 

“First of all, an apology from Lizzie. She can’t be here. Charles has a violin concert. Also, welcome to Mr Aberama Gold. He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on, Aberama will be welcomed at our meetings. First item: business. A bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who may perhaps have become a member of this family, was taken from us, four days ago, by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations, we think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada and the baby inside of her, who may one day, sit at these meetings but… Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances.” Pol’ offered while pouring some whiskey in her and Tommy’s cup.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, raising his glass. “To Ada.” He added, soon joined by all the people in the room.

Tommy coughed at the burn of the whiskey and continued his speech, “Item number two: an announcement regarding Michael.” He coughed again as if to release some tension in him, his hand rose toward the younger Gray. 

“Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say, to the whole family directly, regarding finances and the future of this company.” Michael stated, getting comfortable in his chair, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his mother glaring at his wife.

Gina ignored her, looking down and smoking a cigarette.

“According to your own estimations, this new venture of the delivery and shipment of opium will bring into the company around £2 million per year. Therefore, due to the amounts involved, I think this company should be restructured.” He continued, looking fearlessly at a pissed Tommy.

“Michael. I think this can wait ‘till outside the family meeting.” His mother tried to postpone the confrontation.

“Restructured in what way?” Tommy asked, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he needed to know if Michael’s betrayal had limits. Which it didn’t have.

“Because of the amount of money involved, shipment and dispatch will become the primary source of income in the company. It’s simple mathematics.” Gina proudly announced, deciding to match her husband’s audacity as she looked Thomas the wrong way. 

Her husband got up, going behind her as he placed his hands on both her shoulders rubbing them gently. “With the help of my wife, I will organise an expansion into America, where the narcotics business is just beginning to grow. I have very good contacts in Detroit, New-York, Boston, who I’ve already spoken to about this. And Gina has family who are very experienced in this kind of business.”

It seems like the woman surely gained composure thanks to the assurance in her husband’s voice because she finally decides to look back at Polly, who was staring at her the whole time with an unpredictable longing to plant her butterfly knife in her. 

Gina, quickly glanced away as if to snub her husband’s mother.

“According to the conversations I’ve had with them, with a regular supply of pure opium from China, within a short space of time, the American narcotics business will bring in $20 million per annum. Enough money for you to enjoy an easing burden you all now feel. See, I know that the scars and the wounds, they’re on the inside, not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that burden off your weary shoulders. A new decade is coming. There’ll be new opportunities and new territories, more money than we’ve ever had before.” 

He stops looking around to everyone to pause on his cousin only.

“Tommy, you can still do the good work that deep down you want to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house.” 

Polly happily glanced at Aberama, letting herself dream of a good life for a second. 

“Arthur, you can be the man that Linda wants you to be.” 

“Fuck Linda.” Arthur interrupted.

Michael turned to Finn, walking toward him to rest behind the seated man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it proudly.

“Finn, you’ve proved yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New-York with me.” Michael finished his speech. His wife handed him a file that he gladly took in hands. He walked to Thomas and dropped the file on the table that rested between them two. 

Tommy’s eyes went to the file before lifting to Michael’s determined face.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… and you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr Jones.”

He turned toward the other people in the room. “You will each receive a percentage of the profits as an annuity. And you will no longer have to engage in any of the associated activities.” 

Michael then grabbed the file to hand it to Tommy.

“Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.” 

The head of the Peaky Blinders paused, looking at Michael intensely before taking the file. “It’s cold in here, Michael.” He finished, turning to the fireplace and throwing the catalogue there. 

Johnny Dog let out an excited laugh, surely due to the heavy atmosphere the two cousins had settled. 

“Tommy the Americans want to deal with me.” Michael’s jaw tensed as his voice raised with impatience. 

“Item number three--” Continued Thomas as if nothing happened. But he was cut off by Gina’s venom:

“Tell him the truth.” She seemed unsatisfied with the way his husband chose to handle the situation. Tommy’s eyes hassled toward the young woman, speechless. “Go on. He can take it.” She continued.

His eyes went back to Michael that looked away, immediately, as if he didn’t want to come to this end.

“Tell me the truth, Michael.” Tommy encouraged, exasperated by this whole scene.

“The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.” Michael gained composure again, looking blankly at Tommy.

The latter couldn’t even correctly react that some men entered the pub, needing some help to handle Bartley, who was convinced he was still at war. Everybody got out of the room in a hurry except for Michael, Gina, Tommy & Pol’.

Passing by Michael to get out, Arthur leaned to his ear slowly, “Fuck the Americans.”

Tommy turned around, hand on the wooden piece as he was leaning above the fireplace, looking intensely into the orangish flames.

“I’m doing this for you Tommy. It’s time… And you know it.”

The concerned one, closed his eyes taking a deep breath in and tried to calm his nerves and think. But nothing came to him, he couldn’t even properly swallow how much Michael’s betrayal had extended, the worst was that he was sure, it wasn’t the end of it. His cousin probably wanting to take everything from him slowly he surely voluntarily omitted things. 

“Tommy, Mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.” Now that there weren’t people to impress, Michael let the anger he felt toward his cousin’s actions.

The elder blue-eyed man couldn’t stay calm a second more, he abruptly turned around, grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and violently threw it in the fire, creating the flames to only grow bigger. Gina was scared, she held her chair with tightened hands and Polly and she jumped with surprise on their chair.

He turned again to Michael as the latter held him a butterfly knife already open.

“Go on, Tom. Go on cut me. Like the good old days. Or… See this for what it is. A natural succession that someday must happen” His arm going down again.  

At this point, the Shelby brother had calmed down, finding funny the proposition he was offered. His lips smacked and breathed deeply, looking at anything but his opposant. He shook his head in disbelief, “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He looked at his younger cousin, deceived by him and angry at himself.

After losing $2 millions in the Wall Street crash., Tommy gave him an opportunity to come back to England and pay him what he owed him, but even there, in the boat, Michael met with people that are Shelby’s family enemy. When that happened, Tommy gave him the benefit of the doubt. And now this? Michael went too far, and this time Tommy will not close his eyes on it. The only reason his cousin was still breathing was that he's Polly’s son.

He walked around the table and addressed Gina, smacking his fingers as he pointed her, leaning forward. “You. You can tell your family--”

“Let me guess.” She interrupted him, the same satisfying face she had at the beginning of the meeting. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” That wasn’t a question.

Michael grinned, as Tommy quickly got out of the pub. 

“Right?” Gina mockingly asked.

(...)

Tommy was spending most days at the House Of Commons lately doing speeches in favor of fascism to the greatest pleasure of Mosley. 

That day, he was there from early in the morning to the evening. It was already around 10, but his assistant opened the door to his office, saying someone was there but without having an appointment. 

“Who it is?” He asked, raising a brow, one of his hands went in his pocket to check on his watch.

“The librarian.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since your last meeting and at the simple mention of you, he would find his blood boiling in anticipation of the wave of feelings you brought him.

His pulsions talking for him, the Shelby brother ordered to let you in without questioning why you were here that late.

“Mr Shelby, you asked me to get information about a certain Michael Gray?” You came in like a tornado, your voice filled with sarcasm mixed with enthusiasm as you were the one pushing him to act on his cousin’s betrayal weeks ago.

How ironic was it that he had to learn the hard way you had been right since the very beginning,  you surmised something must’ve happened between the younger gray and him given the determined words he’d written on the note he left at the library sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No time for formalities.” You agitated the folder in her hand.

He almost gasped at your movements, he had forgotten how sensual you were.

Whenever they would meet, you would succeed to arouse something in him, maybe even igniting a fire that couldn’t be found when you weren’t around. 

“You might want to read that!” You nodded to yourself, your brows raised high as if you detained the most important information of the decade.

“You do me the lecture.” His playful tone made you look up to him. Your head tilted at the sight of the glasses hanging on Tommy’s nose as you released a little “huh” from your lips.

He squinted his eyes, not knowing why the actual fuck did you do that. Did you just judge him or was he dreaming? 

He took off the glasses and placed them on the table, not wanting to deal with that face you just made again, all while remaining silent and invited you to begin.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Do you think it’s going to be free, Mr Shelby?” You looked intensely at him, your own eyes devoid of emotions.

He hated the fact you were able to just erase your emotion from your face and your eyes as he desperately wanted to see things in them. But him being him, he too put on an expressionless face.

“What do you want?”

“Everything, but you can’t give that to me. So I’ll just answer ‘whatever’.” 

He frowned, not understanding her point.

“When I’ll need something, you’ll be answering present without the option to say no.”

He remained silent, quite taken aback by how forward you  was. His jaw clenched, tension building up in the room. If stares could send lightnings, they’d both be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

Reading his silence, you deduced it means he was alright with the deal and proceeded to answer his previous wish, do him a lecture.

“It is written here that Gina Gray’s family isn’t rich, but they weren’t starving either…” You begins. You then allowed a sweet “bla-bla-bla” to come out your lips as passing over the words searching for a specific part.

Tom didn’t miss your deeds a bit. From the enthusiastic tone in your voice to your serious face. He looked at the way your were sitting, legs crossed with the file on your thighs as you was slightly leaning forward. 

No wonder your were excited to show him your findings while handling business like a boss. He caught himself thinking your were cute. 

It was the first time he’d seen your that commited. He’d seen you focused, but you were always passive whereas now, your seemed completely into what your were talking about.

“The part that interests us is this one ‘Has an uncle that meets up at the docks several times a week with a group of people being a part of the drugs industry. It seems they cover their activities by the image of a protestant group and illegally sends rifles under God’s cause to our beloved Scottish friends, in other words, the Billy boys. And this, on a daily basis.” 

You patted the paper.

“It is written here, they counted around 6 boats per month, Tom.” You raised your kindling gaze to the icy blue-eyed man. 

He paused, his lips slightly opening before sliding a hand on his face and looking down.

It seems Tommy didn’t believe what he was hearing.

He leaned on the desk and opened the wooden box where his cigarettes were. 

His back harshly met his chair as he stared at the woman, blinking.

“I’m serving it on a plate, to you, Thomas.” You”d serenely let out, as if you understood him without having him saying anything. “Just deal with it.”

“How much do you trust this contact?” 

“I trust him with my life.” You responded.

With this partnership, he didn’t proceed the same as usual by offering something in return. He didn’t have the time to give you a proper offer that you'd already started to work in favor of his plan against Mosley, so this relationship was more based on the trust they have into each other rather than a commun exchange of services.

Today was the first time you’d ask him to return the favor, and it was today as well that the man had to wittingly choose to trust her blindly.

He coughed and lighted his cig, and put an elbow on the wooden desk as he was still deeply in thoughts.

You got up, moving slowly and leaned on the desk, hands flat on it, her face not even a centimeter away from his. “If you don’t trust that,” you pointed at him and then at you, “end it.” You finished.

The mood automatically shifted due to the tension that has quickly installed between the two individuals. 

Not for even one second did you imagine things to get this sensual. Here you were, desperately searching other's eyes out of each other’s grip.

Tommy’s eyes hungrily drifted to your lips, and stayed there more than it should’ve.

You moved back and turned your heels, leaving the room.

Too much in too little time. This. What that even was, and what did it mean?

This was the reason why you never got emotionally involved in business . But that was different now. But for you, that always kept the idea that the past wasn't supposed to repeat itself, the present was slapping maybe too hard.

Thank God you succeeded at getting out, not because of Tommy, but utterly because of yourself. If you had stayed so much as one second more, you didn’t know what you would’ve done, or maybe you did know but preferred to bury it away.

It was easier that way.

Following Chapter ❱

[floral-force]

Knight in Beskar Armor - Chapter 8

A Hunter's Embrace

words: 5k

warning: smut/NSFW/18+ ONLY (unprotected sex) content ahead--please check tags!

a/n: I wrote this from Din's POV! I wanted to try switching it up, and I liked how this felt. Let me know what you think!

series masterlist | read on ao3

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“Princess, princess,” he whispered, gently nudging the sleeping form next to him. “Wake up.”

She started to slowly turn her head, but before she could look at his face, he clamped his hand down over her eyes. The Mandalorian had fallen asleep next to the princess, and he was helmetless.

“My eyes are closed now, Mando,” she smiled and rolled over, and his hand moved down to cup her face. “How’d you sleep?”

“Mmm, I slept well,” he mumbled, sleep tinting his voice. “What about you, Princess?”

“I also slept well,” she said. “It was good to sleep next to you.”

He wished she could see the smile on his face. Hers was bright and beautiful, lighting up any room she was in. Waking up next to her was better than he’d expected, even if they were squished together on his cot with Grogu above them. It was almost domestic, and it scared him. He hadn’t intended to get so close to the Princess of Naboo; he was hired by her father to protect her, not pleasure her.

“I’m glad,” he said. “We should be arriving at Corellia soon.”

“Well,” she yawned. “Better start getting up, Mandalorian.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

He punctuated his sentence with a kiss, making her giggle and tangle her hands in his hair, stealing a few more kisses from him before he finally left the rack, taking his helmet off the shelf and closing the panel to the rack so she didn’t have to worry about seeing his face. As he took a quick shower in the fresher, he thought about her face while she had sucked his cock. Her eyes had filled with tears, wide and searching for his through his visor. He wished he could have met her gaze with his, no helmet filtering their connection. Even thinking about it right now was making him hard.

He was about to be on a hunt; he couldn’t have any distractions. So, he decided to start to stroke his half-hard cock, water streaming down his skin. He closed his eyes and thought about the princess and her mouth. She had taken him so well, every inch in her pretty little mouth, swallowing him whole. He grunted as he started to speed up his strokes, his cock already throbbing. Ever since that night in the garden he’d been thinking about how her lips would fit perfectly around his cock, how it would be so easy to silence her sharp tongue and have her use it to give him pleasure instead of retorts.

The Mandalorian’s hand reached out to touch the shower wall, steadying himself as he came closer to climax. Fuck, he wish he would’ve taken her after filling her mouth with his cum. Pushing her down on the floor to fuck her while she looked into his eyes. Filling that pretty royal pussy with his thick cock, making her moan and beg. He thought about her moaning his name—Din, Din, Din—as he snapped his hips, urging her to finish with him, begging him to join her on the edge—

He groaned her name when his cock throbbed and spilled thick white ribbons on the shower floor, his eyes squeezed shut while his mind reeled from pleasure. Having that princess around was dangerous, not just for hunts, but for his own sex drive. His self-control was strong, yes, but sometimes his lust was enough to strangle it. His hunt on Corellia was going to be good for him.

Mando toweled off and left the fresher to retrieve his armor, not even bothering to wrap his towel around his waist. He was quick opening the armory, on edge in case he heard the rack panel open. He suited up, and before he placed his helmet back on, he looked at himself in the fresher mirror. Maybe it was a good thing the princess couldn’t see his face—she couldn’t see the lines from years of hunting, the furrows in his brow from frustration, and the circles under his eyes that lingered after nearly losing the child. She was young and vibrant, a millaflower in bloom. He was a battle-worn bounty hunter that jumped from one quarry to the next, polishing his beskar and tending his wounds between each. If he ever took his helmet off—something that he doubted would ever happen—he wouldn’t blame her if she rejected him.

“Mando? Mando? Are you almost done?”

The sound of her muffled voice and knocks on the rack panel yanked him out of his thoughts. Din quickly put his helmet on and rushed over to the rack, opening it to see the child nestled in the princess’s arms, cooing, and playing with her hair. She was smiling, and it tugged at his beskar heart just a bit. When she looked up at him, he felt a pang in his chest; it was going to be hard to leave her during his hunt.

“He likes you,” Din said, nodding at the child.

She looked at the wiggling green baby in her arms. “I suppose he has warmed up to me quite a bit since we first met.” She laughed when Grogu babbled. “He jumped down from his little hammock and hasn’t left my arms since.”

Din would have hugged her and Grogu, wrapping them in his arms, if it weren’t for the fact that they were about to leave hyperspace and land on Corellia. He stopped his heart from growing too soft at the scene, instead clearing his throat.

“The ship is going to leave hyperspace. We’ll land on Corellia soon,” he said, noticing how her smile slowly dropped.

She nodded, setting the child down on the cot despite his complaints. “I’ll get changed.”

“Be quick,” he said as she walked to the fresher, taking clothes with her. “You need to be strapped in when the Crest leaves hyperspace and breaks the atmosphere.”

“I’ll hurry.”

Din looked down at the child, scooping him into his arms. He let out a quiet sigh; he knew he’d upset the princess, but he couldn’t let their attraction come between his bounties. He needed the credits now that he had another mouth to feed—he couldn’t afford to get distracted or go soft.

When he got to the cockpit, he set Grogu down in the copilot’s seat, handing him his favorite metal ball before he could snatch it himself. Din chuckled as he prepped the Crest up for the drop, watching the nav panel and waiting on the princess to arrive. When she did, she was in another pair of black leggings, this time wearing a short-sleeved purple tunic, a belt knotted around her waist. He noticed that her hair was in braids as she looked at him, strapping into her seat and twiddling her thumbs.

The Crest left hyperspace with a jolt and Corellia came into view, white clouds encircling its blue and earthy surface. Din alerted his docking contact with the push of a few buttons, and when he received the transmission to enter Corellia’s atmosphere, he guided the Crest into it. The Crest made a bumpy entry into Corellia, and the Mandalorian winced when he heard the princess sharply inhale. Finally, they reached smoother air, and he managed to land the ship on his contact’s docking platform, quietly groaning when he saw droids approach his ship.

Din pointed at Grogu. “You, stay in the crib. And you,” he pointed at the princess, “You stay on the ship with him.”

“I can’t leave with you?”

“Absolutely not.” He left the cockpit and she followed him, standing behind him as he gathered weapons. He turned to look at her when he’d gathered enough detonators and ammunition for this hunt, slinging his rifle over his back.

She put her hands on her hips, squinting at him. “Not even to stay in a hotel?”

“No.” Din moved over to stand in front of the ramp, and he heard her tiny footsteps following behind him. “We need to maintain a low profile.”

She stamped her foot, and his head snapped to look at her. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were tired, and he almost felt bad that he had to hold his ground on this. He didn’t know if anyone was after her, and he also couldn’t risk having her be a distraction during this hunt. Din knew she wasn’t used to life on the Crest, and that she wasn’t used to not getting her way. She was spoiled—and he wouldn’t give in every time she wanted something.

“Mandalorian,” she said, the ramp lowering. “What do you expect me to do while you’re gone?”

He shrugged. “I shouldn’t be gone long. Someone is just trying to outrun a debt they owe.”

With that, he stepped down the ramp, giving her one last glance before leaving her and the child behind. Once he was on the ground, he raised the ramp again, not wanting his contact to get a chance to look inside, or allow the princess to slip off the ship.

“Ah, Mando!”

Din’s head turned and he saw a teal Twi’lek step out of the shadows, a few repair droids trailing behind him.

“Inun Olan,” Din replied, walking towards him. “Thank you for letting me dock.”

Inun clasped Mando’s arm. “Not to worry, my friend. It’s the least I can do after the many times you’ve saved my skin.”

“How much do I owe you?” he said, pulling out a pouch of credits.

“For you? First night is free.”

The Mandalorian opened the pouch and tried handing Inun 300 credits, but he forced them back into the pouch, shaking his head.

“I have to get going,” the Mandalorian said, pulling out his tracking fob. “No droids.”

Inun nodded, sending his repair droids back into the building. “Whatever the Mandalorian wants, I shall give him.”

Din nodded and left the dock, resolving to make this hunt a quick one. It wouldn’t be hard to find a Gran on Coruscant, anyways—although it was a densely populated planet, people would recognize one right away. It was foolish of the bounty to think he could hide out here; if anything, it made his job easier. He’d probably started off running to a shipyard, hoping for transport. The tracking fob in his palm blinked, and he began to plot out his course.

This hunt wouldn’t keep him far from the princess and the child.

So, the Mandalorian may have made a miscalculation.

Usually quarries that owed a debt weren’t being pursued by more than two hunters at a time, and normally neither hunter ran into each other. The bounty simply wasn’t worth enough credits to fight if one had gotten to the quarry first.

After a kick in his chest plate, the Mandalorian wondered if Karga had misinformed him—was this bounty more than an indebted Gran on the run? The red Palliduvan hunter tried to shoot him once again, but her shot missed when he rolled behind cargo crates. She was a good shot; he couldn’t take any chances with testing how good her aim was. His only choice was to rush her and force her to fight hand-to-hand.

He shot rockets off towards her and jumped back out when he heard her swear after being hit, her rifle clattering to the ground. His fist connected with her jaw, and she snarled before flipping and kicking him away again, trying to grab the blaster on her hip. Before she could get any further, he took her wrist and twisted it, pushing her back and away from his body in case she decided to use her fingers to try to claw at him.

“Who sent you for the Gran?” he growled.

She laughed, her sharp teeth red with her own blood. “A Gran? I’m worth more than some low-caliber job. I’m here for the princess.”

Oh, fuck.

When she noticed the Mandalorian’s hesitation, she struggled again, and his free hand moved to wrap around her neck, squeezing hard enough to discourage further attempts of escape. She sneered at him again, and under his helmet his lips twisted into a snarl.

“I heard she was with you—some pretty young thing from Naboo,” she gasped when he squeezed her throat, applying more pressure. “There’s a bounty on her head, Mando. And you’re in the way.”

She punctuated her sentence with a kick square in his chest, one last attempt at escaping and grabbing her blaster. He was quicker, though; he slammed her to the ground, knocking her unconscious on the dirty ground of the shipyard ally. When she didn’t move, he finally stood up, binding her wrists and snatching her weapons off the ground. He couldn’t risk her waking up and tracking him again.

As he stalked off to the Gran’s location, he ran through this new information. There were people on the hunt for the princess. A part of him had known this since the night he’d swept her away from Naboo; there was no way that whoever assassinated the king had planned on stopping with him. Even when he’d been briefed by the king, he’d been warned that it wouldn’t stop with his death, and that people were going to be on the hunt for her neck—the neck the Mandalorian had held tight and kissed gently.

Telling her was going to be...tricky. He had to convey the very real danger she was in—danger that had made his heart stop and his blood freeze—without alarming her so much that she shut down. As he dragged the Gran back to the crest—he was begging so much that Din had stunned him—he came up with a way to delicately break the news that there were hunters after her. Din was shaken by the news. He’d figured the assassin wouldn’t stop with her father, but he supposed he’d forgotten about that in favor of remembering how the princess tasted on his tongue.

When her father had commissioned him to protect her, Din hadn’t realized how imminent of a threat there was to the royal family, nor how deadly it truly was. He also hadn’t realized how he’d be pulled towards the princess, a spark between them strong enough to start a fire. He’d been pulled toward her like a moth to a flame, his wings burning bright in her fiery eyes. Seeing her in the garden was an accident—he’d been drawn towards its opulence, not used to something so grand and full within the confines of brick and mortar. He hadn’t been able to sleep in his quarters, craving the tiny rack and the gentle snores of Grogu above him. After seeing her, he stayed up even later fantasizing about pinning her down right there and pleasing her, trapping her in his embrace, making her submit to him. Looking at her bathed in moonlight made him understand that the garden wasn’t the only beautiful thing confined in the palace.

“Mando—back so soon?” Inun’s voice boomed, his arms open.

“It was an easy chase.” He tossed a few more credits into the Twi’lek’s hand. “Quarries that owe a debt don’t think with their head.”

Inun laughed. “Well, my friend, your ship is repaired and fueled for your next hunt.”

“Thank you,” Din said, looking down at the Gran that was beginning to stir.

Inun nodded, and Mando ascended the Crest’s ramp.

Once inside the ship, he scanned for the princess, catching her and the child’s heat signature in the rack. He was silent when he dragged his bounty to the carbonite freezing chamber, encasing the Gran in carbonite, a terrified expression frozen on its face. When the Mandalorian turned around, he saw the princess, distressed and holding the child in her arms. Her hair was a mess, her feet bare and legs exposed. She was in the old shirt he’d given her when she had first met him. It made his cheeks flush, and he was thankful yet again for his helmet.

“W-what was that?” she stuttered, looking from him to the frozen Gran.

“Carbonite. Clients like their bounties alive. So, I freeze them.” He scooped Grogu out of her arms, and the child gurgled, which made her chuckle. “How was her?”

“So very sweet,” she smiled, her shoulders relaxing a bit. “I could tell he missed you, he wouldn’t let go of me.”

Din handed the child back to her and strode over to the cockpit ladder, and he was happy to hear the princess’ tiny footsteps follow him. They were going to jump back into hyperspace to get to Nevarro—he’d only taken one bounty from Karga, mainly because he wasn’t sure how much the princess could handle. As she stood next to his pilot seat, strapping Grogu in, he could smell the flowers on her skin, her scent almost intoxicating to him after the scent of fuel had burned his nostrils during the hunt. The jump into hyperspace passed without a word between them, the child’s tiny gurgles and the Crest’s groans the only noises reaching their ears. It didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable; it felt like there was a small understanding between them now. When it had developed, Din didn’t know. Maybe while he was gone, the princess had had some sort of realization. He hated that he was going to knock her back to where she had started—scared and kicking him as he carried her away from danger.

He decided to break the news after finishing his rations. Grogu had finally settled down in his crib in the cockpit, calm now that his father was back with him. Din replaced his helmet and gathered his nerves as he left the cockpit to approach the princess, who was laying on her back in the rack, her knees bent and legs kicking off the edge of it. For the first time in a while, she looked relaxed. It made him feel even worse about telling her that she was in danger.

He called her name and she sat up on her elbows, smiling gently at him. He thought back to the garden and how terrified she had looked at the sight of him. Something inside of him fluttered, but he crushed it quickly. “Princess, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, Mando?” her smile morphed into concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, the bounty was easy,” he knelt in front of her between her legs, looking up at her.

“Oh, good. I was worried.”

He took a deep breath, hoping she didn’t hear it. “Princess, there are bounty hunters after you.” Her face went white. “You’re in danger.”

“W-why do they want me?” she whispered, crossing her arms, her fingers digging into her flesh.

“Whoever wanted your father dead didn’t want to stop with him,” he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and he heard her breath catch in her throat. “I thought I was safe with you.”

“You are.” He grabbed her hand, making her jump and stare down at him. “You are.”

“Mando…” she whispered, tears slipping out of her eyes.

He murmured her name, sweeping her into his arms. He felt her shoulders shake as she sobbed into his armor, her hands gripping his pauldrons to remind herself that he was there beneath her, surrounding her and embracing her. It hurt him to see her hurt like this, and it hurt more knowing he was the source of it. His armor was cracking, but for some reason, he didn’t mind. As he held the shaking princess, all he wanted was to kiss her and make her forget her pain for a moment. But the thought of admitting that was something that deeply unsettled him. So instead, he held her tight, rubbing small circles on her back, and stroking her hair until she quieted and sat back, staring at her lap, back against the rack panel.

“We’re going back to Nevarro,” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’ll turn the quarry in, and we can make a plan.”

She nodded. “Do you still want me with you?”

“I swore to protect you.”

“I don’t want to endanger you.”

“Princess,” he chuckled. “I’ve handled worse.”

He flinched when her fingers reached out and brushed his helmet. “I suppose you have.”

He took her wandering hand in his and she weakly smiled at him, her cheeks still stained red from her sobs. She looked like a weeping angel, a maiden in mourning, a beauty that carried herself with grace despite it all. Before she could react, he was peeling off his armor, tossing pieces off haphazardly, ignoring the clangs of beskar on the floor of the Crest in favor of her excited giggles. It was music to his ears, and such a welcome sound after hearing her cries.

He took her in his arms, laying her on her back. The red on her cheeks was no longer due to tears—it seemed her eagerness was showing on her skin. Her hands pressed on his chest, picking at the fabric that covered his skin.

“The kid needs you here,” Din said, stopping his tongue from slipping.

She smirked. “The kid needs me here?”

“He likes you.” The Mandalorian thought about how Grogu looked nestled in her arms, smiling up at her. It was burned into his memory, and it was something he didn’t want to forget any time soon.

“He likes me.” Her hands traveled down his torso, tugging on the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal a bit of his golden skin.

“Yes.”

He suppressed a shiver when she pulled his shirt up further, the cold air of the Crest hitting his skin and amplifying the warmth from her hands. All he could do was stare at her and memorize the way she looked in this moment. Maybe he didn’t want to fuck her; maybe he wanted to just remain above her, hands by her ears, keeping her in his trap as he committed every curve of her body to memory.

“Close your eyes, mesh’la.”

She immediately did as told—so obedient—a gentle smirk on her face as he took off his helmet and shirt. He felt her jump when his lips met hers, then moaned when her hands cupped his face. She was so touchy, so insistent upon knowing every line and bump on his face, every hidden story in his skin. It made him kiss her more, his tongue exploring her mouth as one of his hands crept between her legs, cupping the heat between them. She gasped into his mouth, rolling her hips ever-so slightly.

“Can I taste you, princess?”

She nodded—yes, yes, yes, please, Mando—and gave him one last kiss before he pulled her shirt up and over her head, revealing her perky tits. Her hands tangled in his hair as he bit and kissed her chest, relishing every gasp and whimper when he sucked on her nipples and sucked her delicate skin hard enough to leave a mark—his mark. Just hearing her voice and listening to her needy moans was enough to make his cock throb and leak, but he had work to do.

He sat back and roughly pulled her pants off, and gently slid her panties off, noticing the damp patch that her arousal had created. Instead of tossing them to the side, he smirked, leaning back over her.

“Princess, you already made a mess, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she whined, her fingers curling around his wrist, urging his hand down and off her face.

He held steady though. “Taste how wet you already are.”

She gasped when he stuffed her panties into her mouth, and fuck, she looked pretty gagged. Din had found another way to silence the princess, and he was quite pleased with himself. He licked down from her sternum to the top of her mound, stopping before going any further. Her body arched up to meet his wet tongue, his fingers digging into her thighs, pushing her legs open to reveal her cunt. When he pulled back her folds, he chuckled. She was already soaking wet for him, already on the edge. Her begs for his tongue were muffled but he could tell she was on the brink of tears—so needy for her knight. And who was he to deny his princess?

When his tongue licked slowly around her clit, she arched up, her hand tugging his hair. He couldn’t help himself; he slid his tongue into her scorching hot, soaking slit, and moaned when he tasted her. She moaned so loud that Din was proud of himself for gagging her—it was sexy and practical. The princess was soaking his tongue, and he loved the taste of her. He needed more than this, though. He needed to feel how wet she was on his aching cock. He’d been wanting it for too long—he needed to have it.

She cried when he pulled his mouth away, but she sighed when he easily slipped two fingers inside of her, curling up and pressing against the soft spot inside of her cunt.

“Does my princess like daddy filling her like this?” He smirked when she nodded, moaning. “Does she want more?”

When she nodded again, he pulled her panties out of her mouth, and replaced them with the two fingers that had been inside of her. He groaned when she worked her tongue around his fingers, his free hand palming his length through his pants. When his patience ran out, he stood and got rid of the restricting fabric, his cock throbbing against her bare skin when he resumed his position above her, kissing her again. He lined himself up with her entrance, stroking her cheek before placing his hands beside her ears, admiring how gorgeous she looked beneath him—already such a mess for him.

“Do you want this, princess?” he asked, the tip of his cock teasing her wet entrance.

“Yes, Mando, please,” she whispered, her hands snaking up his torso and wrapping around his neck.

He slowly slid inside of her, moaning as he felt her cunt stretch around his thick length, watched her face as she took every inch until he was buried to the hilt. Din kissed her and began to slowly thrust, having to force himself to keep a steady pace because his cock was already aching and ready for release. He moaned her name, moving down onto his forearms. She felt better than he could have ever imagined—so tight, so wet, so warm—and he was trying so hard not to finish already, fuck—

“J-just like t-that—ah, fuck—yes—there, there,” she panted, her breath hitching as her walls fluttered around his cock.

“Like that, cyar’ika?” he said, sliding the head of his cock over a spot that was making her melt into the floor beneath him.

“Yes, Mando, yes, right fucking there—”

“Din,” he growled. “My name is Din. Say my fucking name, princess.”

“Din!” she cried. He sped up and embraced her, feeling her cunt begin to pulse around his cock, begging for his own release to join hers. Her face was buried in his neck, her mouth close to his ear. “Fuck, Din—you’re so good—just like that—stars, I’m gonna cum—I w-want you to fill me—fill me, please, Din—”

He moaned her name, his spend filling her pulsing cunt as she nearly shouted his name, their orgasms and voices in harmony. Their song of release filled the air of the Crest, and Din never wanted to let go of her, never wanted to forget how she looked—spent, flushed, happy—and how she felt around his cock and in his arms. He kissed her and repeated her name into her neck, feeling her quick pulse beneath his lips. She whined when he finally pulled his softening length out of her with a wet squelch—fuck, he’d have to clean that mess up—and he shushed her with a deep kiss, melding their burning mouths together. He sat up and scooped her into his arms, making her squeal, her back sticky with sweat and her face glistening. He carried her over to the rack, setting her down gently and snatching a pair of briefs.

“Are you going to get your son?” she mumbled, sitting up. “Because if so, I’m going to use the fresher.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek. “My perceptive princess.” He rose to his full height again, slipping the briefs on. “I’ll be back soon.”

He went up to the cockpit and lingered there for a little while, cradling Grogu in his arms and staring out at hyperspace. The small child snored softly, and Din couldn’t help his lips from curling into a gentle smile. He made his way back down to the rack, noticing the panel was closed. She was thoughtful; instead of risking seeing him, he could announce his arrival so she could close her eyes. It made his heart skip a beat—he’d never experienced that...kindness…before. He knocked, and the panel slid up.

Grogu only stirred slightly after being placed in his hammock, nestling into his blankets for warmth after losing his father’s. The princess was wearing his old shirt again, her legs exposed and the curve of her ass peeking out below the large garment. Din slid next to her, pressing her back into his chest, embracing her. It was where she belonged, and she knew it too, placing her hands over his and contentedly sighing.

“Get some rest Din,” she whispered, pulling the hand on her waist to her lips, kissing it.

For the first time in a long time, Din fell asleep quickly, and he dreamt of sweeping the princess off her feet for a dance at the ball, his cyar’ika resting in his arms as they spun around the ballroom.

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taglist: @andiesturgss

[terrm9]

you give it to me anyway (Tatum X Lina)

Set immediately after the ending of chapter 13.

Update (after the events of chapter 14): in this little series, Tatum does not go back to the army but is relocated to work as a bodyguard for some random politician in Rutherland. That's why this goodbye of theirs is not as heartbreaking as it was canonically. Therefore, shall the two other parts happen, they will not follow canon because I have them planned and I refuse to make new plans

WC: 3 600; rating: M (mature)

Warnings: swearing, making out, mentions of smoking, alcohol consumption, adult situations; hurt/comfort

Author’s note: my first Foreign Affair fic - it was so much fun to write I forgot about my two idiot doctors for a while. This is supposed to be part 1 of three-parts mini series, but 1) I have no idea when those two other parts will happen and 2) if it goes by plan, they will be all completely okay to read as stand-alones so hopefully this will be enjoyable no matter what.

She could feel it. She could swear she could; she could pinpoint the moment her mind stopped working and all the energy normally divided between the gears in her head and the beating of her heart suddenly focused solely on the latter.

Her mind stopped working and her heart drummed against her ribcage twice as hard.

Lina doesn’t remember much after that, after bursting through the door and demanding an answer (“Why the fuck would you take Tatum off the team?”), her memories a messy blur of shouting (hers), a voice trying to calm her down (Demarco’s) and the one that mattered in the end.

“Lina,” Tatum put his hand on her shoulder, his face stoic – but she knew better, she could see his eyes, eyes pained, eyes pleading. “Get inside. I will be with you in a moment.”

“But-“ she opened her mouth to protest, only to be stopped by Tatum’s gentle squeeze and eyes more pleading.

Just get in and wait for me, he whispered and that’s how she has gotten here.

Pacing back and forth in her room, biting her lip so hard she feels blood. Her brain is working again, thinking and analyzing (overthinking, overanalyzing) and she needs a cigarette, a shot of vodka, she needs to punch something (someone), needs to just do something.

The tremor in her hands violent and she clenches them in fists, telling herself that it’s anger, a rage running through her whole body, but there is that traitorous voice that whispers – no, screams – that she knows this is more than that, that it’s fear.

A lump in her throat formed and unmoving and Lina swallows once, twice, keeps swallowing until she cannot catch her breath but the fucking lump is still there and tears are threatening to fall from her eyes and-

No.

Line Monroe does not cry. She has learnt not to cry, hasn’t cried since-

She does not cry.

Tries to take a deep breath but it’s completely useless and Lina knows how she feels. Like a crystal vase in the middle of a big wooden table, beautiful and shiny and protected at all costs – all of it worth nothing when an earthquake comes. This is her personal earthquake, every second pushing her closer to the edge, sobs threatening to cut her open, to leave her mouth and never stop and she wonders if falling over the edge and just break into million pieces would be such a terrible thing.

She could beg. She would beg, if only that would help. She only begged once in her life.

(Lina has never been the picture of a perfect child – well, definitely not after Tatum left. No, she lived for making her mother’s political career an actual hell, she laughed into her face in the middle of a scolding. The First Daughter of Rutherland couldn’t give less fucks about what her mother wants, needs, asks for. Nobody ever asked what she wanted, needed, asked for.)

She only begged once in her life – she was seven and desperately wanted a puppy. (She could do it again at the age of twenty-two and desperately wanting her Tatum.)

Mom, I promise I’ll be good. (Mom, I promise I’ll be good.)

I will take care of him. (He will take care of me.)

I won’t eat sweets. (I won’t smoke. Won’t get drunk.)

I will do all of my homeworks. (I will go on as many fake dates as you want.)

I won’t watch TV. (I won’t cause another scandal.)

I will clean the whole house! (I will attend all the summits, I will, I will.)

Mom, please. (Mom, please.)

She never got the puppy. (She knows that no matter how much she begs, she will not get to keep Tatum, either.)

An earthquake and she is starting to accept her fate, awaiting the final shake, the strongest vibration that will make her fall from the table and shatter.

There is a soft knock on the door and she feels it coming, the magnitude strong enough to stir fear inside of people.

Tatum walks in, closing the door behind him carefully – and the Richter scale does not have enough values to describe how dangerous this earthquake has gotten.

“Lina,” he whispers softly, stretching his arms towards her and that’s it.

The crystal vase falls to the ground (into Tatum’s arms) and the shards cut skin (and the sobs cut Lina open).

It is easy after the first one – like the blood spilling out of the cut, like a plug removed and water pouring, flooding, destroying, the sobs leave her mouth and her shoulders shake and Lina hasn’t done this in four years, hasn’t shed a tear for so long but Tatum’s arms encircle her, strong and firm and safe and no, breaking into million pieces is not such a terrible thing after all.

She thinks she screams in one moment and Tatum only hugs her tighter, slowly dropping to the soft carpet, pulling Lina with him, his arms never (never, never) leaving her shivering body – and she holds onto him tighter than she holds onto her own life (own dignity, own worth, none of it more important that holding onto Tatum), hands still clenched in fists. Lina’s grip on his perfect white shirt must be uncomfortable and she is sure she is ruining the fabric, if not with her nails then definitely with her mascara-tinted tears.

For a long, long moment they stay like that – Tatum kneeling on the floor and Lina curled up against his chest, sobs wrecking her body and his hands drawing soothing circles on her back.

“We will make this work, Lina,” he whispers when the room falls into silence, the only memory of Lina’s ignominious breakdown being Tatum’s soaked shirt and her throbbing temples. “You are strong and the other bodyguards are capable. Demarco is a good agent, they will keep you safe.”

“I don’t care about being safe,” she scoffs. “All my life, everyone has only cared about me being safe. You are… You have always been the only one to care about how I am feeling. If I am happy. And now you are leaving again.”

Tatum pulls back a little – not enough to break the contact of his hands on her shoulders, just enough to look her into eyes – and with a voice that is quiet but firm, leaving no room for doubts, he says: “I am not leaving you, Lina. I won’t be returning to army, okay? I am going back to Rutherland tomorrow and only then I will be informed about this move – maybe I am only being taken off for some time. This is not the same as the last time.”

“I cannot lose you again,” she whispers, not meeting his eyes. As if she was not sure about her decision to share such moment of vulnerability with him.

“You will not. Who is my toughest galyetas here, hm?”

Lina looks up at him at that, the initial shock from hearing the old nickname (the one she hasn’t heard in years, the one she has missed for years) soon replace by her smile, however faint and it’s like the sun peeked into the room all at once.

(Eyes puffy and red, cheeks wet from tears and lips swollen from biting and has she always been this beautiful?, Tatum wonders.)

“I am,” she chuckles before Tatum demands the answer and encouraged by the moment of clarity that has settled over them, she manages to stand up and open the closet.

Impulsive would be a great word to describe Lina. Unpredictable. Fierce. Mostly fierce, Tatum thinks and it should not be a surprise for him when Lina takes off her skinny jeans and light blue blouse, carelessly throwing them over the chair and it should not be a surprise when she follows the motion to take her bra off, no, it should not be a surprise for him and yet-

The heat in his cheeks is inappropriate, for God’s sake, and he should – he must – tear his gaze off her naked back, but he cannot (and how many nights he wished he was granted this? how many days?). He stares and stares as she ruffles through the closet and it’s his time to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“I should… I will leave you to change,” he finds his voice and it’s low and husky and inappropriate, but Lina just smirks as she turns slightly to face him better and he needs to avert his gaze, he must not stare at the curve of her breasts, so perfect above her ribcage.

“You have already seen me naked,” the smirk widens. “And besides, you should get out of that wet shirt too.”

Getting out of his clothes does not sound like a good idea to him, not in the slightest, but it gives him a reason to look down and unbutton his shirt – and that motion gives him some time to take a deep breath and respond.

“Yes, I have seen you naked. When we were five and swimming in a lake.”

He can swear he heard Lina mutter ‘time to check how much has changed in those fifteen years’, but Tatum doesn’t trust himself enough to engage in that conversation and so he carefully slips out of his jacket and the stained shirt and switches his radio off before putting everything in a neat stack on the top of a drawer.

Tatum sits down again after that, his back leaned against Lina’s bed and soon she joins him, soft grey cotton shorts and tank top on. She mirrors his position and they share a private smile, because it is their position, the one everyone knows them by – knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, (heart to heart), Tatum’s arm wrapped around Lina’s shoulders and her hand resting on his right knee. It is always this position for them and Lina can’t count how many photos they have together, where they sit exactly like this.

“Are we going to be okay?” she whispers, almost not daring to break the comfort they bring out of each other. But she needs to. She needs to know that they are going to be okay.

“Of course,” he nudges her knee with his own softly and smiles down at her. For a moment, she pretends she does not see the panic swirling in his eyes, giving away that he does not know, that there is no of course for them.

She nods, her fingers drawing mindless patterns on his leg and she is sure they are not that mindless, she knows that in a language only known to them she is writing her confessions, she is writing a love letter.

More mindless patterns and Lina feels Tatum’s eyes on her, caring and loving and worried, definitely worried, but she doesn’t look up at him because the emotions his gaze can stir inside of her are enough to send her into another breakdown.

“Do you remember Scott Diaz’s party?” she asks into the silence.

Tatum chuckles loudly and squeezes the shoulder he is hugging. “Of course.”

“It was the first time I got drunk,” Lina says as if it was an explanation itself, when in reality this conversation was not making any sense so far.

Scott’s party was the one which only Lina attended when she was sixteen – Tatum had to stay home to help his father with something (it was not important to Lina back then) and Lina didn’t mind that much because she liked Scott and she believed there were higher chances of her charming him without Tatum’s alert gaze directed at her.

“Yes, I remember,” Tatum decides to play this game that makes no sense with her. “It was my toilet you threw up into that night.”

“I remember getting drunk with Scott and his stupid friends and realizing that they were a group of idiots, with Scott being the greatest idiot of them all. But I was drunk and he was my first crush and I just wanted him to like me and I was ready to do anything.”

“Yes,” Tatum says again, this time much more quietly, though. “I remember your phone call at 2 AM. You were crying and asked me to come and rescue you because you are drunk and nauseous and Scott is a dick but you might sleep with him if I don’t come.”

There is a long pause and Lina thinks he might not continue. Even worse, she fears he might ask why she is bringing the story up now.

To her utmost surprise, Tatum laughs and continues: “I stole my dad’s car so that I could get you out of there faster. You threw up in the backseat and my dad almost killed me because he was supposed to take your mother to the airport the next morning.”

Lina laughs with him shortly and the room falls into silence once again.

Once again, Lina makes sure to interrupt the comfort it brings.

“And then you left and there was nobody to rescue me anymore.”

She is not sure why she said that. No, Lina does not want to tell Tatum about those years he has been away. She is scared (and she has never been that scared in her whole damn life), scared to share the failures and slips of her past, scared that he would get up and leave-

(Because that’s what he should do)

-scared that he would see what she sees every time she looks in the mirror and Lina does not care about the opinion of the others, she does not care if someone sees her as someone worthy or not, as long as that someone is not Tatum.

Deep down, she knows he would not, he will not leave, she knows Tatum - the same Tatum that strokes her upper arm now, giving her the space to sort her thoughts – will stay with her even in the moments she does not want to stay with herself.

And there is one fear that is bigger, greater, more terrible than the fear of being left – fear of hurting him. The idea of her past being the reason of his hurt, being the thing that puts the haunted look into his eyes, makes her want to throw up.

She will need to tell him eventually because if somebody deserves her honesty, it’s Tatum Mendoza, her best friend, her savior, her Tatum.

Eventually does not mean now.

Tatum wishes Lina could say something, anything, he wants her to share her demons with him and he almost asks her to tell him everything but before he can do so, she turns abruptly and looks at him, her eyes no longer puffy or red – glossy and bright and beautiful now and she doesn’t say a word.

She just looks at him like he is the only thing in the whole world worth looking at.

"It's your eyes," she says quietly, reaching to cup his stubbled cheek with her left hand.

"My eyes?" Tatum asks, surprised by the sudden statement.

Lina nods, tracing his left eyebrow with her finger before moving to stroke the skin under his eyes and finally reaching the bridge of his nose.

"There's no one else's eyes that could see into me," she whispers and her finger traces circles around his right eye now, soothing the wrinkles - reminders of their earlier laugh.

(She doesn't know those wrinkles are hers; nobody makes him laugh like she does)

Her gaze doesn't leave those eyes, not for a second and and the intensity she looks at him with is far more intimate than her naked form, bare torso and soft skin she shared with him moments ago.

Tatum is sure he must be blushing.

It’s the moment her thumb traces his lower lip when they snap.

The atmosphere of fear and uncertainty and mutual understanding so deep it ignites further fear changing into the one of passion and need and fire, fire, fire, burning inside and outside, the moment their lips meet.

He has kissed many girls and he knows Lina has kissed many people too and fuck, they even kissed each other before but this kiss is different, filled with more than just years of friendship (years of love) – filled with years of separation, years of longing, years of pain.

They kiss as if the pressure of their tongues against each other’s could be their private painkiller.

A moment later they are on the bed and Lina is not sure how they got there, she can’t remember they mouths parting but it must be so, because she is laying on her back, her hands firmly against Tatum’s shoulder blades to pull him closer and it still feels like he is not close enough, one of his hands next to her head and the other tangled in her hair, pulling on them and massaging her scalp all at once as he kisses her the way she has never been kissed before.

Lina’s hand moves from his upper back to his shoulder, caressing the old scar there and moves to his chest and his stomach and she feels him growl against the skin of her neck at the touch, the vibrations sending shivers over her whole body; she reaches his waistband and her finger fumble on the button of his trousers as he kisses her collarbone.

His fingers circle her wrist suddenly and he moves her hand away from him, gently (as he always is with her, gentle).

“You don’t want-?” she doesn’t know what to say. Me? This? Us?

“I want everything with you, Lina,” he sighs and it’s almost painful sound. “But I cannot take an advantage of this situation. You are – we both are – worried about your future, exhausted and uncertain and I don’t want our first time to happen under such circumstances. You deserve much better.”

There is a part of her that wants to cry again. Sob again and punch someone, because of course he is right.

(It is every single part of her, actually. Every single part wants to cry and sob and punch)

He is right, as he always is. He knows what she needs even when she doesn't know it herself – he always had known. Five years apart did nothing to change that.

Lina traces the lines of Tatum naked torso with her eyes and perhaps it should scare her how familiar it feels. She knows his body, every (almost every. Almost, she reminds herself) scar and every freckle, his flexed muscles and long fingers, she knows his body, even though she grew up getting to know a body of a boy and now her fingers are caressing a body of a man.

She hates how vulnerable she feels and how much she wants to share everything with him. But that's now what she has taught herself, no.

And so, despite the disgusting feeling of tension in her throat, she smirks and asks: "Why do you care about the first time so much?"

Tatum chuckles and makes a show of rolling his eyes (not leaving his position above her, not even now), biting his lower lip deep in his thoughts.

When he looks down at her again, however, his gaze is tender, too tender and intense and Lina has to avert her eyes because surely he can see into her, he can see all that she has done, all that she has caused while he was gone, not there to save her, to take care of her.

"It's not the first time I care about," he speaks softly and any hints of amusement are gone. "It's the first time with you."                                                                    

She almost asks him about his first time – she knows it must have happened after he left. There is the part that is Tatum’s childhood best friend and is simply curious. They shared everything with each other – first crush and first kiss and first platonic love, she knew his and he knew hers. Of course she is curious about his first sex or how many firsts there were, how many people that got to know him in the way she has never gotten.

There is another part of her, a bigger one, she realizes with dread, that hopes he would tell her that he has lost count, that his five years in army were filled with infinite excesses and that he would rather not talk about it – maybe then her deeds would be justified.

She cannot ask him because it’s Tatum and he would ask back.

What would she tell him?

She laughs to herself, a sardonic sound lacking any hint of joy it is supposed to carry.

I have no idea. I am not sure about the first nor about the last time. I cannot count them, I will never be able to count them because I do not remember.

I do not remember.

“Lina,” he whispers, still hovering above her. “Don’t do that. Stay here with me.”

“I-“ she opens her mouth – for what, she doesn’t know. To explain or to apologize?

“We do not have to talk, mahal. We can just lay next to each other until the morning comes, alright?”

Tatum lays down next to her and wraps his arms around her without further questions and as she puts her head on his chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart, she feels calm for the first time in weeks.

“Alright,” she whispers back.

They lay next to each other through the night, listening to each other’s hearts and breathing and Lina thinks that even though they don’t talk, there are novels of conversations exchanged between them that night, written in the softest of sounds they make.

  *** *** ***

Ever since finding out that Tatum is Filipino, I felt this desire in my heart to throw some (nick)names for Lina in his native language here and for him to use them. I can’t see him calling her darling on daily basis, but I can see him muttering it in the language he grew up with when the moment asks for it

galyetas = cookie, biscuit (Tatum’s nickname for Lina since forever)

mahal = darling, sweetheart

 I am not exactly happy with how the ending turned out but it’s not going to get better so you have to suffer through it with me

Thank you for reading!

[macaronnya]

Fresh(?) Impressions (13)

Other parts: |Trickstar| |UNDEAD| |2wink| |Ra*bits| |Akatsuki| |fine| |Ryuseitai| |Knights| |Valkyrie| |Switch| |MaM/Double Face/Crazy:B| |Eden| |Alkaloid|

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Hello Enstarries~☆ Finally, the last part is here! Since Alkaloid is special in the sense that it's the main focus for the first 3 chapters in this game, I decided to also read the first chapter in addition to their Episode 1. And god did it take a long time to finish it. It makes sense for the main story to have each episode last long but the pacing is also quite slow. At least, to what I'm used to.

DISCLAIMER!: Everything said here is for entertainment purposes only and not meant to attack anyone. This is not an accurate description of any characters but my subjective rambling for fun, so please don't take it too seriously. (Just to be safe, I'm kinda scared of elite idol fans) Also, you will hear me mention other games a bunch of times bc I'm that bad and uncreative at explaining and I'm still grieving A3!EN's shutdown. Eng is my 2nd (or 3rd?) language so there might be some weird grammar or spelling mistakes. And I write at 3 am usually.

Without further ado....Let's Ensemble!☆

Hmmmmmm Alkaloid.....a unit compromised of "underachievers". Forced to comply to the higher ups like how card soldiers have to obey the Queen of Hearts. Well, I still don't know what exactly the theme is but the aesthetic is kinda cool Ig. I like their outfits. The colors go well together and the little differentiations aka the pips (and shoes too, but those are not that important) are a smart detail here, since there are 4 members for 4 symbols! And it's nice you can see them on their gloves & jacket as buttons and medals. Although the silhouette is pretty simple, it doesn't look boring at all through such details and and other things. I like the hats very much! Now, their songs are not really my thing, at first. They don't sound boring but I needed a bit of time to warm up to them. I'm not sure if it's just my lack of cultureness but it gives me strong Vocaloid vibes. And yes, I know Vocaloid is just j-pop and alt but that's just what came first to me. That goes especially for Distorted Heart and Believe 4 leaves, though I admit I haven't listened to them as much as others (similiar situation as 2wink). I kinda thought they were rivals or smth like that to Trickstar at first when I went through the whole enstars playlist and also saw comments saying they prefer Alkaloid as protags in contrast to Trickstar. All in all, I don't have a strong opinion on them yet but they get a pass 👍

6/10 - pretty alright I suppose

Hiiro Amagi

Man Idek what to say. He really just went "I'm gonna destroy a whole part of the entertainment industry bc my bro won't come home." And to think I thought he was just a normal guy.... I'm having a bit of a hard time describing him tbh. He's friendly, eager to learn new things, very optimistic, vvveeeerrrryyyy keen on getting along with everyone but switches tunes immediately the moment he disapproves of them, is pretty perceptive of potential danger or in serious situations and stubborn. His lack of common sense and him just thinking every new thing is a city thing & his bluntness is a funny running gag. Dude has no idea what a smartphone is, how did he even get recruited as an idol and make a resumé??? Spade fits him, since one popular speculation is that it represents knights and he's good at fighting and athletic stuff I'd say. That and he is the leader of the card soldiers (if that really is the theme). Smth about the clash of clear blue eyes and strong red hair and his hairstyle makes him pretty dashing.

6/10 - a pinch of psycho but he'd make a great neighbour

Aira Shiratori

His I love~ is kinda annoying, though it's kinda neat as a catchphrase bc it sounds like his name Aira. I wonder whether he cane up with that before or after starting his idol career 🤔 His obsession with idols is also slightly worrisome but at least he's relatively respectful (to the idols). He's average in the sense, that nothing stands out to me except those things. I got used to his voice eventually but it did remind me of a squeaking duck toy at first, in a bad way. I guess he's the heart bc I love~ and how he's just the most expressive emotionally? At least, you can read him the most easily out of the four. Although, clover would fit him more bc that's supposed to represent the commoners.

5/10 - he'd spam fancams on twitter

Mayoi Ayase

Mans was on the ceiling for the whole meeting and nobody blinked twice. If that doesn't tell you what you need to know about the cast already.... Anyways, I love his hair color so much! A strong purple for a strong personality! Everything about him leaves a strong impression but ironically, he's very shy. Or rather incredibly self-depricating for some reason. He's like Muku (A3!) but cranked up. Breath in the same room as him and he'll apologize. His sprite (the right one there) first made me think he's some unhinged crazy dude and, I mean, he's not but his Ep.1 did feel like a thriller. He's pure-hearted but he sure makes it hard to believe. Surprisingly, he has a powerful singing voice and I'd say the best in Alkaloid. He REALLY went off in Believe 4 leaves, which is such a banger btw. I heard he chomps people and all I can say is ouch with those teeth.....He's clover, which....I guess is OK. He seems more like a deadly shy spy or introverted eccentric alchemist than a normal commoner but I mean nothing speaks against it.

7/10 - he needs to work on his choice of words but I guess he's a cinnamon roll?????

Tatsumi Kazehaya

Who thought of adding a christian into the idol rooster??? So now we have son of a family tending to a temple and one tending to a church. Well, he's a chill and responsible guy. Kinda curious whether he's catholic or a protestant. My limited knowledge of taking (protestant) christian studies instead of ethics in school is finally coming to use!/jk (not a christian here but in school in Germany, you usually have to choose between christian or ethic studies and protestant christian studies usually had the more chill teachers so yeah). I'm slightly surprised by how often he mentions things of the bible in the correct context (I think). Makes me think the authors properly researched their stuff but who knows, not me that's for sure. Anyways, the way he speaks and sounds reminds me of lying on fresh soft green grass swaying in gentle wind. Actually, he reminds me awfully a lot of Libra (FE: Awakening) with how he's not to be taken easy just bc he has a gentle personality. Kinda sudden but I wanna kiss his beauty marks. I predict he's gonna consider stopping his idol activites due to his worsening injuries but the power of friendship somehow heals him. Diamond doesn't fit him much since that represents nobles and merchants. Hearts actually represent clergy, which is a missed opportunity but oh well.

7/10 - I'm gonna stick my hand in the fire and say he's the sort of christian who doesn't use religion as an excuse to oppress 80% of the human population but to make the world a better place

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Conclusion

So uhm. Cool group I suppose. I'll get to know them better after reading the main story but for now I don't have a strong opinion on them. I'm surprised to like the the christian guy and the ceiling guy so much. Especially Mayoi with his screen time of not even a 4th of the chapter lol.

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Afterwords!

After more than a month, I finally managed to read all unit stories and can at last begin reading the "!" and after that the "!!" main story. Only took me until the 4th event in the EN server.......

I have to say, there's solid worldbuilding and it's not all just happy idol stuff, which is pretty neat. That is more or less the norm for most idol games these days and I'm not saying that we need to have brutally serious real life stories but what stands out is that the characters feel.....more 3 dimensional Ig? Like, there are stereotypes of the cute baby one or the outgoing flirt but they're not just that. They have realistic worries that come from working in the idol industry, have other characteristics not exactly befitting that archetype or difficult relationship dynamics bc they're people. They can have real problematic flaws that aren't just "Oh I'm soooo clumsy ><" or "I'm such a glutton hehe" but that's just what I've heard so far, meaning that's not really a complete plus point yet. The mix of this and the wackiness of everything else makes it very interesting so far. (Just like A3! 🥲) Or maybe I just haven't played enough games and am just overrestimating an older franchise.

The music is really good as well. I feel like in idol franchises, the intrumental is often only there to support the singing but here it's actually doing more!!! Like, the instruments compliment the singing and have many layers on their own. I like following different instruments each time I listen to a song for the nth time and see in what way it enriches the song. I guess the fever time or whatever it's called highlights it. The wide range of genres and styles is also a big bonus. And just to say it here bc I can't do it anywhere else: the shuffle unit songs are godly. Not a single miss yet. Noir Neige and Moonlight Disco are the best! For the unit collabs, pretty much half of them are really hitting the spot. The rest is meh. The cover series is H I L A R I O U S and cool if nothing else.

Maybe I'll do a comparison in the future with how I'm feeling about everyone then and my past impressions. But for now, this is the end! If you have anything you wanna share or say, just keep in mind all is for fun and we're here for a good time ^^. Until we meet again~☆

[nerdypanda3126]

Playing with Fire – Ch. 8

So two things: first, I did write a little interlude between last chapter and this one, and you can find it here.

And second, in the part with Luka's journal, he's in a dark place at that point in his life and there's some suicidal ideation in there. If you'd prefer to skip over it, you can jump over the italicized parts, and as far as I know that's the only time it'll pop up in this story 💖

Read on Ao3 

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“You want to find my family?” Luka asked incredulously as he held a branch aside for her to walk past. 

He was tired, and so was she; they’d been walking all night, but Luka had insisted they needed to put as much distance as they could between them and the tower while they still had the cover of darkness. By the time the sunlight was able to filter down to them through the canopy, she suspected it was closer to mid-afternoon and they’d been up for a full twenty-four hours. He’d been stuck in his mostly-human form for the longest he’d ever had to endure it. Maybe not an ideal time to bring up her plan, but…  

“We’re already running for our lives, we don’t have a home to go back to, at least not for a while, so… While we’re out wandering anyways, I thought…” 

“We’d lead an angry mob straight to my mother and sister?” 

She rolled her eyes at him. Definitely not the best time to bring up her plan. “You’re cranky when you’re tired,” she noted, letting her own irritation slip into her tone. He grunted back, but it was more of a challenge than an assent. 

“Besides,” she pushed on, ignoring the way he bristled, “it might take a while to find them. How long do you think the townspeople will follow us, anyways? My guess is they get to the tower, see it’s empty, and turn around and go home.” 

“I’m not worried about them,” he grumbled. “There’s a certain friend of yours who didn’t seem ready to give up anytime soon.” 

If he had venom, he’d injected it into the word “friend.” She winced at his bitter tone. 

“Okay, so what’s your plan? We wander the wilds aimlessly chasing our tails for the rest of our lives?” 

He faltered and glanced over at her. The way he seemed so unsure made her realize he’d never had a plan. At least not past “stay alive and wait.” This was all new to him; he didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going. They’d traveled in as much of a straight line as was possible away from the tower, but other than that… he was lost. 

She drew closer to him and threaded her arm through his as an apology. He laid a hand over hers as he took her meaning and sighed. 

“Where would we even start?” he asked, his voice small in the quiet of the forest around them. 

“There have to be other towns nearby, and I’m sure someone would remember seeing dragons flying around 18 years ago.” 

“More townspeople…” he grumbled again. “Great.” 

She squeezed his arm in sympathy and they walked in silence for a while. She could feel the weight of the plan starting to fall on his shoulders, the idea of asking around, relying on humans, how long it might take. In truth, she hadn’t realized the enormity of the undertaking until she’d proposed it to him and now she could agree that it sounded impossible. 

“Maybe they’ve been waiting for you, too,” she dared to say. 

He let out a quiet laugh. “Ma wouldn’t, her treasure is the open skies and she wouldn’t wait for anyone.” He paused to think, then sighed. “Juleka might, though.” 

“Your sister?” 

“Mhmm. We were close when we were young. Before…” His eyes slid over to her and he let it drop. “She might’ve followed Ma at first, but I’m sure she wasn’t happy with the decision to leave me behind.” 

“What’s she look like?” Marinette asked, her curiosity overtaking her. He’d never talked about it before, but for once he seemed open to the topic. He smiled wistfully as he tried to remember. 

“A lot like me, I guess. Except, you know…not...” He gestured to himself, to his human form. “Unless she made the same mistake, but I doubt Ma would’ve let that happen again. And she’s taller than me, or at least she was when we were little. Maybe it’s changed a bit, but she was always kind of a lanky thing. Ma’s pride and joy, though, if I’m honest. It’s her fire. Most dragons have some variant of red; it’s rare enough to get blue fire, but Jules…” He shook his head, that wistful smile growing as he remembered. “Jules had violet fire. Unheard of, really. You’ll see when you meet her, she’s—” He caught himself then as he realized what he’d said. “If, I guess,” he amended quietly. 

She squeezed his arm again and smiled over at him. “When,” she agreed. “When I meet her.” 

He half-shrugged, but his smile warmed when he looked over at her. Before she could stop it, she yawned loudly and he laughed as one took him over, too. 

“First things first,” he said when it subsided, looking around at their surroundings. “We need to find a place to camp.” 

***

Later that evening they found a cave. 

Marinette had laughed a little at the prospect. Dragons, caves, towers, curses. Her life was sounding more and more like a fairytale turned inside out. Wasn’t there supposed to be a shining knight that rescued the damsel in distress from the terrible, fire-breathing dragon? 

But she didn’t feel very “in distress” as Luka joined hands with her to remove his stone and sighed with relief when his transformation took hold. She didn’t feel very in distress as he blew a small ring of fire into the floor of the cave, patting it down as he went to create a smooth, warm, bowl-shaped indent for them to curl up in together. And the only distress she felt as she tucked herself into his coils was her racing heart and trembling hands as the kiss they'd shared came back to her. He blinked up at her, sensing her hesitation, and uncurled a bit as if he intended to stand. 

She shook her head and laid her hand on his back, reassuring him, then took a moment to run her fingers over his scales, admiring them in their full splendor. Even though they were pitch black, they caught the bare light of the cave and glinted back at her like he was wearing a solid coat of jewels. They turned softer towards his belly, finer, more like the scales of a snake that she was used to as opposed to the armor he wore on top. 

As she continued to touch him, he let out that noise again, a small satisfied hum, and laid his head over his claws as he closed his eyes. 

His wings fascinated her. There was a solid joint of muscle on each side where they met his shoulders, as thick as both her fists put together, but the wings themselves seemed so fragile—she could see her hand through the delicate skin stretched thin between the bones. And yet they were able to hold not only his weight but hers, too. 

She felt it when she hit that sensitive spot that had made him ticklish before. Something like a chuckle rumbled through him and his wing flinched away from her reflexively, but he didn’t pull it out of her hands. That spot was along the side of the bone she’d been tracing, the longer one that nestled into his side when they were furled. She did it again out of curiosity and a shiver ran through him. 

She tried to remember what she’d read about dragon anatomy. But instead she was imagining how it must feel to him. Maybe something like if she were tracing the ridge of his shoulder blade when he was human. 

When she looked back at him, his eyes were still closed, like he was pretending to be asleep. She knew better, though; his breathing was uneven. As much as he was trying to hide it, he was hyper focused on her every move. 

She let her hand trail down his arm until she found one of his huge, rough hands. She picked it up despite his small grumble as his head shifted, and marveled at the largeness of it. The pad of what would be his palm was as big as her face, and the curved ebony claws reminded her so much of the hawks she’d seen in her life that she knew they were deadly. But his were each as long as her entire hand. 

As she set his hand back down, he opened an eye to look at her. She watched the slit of his pupil as it dilated to capture as much light as it could in the gloom of the cave. And the fiery blue that surrounded it was the same as the tuft of hair along his neck and at the tip of his tail. 

She should be frightened. Luka in this form was danger personified. Everything about him should have made her adrenaline spike. Should have made her want to run away or try to fight for her life. 

But as he blinked at her again, probably trying to understand what she was thinking, all she saw was… Luka. The same soul who had promised her mother he would take care of her, who had offered his life to her, who had saved her when she was too small to even know to be afraid. 

No wonder she’d still had dreams of sleeping curled up next to him. When she looked at him, at all of him, all she saw was safety and home. And as he tucked his wing around her like a blanket, she couldn’t imagine a safer place than right next to him. 

***

She grumbled awake when the light hit her eyes the next morning. She’d have to talk to him about getting curtains or something to cover that damn opening while they slept. She curled away from it, trying to press her face into Luka’s scales, but her nose was hitting something warm, and breathing, and...smoother than she expected. 

Her eyes flew open as she realized her lips had touched skin. 

It was later than normal and they’d already switched. Luka was human beside her. His arm was draped around her waist, she was curled up against his chest, and she had just nuzzled into his neck and brushed her lips against the hollow of his throat. She froze, but he was still solidly out, snoring lightly every so often, his arm a heavy weight around her. 

The night before rushed back to her. Fleeing the tower, their long walk, the cave they’d settled into for the night… and Luka. His dark hair was falling over his eyes, and those dark circles had returned after only one night of missed sleep. His lips were parted slightly as he breathed and he looked so peaceful she almost wanted to reach out and touch him if only to make sure he was real.

But she didn’t want to wake him. So as carefully as she could she extracted herself from his embrace and stood to stretch, realizing that all their walking from the past few days had caught up to her. Before she did anything else, she retrieved his stone from where he’d left it and slipped it around his neck so her flames didn’t attract any attention. Or worse, set anything in their temporary shelter aflame. 

They’d need to find food and water, but exploring their new area would have to wait until Luka woke up. For now she settled on taking inventory of what they’d brought with them, munching on a piece of bread from her parents’ bakery as she did. She froze when his lyre fell out, making an awful twang against the cave floor, but Luka only muttered in his sleep and rolled over. 

When she continued searching through the bags, her fingers caught on the leather of his journal. Another glance at Luka proved that he wouldn’t be awake for a while yet; losing sleep as they traveled had hit him harder than her. She walked as close to the entrance of their cave as she dared and sat in the light to read. 

The first few pages were mostly unintelligible. Scribbles and squiggles as Luka struggled with the quill and ink. Then came pages of the alphabet, unsteady at first, and traced over what must’ve been Jagged’s handwriting. The letters got stronger, more confident, and then on the next page, his first written word. Just his name, but she could almost see the pride he must’ve felt in accomplishing that one word. It stood alone on the page. She imagined a young Luka running out to show Jagged his hard work, beaming with the joy of learning a new skill. 

Then other words started to fill the pages. Jagged Stone, fire, bond, wings, rabbit, trap, tower. Naming things around him, sometimes with little drawings that accompanied the word. 

But then she saw the word “bakery.” Her breath caught. That wasn’t a word that Luka would be familiar with unless… 

Underneath that was a sentence. “My bonded lives in a bakery.” 

And as the pages went, she found more little tidbits about her life interspersed between Luka’s practicing. “My bonded has blue eyes.” “My bonded has black hair.” “My bonded likes the color pink.” “My bonded likes flowers.” 

It seemed he’d tried to learn as much about her as he could, but either Jagged never told him her name or Luka never asked because every one of them started with “my bonded.” She wondered if he did it on purpose. It seemed like something he would do. Waiting not only to meet her but to hear her name. 

He’d filled the next page, and it looked like a letter. Addressed to her. She glanced back at him, but he was turned away from her and she couldn’t see his face. She remembered how he’d stiffened when she asked if she could read it before he’d brushed it off as nothing. But he did say she could read it… 

So she did. 

***

To My Bonded,

You probably won’t ever get the chance to read this. I’m not sure why I’m even writing it other than I guess if the worst happens maybe there will be a small piece left of me that I can hope you would come to know.

From what I know of you, I think you might be someone who would listen.

Firstly, I don’t blame you if you’re angry with me. It probably hasn’t been easy on your end and I don’t know how much you’ve been told about our situation. Which is the worse curse, I wonder, knowing everything and waiting to see how it unfolds or knowing nothing and having to make a decision. Either way, I guess it’s really my fault anyways.

As for the second thing. I don’t know that I’ll have the chance to show you so I want you to know. I do care for you. Deeply. Sometimes that scares me because I don’t even know your name. The only thing I remember is seeing your eyes that day I rescued you. When they opened, when I knew you were okay, I was so relieved that I hardly even noticed your eyes were blue until Jagged reminded me years later. But they are, aren’t they? I wonder if they were like that before, or if maybe that’s another part of me that stayed with you.

I’m both dreading and hoping for the day I get to see those eyes again. Maybe when that day comes I can explain myself and apologize and tell you all this in person. Until then.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I didn’t think I’d write to you again. But Jagged told me today you had a ‘crush’ on someone in your village. A taylers boy, although I don’t know what that means. He told me about the fire too. He didn’t really have to. I felt it. I felt how your heart hurt and I wanted to go to you. Maybe I should have. I was afraid. 

Jagged said you were fine, that you would be fine. But next time I feel that, I’m coming to you. Scared or not.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I am sick of this place. I’m sick of this tower and sick of the waiting and sick of feeling like I’ll be stuck like this forever. I thought you’d come for me. Aren’t you curious about me? Don’t you know by now what’s happening, why I’m still here, that I’m waiting for you? Or maybe you’re staying away because you know. Maybe you want it to be this way, maybe this is your choice.

I don’t mean that. If you knew I’m sure you’d be here already. I guess I wish I knew how much longer it’s going to be like this. How much longer I’ll be waiting for you.

Yours, Luka

---

Dear Bonded,

I keep writing to you for some strange reason. It’s a sort of comfort, knowing that you’ll probably kill me before you get to read any of this. I’m sure that’s your answer now because your village has started sending men to kill me instead. They come up from your village anyway.

It’s okay. I get it. You’re probably scared of me. The rest of them have been so I can only assume you think the same. I haven’t let them win yet. For now there’s still a small part of me that hopes you don’t know anything about this. That it has nothing to do with you. For now anyways.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I hate the taste of blood.

Yours, Luka

---

Dearest Bonded,

This is my last letter to you. I can’t keep doing this. The men keep coming. I’ve tried everything to get them to leave me alone, but nothing seems to work. And I’m tired. I know you’re probably not coming. You won’t come. Even if you did, you’d be here to kill me. And I had every intention of giving you that choice, but I’ve made my decision. The next time those men come I’m not fighting anymore.

If you do find this. If you do come for me. I’m sorry. I’ve loved you with every breath.

Yours, Luka 

---

Dearest Bonded,

I’m a coward. Or a fool in love. Either way, I’m still here. I have to have faith in you.

Yours, Luka

***

She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder. Luka laughed as he sat down behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist to press his chest against her back and lay his head on top of hers.

“Dramatic, wasn’t I?” he asked, still chuckling. As much as she could she swatted at his hand with the journal. 

“You scared me! You shouldn’t come up behind someone like that!” 

“We’re the only ones here, who else did you think it was?” 

Damn him, she could hear his satisfied smirk in his voice. She swatted him again for good measure, even as he pressed a kiss to her hair, but his last two letters were still sharp in her mind. 

“Why’d you stop writing?” she asked, flipping through the many blank pages that were left. She felt him shrug behind her. 

“I didn’t see much point to it, really. Either you’d come and we’d live happily ever after and I could tell you everything myself or… not. And it wasn’t like I ever expected you to want to read it if things went badly.” 

“How long after this…” she started, but she lost her voice halfway through. She had to swallow hard past the lump that was forming to find it again. “How much longer did you have to wait for me?”

He was quiet for a moment and he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, probably trying to soften the blow. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. 

“It does to me. Luka, if I’d known any of this—why didn’t you let Jagged tell me?” 

He let out another of those soft laughs behind her and his breath ghosted across her neck. “He wanted to. We fought about it a lot. But I figured that would only make you feel… obligated.” 

She thought about that while she stared at his last entry. Of course it was impossible to think what she might’ve done, or how she might’ve felt because she only knew what had happened. The series of events that led her to him. The nightmares and the flames and thinking she was a curse to her family and her village. And up at the tower Luka was dealing with his own nightmare. He’d almost given up hope and when she did come to the tower she’d almost proved him right. 

His arms tightened around her as if he could sense where her thoughts had gone. As if to prove he was okay and it turned out alright. She pressed back against him and could feel his heartbeat thudding steadily through her own chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe it didn’t matter. They were together now. That’s what she’d told him. To stop blaming himself for what happened. She didn't blame him for anything and at the very least he'd already forgiven her, too. 

She turned in his arms and slid her hand behind his neck to pull his face down to hers. As she pressed her lips to his, it felt like a promise. A promise that he’d never have to be apart from her like that again, bond or not. 

He melted against her and for a moment they were both lost in each other, in the knowledge that in this moment they were safe and together and that was all that mattered. 

[songsformonkeys]

Digging Up Bones (whiskey x f!reader) - chapter 4

[Banner by the lovely @yespolkadotkitty ]

Summary: You work for the Statesmen as the head of their medical department. It’s your job to patch up anyone who gets back wounded and to work on ways to prevent them from getting badly wounded in the first place.

Agent Whiskey, in particular, seems to be more accident-prone than the rest and he never passes up a reason to come see you, whether for real injuries or imaginary ones. The two of you form a close friendship, which slowly turns into something more.

Then a British man with a headshot wound and a fascination with butterflies shows up in your emergency room and in the events that follow you’re forced to reevaluate just about everything you thought you knew about your partner.

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Your hands were shaking from exhaustion where they rested in your lap, clutching the bloody face mask you had been wearing for the past several hours. Your scrubs looked like a failed tie-dye experiment in light blue and red and the light in the room was unforgivingly bright, illuminating the aftermath of the surgery in stark detail.

They had wheeled Whiskey out of here about half an hour ago if your sense of time was still reliable. As soon as he and the others were out of the room, you had slumped down onto a chair and you hadn't been able to get up since then.

The pilot had said that Whiskey was stable on the way back but there was a reason you were the medical expert in this operation and not him because stable wasn't the adjective you would have used. Sure, you had been fairly confident that he wouldn't die, but that confidence had been more due to faith in your skills rather than a lack of severity in Whiskey's condition. Multiple stab wounds to his right thigh, his right arm, and a particularly nasty one in his side, as well as a broken leg, broken pinky finger, a cut across the bridge of his nose, and bruising that was out of this world. The pilot had said that Whiskey had fallen out a window and the bloody mess that had been placed in front of you made you believe that. The detail that, surprisingly, had been the most jarring was the fact that Whiskey hadn't been wearing his hat. His head had looked small and vulnerable without it and you had reached out to stroke it before you'd had time to process what you were doing. The others had definitely noticed but neither of them had said anything.

If it had been anyone but Whiskey on that table you would have gotten a thrill from the challenge of putting them back together (another thing Tonic had forbidden you from saying out loud) but, when it was him, the urgency of your movements was instead driven by fear. It was something you weren't familiar with. The fear that you would make a mistake and that you wouldn't be able to save him messed with your head and, more than once, you had to physically shake your head to get the thoughts to stop pestering you. One of your assistants, you couldn't remember who since you had been so focused on Whiskey, had offered to switch with you. She was probably worried that your friendship with the patient would affect your performance. You had refused. You were the one best equipped at handling this and if Whiskey were to die, he would die by your hand. Only then would you have been able to accept that everything had been done that could be done to save him.

Luckily, Whiskey hadn't died. It had taken hours but in the end, you had managed to patch him up and when you declared him stable it was actually the truth. It would still be hours before he woke up and when he did, he would no doubt be in a lot of pain but the immediate danger was over. Whiskey would live and you could relax. Or collapse, depending on whom you asked.

Your legs felt like lead, your mouth was dry and you could feel a massive headache building behind your eyes. You should go back to your apartment, get some sleep before Whiskey woke up, but it was as if your body had stopped cooperating. It didn't worry you. You were sure you would regain control over your body at some point, preferably sooner rather than later.

Another 20 minutes passed without any luck in that department but you never got to find out just how much longer it would have taken because, once those 20 minutes had passed, the door opened. You turned and saw Tonic standing there. He looked at you and then at the state of the rest of the room.

“Whatcha doing here, Moonshine?” he asked a little hesitantly as he stepped into the room.

“My legs don't work,” you replied stupidly. And inaccurately. Your legs worked just fine, you just weren't in control of them at the moment. It was a purely psychological thing which, as luck would have it, was Tonic's field of expertise.

“I'm not surprised,” he said, “You've been down here for hours. I hear Agent Whiskey owes you one hell of a thank you when he wakes up.”

You shrugged as Tonic gently pried the face mask from your hands and tossed it in a trashcan. You began protesting that the trashcan wasn't the place to dispose of the bloody mask but Tonic calmly hushed you.

“The assistants are waiting just outside the door for you to leave so they can clean this place up properly.”

You looked towards the door with a look of confusion.

“Why didn't they come inside?” you asked. Tonic gave you a slightly awkward smile.

“They were...worried about you,” he settled for and you didn't have the energy to question him for further details right now. He held a hand out and as you took it, he pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt surprisingly stable and normal and you shifted a little from foot to foot.

“Let's go get you cleaned up,” Tonic said and you nodded, following him outside.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Sitting still at a sick or hurt person's bedside had never been your thing. You'd watched families and friends do it, and the gesture of just sitting there and maybe holding their loved one's hand had always seemed to bring them comfort and calm. It wasn't entirely clear why. The act probably wouldn't do much to increase the chances of survival of the person they cared for. Although, you supposed it probably wouldn't make it worse either.

You had never sat at someone's bedside that way. Hadn't known anyone who got sick or hurt enough to end up in a hospital. With your parents, they had been gone too quickly for there to even be a trip to the hospital. Every other sick or hurt person you had seen had been your patient, which meant there had been plenty more useful things for you to do than sit by their bed and pet them.

With Whiskey, the lines were...blurred. He was your patient but he was also your friend. And the knot of worry in your belly just kept growing, even though you knew the surgery had gone well. So when you entered his room and found him sleeping in his hospital bed, hooked up to a whole array of medical equipment, you figured that maybe it was worth a try just to see what all the fuss was about.

You dragged a chair over to his side, sat down and took his hand, just like you'd seen others do. But almost immediately you noticed that it didn't feel right. It felt weird. Whiskey's hand was warm and it felt strong even in his unconscious state. Under different circumstances, it wouldn't have been an unpleasant hand to hold. But now, the hand was way too still in your grip and the lack of jokes and flirty remarks was a clear reminder that something was wrong. There was no way Whiskey would have let you hold his hand like this without teasing you mercilessly about it.

For five minutes, you sat there, waiting for the sense of calm and comfort to kick in. All it did was make you go over, in your mind, all the things that could have gone wrong with the surgery, all the ways Whiskey could have died. It made your chest hurt and after five minutes you couldn't take it anymore. So you stood up and instead busied yourself with checking every single one of Whiskey's vitals on the monitors, the IV drip, the bandaids covering his stitches. This was you in your element and as you noted that everything seemed fine, the calm you had been longing for finally began to creep in. It was mingled with pride over the excellent job your colleagues had done.

“You're in good hands,” you smiled and told Whiskey, absent-mindedly, as if you expected a response. When it didn't come, your smile dimmed a little and you went back to check the monitors.

You had been told that he would wake up soon. That the anesthetics should be wearing off within the next half an hour. You didn't want to leave before then. Didn't want Whiskey to have to be alone when he woke up.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 It took another twenty minutes before he did, during which time you'd tinkered with the medical equipment, smoothed out his blanket several times, and tried a second time to hold his hand, with the exact same result as last time.

The almost inaudible groan from the bed, when he finally came to, caught your attention instantly and you watched the way Whiskey's pulse sped up slightly on the monitor before you moved to his side where he would be able to see you.

You waited, holding your breath, for several seconds before Whiskey slowly blinked his eyes open. His gaze moved aimlessly around the room before finally landing on you, although there were no signs of recognition so it was unclear how much of what he was seeing that were actually registering. He opened his mouth and tried to speak but only a soft wheezing noise came out. He closed his eyes and you moved closer, wanting to tell him not to go back to sleep again. He looked so pale and it scared you.

When Whiskey opened his eyes for a second time, his eyes found yours again. He opened his mouth again to speak and this time he managed to get a single word out, though it was barely more than a whisper.

“Angel.”

You felt yourself pale as fear gripped you like an icy fist. Angels? Why was Whiskey seeing angels? Was something wrong? You'd looked at the monitors only a moment ago and everything had been fine. Was there something you were missing?

“W-what?” you asked, eyes wide and afraid. Whiskey looked at you and he must have seen your fear because a second later his eyes widened too. He opened his mouth and made a noise that sounded like a pained grunt. For a second you were at a complete loss at what you do. Whiskey was dying and seeing angels but you were monitoring everything going on in his body and there was nothing wrong. Broken bones and stitches, sure but there was nothing that should be killing him right this second.

Whiskey made the same sound again and then a third time before you realized that they weren't just grunts but him trying to speak. You leaned closer.

“Youu,” Whiskey wheezed.

“Me? Me what?” you asked and you could have sworn to God that Whiskey actually rolled his eyes at that.

“Angel,” he forced out and it took you a moment to realize. When you did, you dropped into the chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut and, with a relieved sigh, you leaned forward to rest your face against the mattress of his bed.

“Don't scare me like that,” you mumbled into the sheets, unsure if Whiskey would even hear you. He might have because you felt fingers move next to your face before the pad of one of Whiskey's fingers touched your left temple. Maybe you were just imagining but the touch felt like an apology. You stayed still for a little bit, letting Whiskey gently stroke the inch of skin which he could reach. It felt nice.

After a short while, Whiskey's finger stilled. When you turned your head slightly to look at him, his eyes were closed again but there was a small smile on his face.

You snuck out, as quietly as possible, not to wake him up.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “Hiya! How's Whiskey?” Tequila asked as you entered the office next to Harry's cell. You threw a glance at the one-way mirror and saw Harry sitting cross-legged on his bed, scribbling something into a notebook.

“He's...as good as can be expected... considering...” you told him and Tequila looked relieved. You knew the two agents had worked together on several missions and despite them bickering like an old married couple it was obvious to everyone that they cared for each other. “Give him a day or so to wake up a bit more and then you can go see him if you like,” you added and Tequila shrugged.

“We'll see,” he said, “Don't want him to think I miss him too much. Besides, I quite enjoy the peace and quiet around here without his constant hurrying about.”

It was a lie and you both knew it. Besides, the base had been anything but peaceful and quiet for the past two days. You and Tequila had been spared since you were both otherwise occupied, with Whiskey and Harry respectively, but the rest of the base was in a state of organized chaos trying to make sense of the sudden surge of violence all over the world yesterday. There were a couple of other agents who'd also been hurt yesterday but those injuries had been minor enough that they either had taken care of them by themselves or they'd been taken care of by the rest of the medical team once they got back. Whiskey seemed to be the only one from the Statesmen who'd suffered any severe damage, although the death toll among the civilians were staggering.

The agents that had been out on missions when the violence happened all had similar stories of what had gone down. They described that it had been as if a sudden rage had taken control over them and they had been powerless to stop it, hadn't even wanted to stop it. Then, just as suddenly as it had flared up, the rage had disappeared and it had only been then that the agents had realized the consequences of their actions. A couple of them had killed civilians. Two of them had tried killing each other but luckily neither had managed. Tonic had set up shop in Champs office all day to gather as much information as possible about what had gone down. You did not doubt that Whiskey would be put through the same questioning as soon as he was well enough to talk.

No one had any clue why the violence had happened but Ginger was confident that it had something to do with the extreme low-frequency signal she had picked up before bringing Harry in. Speaking of. You nodded in Harry's direction.

“What is he doing?” you asked. Tequila turned to look as well before he answered.

“Drawing, I think,” he said with an almost soft smile in Harry's direction, “He asked for some pen n' paper earlier and I figured there wouldn't be any harm in giving him that.”

“So Tonic has cleared him for handling sharp objects then?” you asked a little curiously and Tequila paled and stuttered. You held your hands up in a calming gesture.

“I'm sure it's fine. If I were him, I would want to figure out where I was before killing myself or anyone else.”

Tequila didn't look at all comforted by this.

“All the same, we should probably...” he said and got up from his chair while gesturing vaguely towards Harry's cell. You nodded.

“He's due for his medical check-up anyway.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The check-up went quick and painless. Harry sat patiently on the edge of his bed while you examined the healing wound under his eye patch and at the back of his head. All was looking good and healing properly. You asked him about any pain, loss of motor function, or if he had noticed anything strange or painful besides the memory loss. Harry shook his head and said that besides not having any memories from half of his life, everything was just fine. You noted the tone of sarcasm in his voice and gave him an apologetic smile.

As you examined Harry, Tequila tried to stealthily smuggle the pen into his back pocket. It wasn't something you or Harry noticed as he was doing it but it became obvious once the examination was done and Harry turned to pick up his notebook again.

“My pen,” he said, looking at the floor around the table, “It must have rolled off...Do either of you see it?”

You shook your head in mock confusion but Tequila immediately folded and blurted out his confession.

“I took it!” he admitted.

“Oh?” Harry said, confused. You looked at Tequila with a raised eyebrow. You did know for a fact that they let this man out on undercover missions, and that he almost always came back successful, but after the display you had just witnessed you definitely began to wonder just how he managed that if this was him under pressure to lie.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Tequila said, straightening his back, “I know I said you could have it but then my colleague here reminded me that we don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself? On a pen?” Harry asked with a frown before he let out another “Oh...” he cleared his throat and looked between you and Tequila.

“Mister...Tequila, miss...Moonshine. Let me assure you that I am in no danger of hurting myself. It seemed I've cheated death once already, for which I am very grateful. Now I simply wish to get well enough that you would allow me to go home...as soon as we figure out where that is.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tequila begin to reach for his back pocket so you quickly spoke.

“I'm sorry, Harry. It's just the protocol. But I'll try and have To...Tom come by later to talk to you about having some pens in here.”

Harry looked a little disappointed but he nodded and resigned to a penless afternoon.

You and Tequila stuck around a bit longer to talk to Harry. You found out that what he had been drawing in the notebook were butterflies. He told you that it calmed him. Tequila looked at the drawings with something akin to awe and declared Harry a proper artist. You and Harry laughed at the young agent's excitement.

When you and Tequila eventually had to leave, you both felt a little bad but Harry assured you that it was okay. He had books to read until Tonic/Tom got there.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 You swung by Whiskey's room on the way back to your office to write today's report. He was sleeping again so you only stayed a couple of minutes to check on him. Before you left, you stopped at his bedside and reached out to stroke a lock of dark hair from his forehead. Checking for a fever, you told yourself, even though you had his exact temperature on a screen to your left.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Over the next few days, things calmed down on several fronts.

Tequila and Tonic took turns keeping Harry company. The Englishman had been cleared to get his pens back and spent most of his days drawing. Harry was a sweet and caring man and the more time either of you spent with him, the harder it was to believe that he was actually intelligence. Every time the door opened to his cell, Harry started and then apologized for being startled. He was a proper English gentleman. One day you had walked into the office next to the cell, only to find it empty, and as you looked into Harry's cell through the mirror, and saw Harry in the middle of teaching Tequila how to properly make tea. The younger agent had looked deeply concentrated.

The agency still wasn't sure about the motive behind the violent attacks all around the globe but Ginger had managed to trace the source of the extreme low-frequency waves to peoples' cellphones and a couple of days later news reached the world that billionaire Richmond Valentine had passed away. The exact cause of death wasn't revealed but the timing of it all was highly suspicious.

The Statesmen had also sent several people from the medical department out to assist at various hospitals, that were now filled to the brim with people hurt in the attacks. Only you and two others of the medics stayed behind, in case of an emergency and to care for Whiskey.

Whiskey was slowly but steadily getting better by the day. He was still weak and, even though he refused to admit it when anyone besides you were in the room, he was in a lot of pain. You spent more time with him than strictly needed, from a medical point of view, but both of you enjoyed the company.

Whiskey had no memory of what had happened but he found the anecdote about him scaring you with the angel comment highly amusing and laughed out loud, before promptly doubling over in pain and turning pale as a sheet. You kept the amusing anecdotes to a minimum after that.

Tonic came in to question him about what had happened during the attack. Whiskey's story was similar to the others. He explained that he had been fine when he was alone in the room and talking to you, but as soon as the other man had gotten in through the door the rage had consumed Whiskey too and they had fought in the room, outside the room, running down several flights of stairs before Whiskey had managed to overtake him. Whiskey hadn't noticed the other man who came running at him with a knife before it was too late and he'd been stabbed and thrown out the window. After that, he didn't remember much.

Tonic had written it all down before disappearing again. When he left, Whiskey slumped down on the bed with a pained sigh. Without him asking, you gave him some painkillers.

“Thank you, angel,” he whispered.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 A couple of weeks later you walked into Whiskey's hospital room only to stop dead in your tracks as soon as you crossed the threshold. The bed was empty. You looked around the room, even though there were no places in the room to hide.

Frowning, you hurried back outside and found Vermouth by one of the computers in the other room.

“Whiskey's room is empty!” you said a little too loudly and she jumped before realizing it was you.

“Yes,” she said, “He left two hours ago and...Boss, I know you know what you're doing but should he really be up and out of the hospital already?”

You blinked, confused by the sudden incompetence in your otherwise very skilled colleague.

“What? No, of course, he shouldn't! Why would you even let him leave?”

Now Vermouth looked equally confused.

“But he said you'd given him permission to go home for the day. Hell, he even had a signed note from you.”

The two of you looked at each other as the puzzle pieces began falling into place.

Fucking Whiskey!

“If I murder him,” you began, “Will you help me bury the body where Champ won't find it?”

Vermouth nodded, trying to keep a straight face and not smile.

“Of course, Boss. And if we can't find a good digging spot, might I suggest hiding him in one of the old liquor barrels?”

“Excellent idea! I'll call you when I find him.”

“Good luck!” Vermouth called after you as you left the office.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 You banged hard on the door of the apartment before taking a step back and crossing your arms over your chest. It took almost two minutes before you heard the lock click open and you had just begun to entertain the thought of kicking the door in when Whiskey opened. He was still wearing the medical department's gray sweatpants, with one leg cut off to fit over the cast, but had somehow managed to wrangle himself out of the gray sweatshirt and into a white t-shirt with a red and gray plaid button-down shirt over. His Stetson was perched atop his head for the first time since he'd been injured. It was pushed back slightly to reveal more of his pale and tired face. There were circles under his eyes so dark they were almost purple and a slight stubble was unevenly sprinkled across his normally so clean-shaven jaw. He looked about two seconds away from toppling over.

“Moonshine...” he said a little hesitantly, probably noticing the expression on your face.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded to know.

“I live here,” Whiskey replied and you honest-to-god stomped your foot in frustration. Whiskey noticed and raised an eyebrow. A smile began to form on his lips but then he met your angry gaze and he instead adopted a more somber expression.

“Why are you not in your hospital room?” you continued, “Vermouth said you told her I gave you permission to go home. You even faked a note?”

“Darlin', relax. I feel fine. I don't need to...”

“Really? And what degree in medicine makes you qualified to make that judgment?” you snapped, “Because last time I, your doctor, checked you had just broken several bones, been stabbed even more times and the wound in your side is still held together mostly by sheer will-power. So I wouldn't say you're fine.”

Whiskey's jaw clenched slightly. He was annoyed with you, which was just as well because you were furious with him and his recklessness.

“I don't like being cooped up,” Whiskey shot back, crossing his own arms over his chest and only swaying a little as he let go of the support of the doorframe.

“And I don't like it when you're hurt!”

Whiskey's expression instantly softened.

“Moonshine...” he began.

“Don't Moonshine me right now! I didn't spend hours stitching you up just so you could go out and tear those stab wounds open again. It's a miracle that stab to your side didn't hit anything vital.“

Whiskey opened his mouth to speak but you interrupted him before he could get anything out.

“You almost died!...and I was really worried.”

Any trace of annoyance was long gone from Whiskey's face. Instead, there was a softness and almost sadness in his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized and you held your arms crossed in front of you.

“Yeah well...you should be,” you said, feeling a little calmer now that he'd admitted that you were right, “You're not well enough to be out yet.”

Whiskey pursed his lips and then he sighed.

“Alright, darlin'. Let me just turn off the TV and then I'm all yours.”

[asian-hero]

[Im]perfectly You

A/N: Got an idea while watching something completely unrelated to bnha, so that was fun (I’m also sorry if this turns out to be absolute garbage)

I also like to imagine that this is the same Shouto and (Y/N) from “The Words I Desperately Want To Say,” so do with that what you will

Summary: While to the general public, Pro Hero Shouto was a symbol of otherworldly beauty and perfection, the man himself found it hard to understand how anyone could think he was attractive, let alone perfect. So, when doubts start to form in his head, it’s a good thing his partner is there to remind him of all the wonderful things about him

Words: 3,580

Todoroki Shouto, while a fairly smart man, could admit that he had his moments where he was rather dense. If you were to ask him what’s the best plan of action when working a rescue mission, he’d be the absolute best man to ask, as he’d have a level head, and would know every single point of entry where a Pro could go in and rescue the civilians in danger. If you asked him to help you out with some financing issues, while at first he may be a bit confused, he’ll eventually get it and help you plan for ten years into the future.

However, if you asked him why the reporter was asking him about his skin care routine, or how he looks so “effortlessly handsome” while working, he would simply shrug his shoulders and state that they do that for every other person they interview.

Perhaps one of the most shocking traits of Shouto’s is the fact that he doesn’t see himself the way the general public sees him. While most people view him as one of the most attractive heroes, he can’t even stand to look at his reflection for more than a minute, otherwise he’ll find things to criticize, things that make him feel ugly. He’s come to the conclusion, after years of testing, that it’s best for him to simply turn around and face something else if there’s a mirror or any reflective surface around, just so that he doesn’t have to see himself.

Of course, he doesn’t tell anyone about these issues. He hasn’t told his family, his friends, and he certainly won’t tell you. Not because he doesn’t trust any of them, but because he doesn’t want to be a burden to those around him, he doesn’t want his issues to be a source of sorrow, and he certainly doesn’t want pity. So, he simply keeps these bitter, harmful thoughts to himself, not letting anyone in on what’s going on in the back of his mind.

Somehow, though, you manage to break through his facade, the one that he carefully constructed to keep everyone else out, and he’s not sure of how to feel about that.

The first time that Shouto feels a pang in his chest is when the two of you are relaxing on the couch, on a rare day off from your hectic lives. His whole body covers yours, his arms wrapped around your torso while his face is buried in your chest, a small sigh of content escaping his lips. You’re watching some random food documentary the two of you decided to put on, completely entranced by the sights and sounds you’re seeing come to life on the screen. For a while, the two of you sit in complete silence, neither of you wanting to break the peaceful air around you. 

With your eyes still glued to the screen, one of your hands seems to move on its own, tangling itself in Shouto’s red and white locks. As your hand begins to brush back the strands away from his face, your fingers soothingly scratching at his scalp, Shouto tenses under your touch. He feels his breath start to catch as he feels your fingers move through his hair, almost as if you were inspecting it. Due to just how much he uses his quirk, his hair ends up feeling coarse and dry, with a few singed parts in the front. Though he tries to remedy that with the many types of shampoos and conditioners the world has to offer, he just can’t prevent the damage his quirk has done. 

After the feeling of your hand becomes too much for him, he lifts his head up from your chest, almost too quickly to not be suspicious. When his eyes meet your own confused ones, he doesn’t answer you with words, instead opting to wrap his arm around your waist, lifting you up a bit while he shifted his body to be behind yours, effectively keeping your hands off of his hair.

For a second, you’re oddly still, and it makes Shouto anxious. However, after a few seconds had passed, you let out a small giggle, relaxing your body into his, patting his thigh lightly. “If you wanted to be the big spoon all you had to do was ask,”

Luckily for him, you didn’t question his behavior. Though, for the rest of the night, Shouto couldn’t stop the feeling of anxiety from coursing through his veins. While he eventually found his breath, and he was no longer shaking, he still couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread for the rest of the night. 

He hated that he felt this way, for something seemingly so stupid.

The next time that he finds himself moving away from your touch is when the two of you are out shopping for groceries. Since it was after your patrol, you didn’t bother to change out of your hero costume, choosing to throw over your white button up shirt and blue jeans over your suit, figuring that it was good enough. You didn’t even bother buttoning up the shirt, and it took all of Shouto’s self control to not make fun of your outfit, though, he supposed that he couldn’t judge you, as he only threw over his overcoat on top of his own suit. 

As the two of you perused through the aisles, buying way too much food for the two of you, you found yourselves in a comfortable conversation. You talked about how patrolling with Yaoyorozu  went, and he told you about how Bakugou invited himself to his and Midoriya’s patrol. As the two of you continued to walk, with him holding the basket and you walking beside him, he felt your hand slowly snake its way to his, intertwining your fingers together. 

For a while, Shouto didn’t mind the way that your hand fit in his. In fact, he quite enjoyed the way his hand seemed to fold over yours, how small yours felt in his own. However, as soon as you started brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, he could feel just how different your hands were from his. While yours were soft and smooth, his were rough and dry, as if they hadn’t been taken care of. Where as yours didn’t have any bumps or bruises, his had callouses and tiny cuts from the extreme temperatures he held. The way that you stroke his hand soon turned from a soothing action to something that filled Shouto with vile thoughts. In all of his negative thoughts about himself, he never thought that his hands would be the issue. 

It finally became too much when you squeezed his hand and he could feel his callouses digging into the palm of your skin. Detangling his hand away from yours, he pointed towards the produce section, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“Look, they have a sale,”

At first, he was sure that you were going to call him out for his actions, as you wore your confusion and slight hurt on your face. However, that was quickly replaced with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and an excited “let’s go!”

For the rest of the day, you didn’t try to hold his hand again, and Shouto wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

As the months went on, Shouto had wrongly assumed that his self-esteem issues would sort themselves out, that he’d be back to some semblance of normality. However, they only seemed to get worse, to the point where he couldn’t deal with your eyes being on him for more than a few minutes, otherwise he’d get anxious of what you were thinking. Of course, he still hadn’t told you what was bothering him, not because he was afraid of what you’d think, but for the fact that he knew you’d be upset for him, and he didn’t want to put that on your shoulders. 

Sometimes, he wasn’t as bothered by the voices of self-doubt in his head. On those days he’d gladly let you hold his hand, let you shower him in love. Other times, the voices would be too loud, so much so that he would revert back to how he acted before he met everyone from U.A., cold and standoffish, not that he meant to. Whenever those voices got to him, he wouldn’t even let you look at him for too long, instead politely telling you to stop staring. Whether it be that you were close enough to see the dry skin patches on his face, or the fact that you could see just how badly he was scarred, he didn’t want you to look. 

Eventually, all of the doubts in his mind started to make cracks in his facade, and soon enough he felt himself breaking down.

Right in front of you.

It was a rare chance that Shouto would get home before you did. Unfortunately for you, you were saddled with a mountain of paperwork that needed to be done quickly, so you told him that you’d be late, and that he shouldn’t wait up for you. So, as Shouto stepped into your shared home, he did what he normally did once he got home: make dinner, eat, take a shower, change into more comfortable clothes, and then head to bed.

Everything was going well at first. He cooked dinner by himself, making sure to make enough for you to eat when you got home. Once he’d finished eating and putting your plate in the fridge, he moved to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the closet and switching on the fan as he started the shower. Usually, he wouldn’t look in the mirror once he’d undressed, instead opting to  look at the wall as he moved to the shower. However, for some reason, on this day, Shouto decided to take a quick glance at the mirror before he headed into the shower.

Truly a big mistake on his part.

As his eyes landed on his reflection, the first thing he noticed were the scars on his skin. Running his hand over the ones on his arms, he cringed at the feeling of the slightly raised skin. As he continued to observe his body, he only felt his mood grow sour, picking on every single flaw that he could see. Running his hands through his coarse hair, he continued to stare at the large scar covering most of the left side of his face. He took in the deep reddish tone that it had, how the skin had puckered and left him with a rough, unpleasant texture. Looking straight into his own eyes, he looked at the two different colors with discontent, wishing that there were a solid color instead of being split. Eyes drifting further down, he looked at the other scars that littered his body, looked at how there wasn’t an inch of unblemished skin. He looked as the colors ranged from an iridescent pinkish color to more angrier reddish tones, ones that could never quite heal, and would always leave him with these ugly marks.

Continuing to analyze every single flaw on him, Shouto didn’t hear the front door open, nor did he hear you call out, announcing your presence. Footsteps drawing closer, he didn’t notice that you were there until he could hear the doorknob click, the door swinging open.

“Sorry for barging in honey, but I’ve been holding my pee in all night so I—“ Eyes stopping on him, you gave him a small smile, “Hey handsome,”

Head whipping over to look at you, his eyes widened ever so slightly. It was normal for either of you to come into the bathroom while the other was using it. The two of you grew comfortable enough to not bother to lock the door since there was only one bathroom. However, Shouto wished that he’d locked the door tonight, as he was fairly certain that he looked like a mess.

While he continued to stare at you with worry, you frowned. Pointing towards the door, you spoke, “I can wait until you’re finished? I don’t have to go that badly,”

At the sound of your voice, he frantically shook his head, moving away from the mirror and into the shower. “No, go on ahead, I was just getting in,”

Before you could say anything Shouto shut himself in the shower. Deciding to not push the subject with a full bladder, you quickly went about your business, washed your hands and promptly left, moving to sit on the bed to wait for your boyfriend.

It took about eight minutes for the shower to turn off, and another five for him to finally exit the bathroom, slowly walking himself into your shared bedroom. Once he caught sight of you sitting on the edge of the bed, not having changed out of your work clothes, he felt his heart rate spike. Cautiously, he moved to sit by you, a small smile resting on his face, though you could tell it was forced. Reaching for his hand, you found yourself hesitating slightly before deciding to put your hand beside his, close enough that your pinkies were touching. Tilting your head, you tried to get a better look at the man.

“Are you alright?”

He blinked, trying to contain his every thought from spilling out at that moment. Nodding, he spoke up, “Of course I am, why—“

“Please don’t lie to me,” You spoke softly, a frown finding its way onto your face, “I’ve known you since high school, don’t think I can’t tell when you’re lying.”

At first, your words were met with complete silence, with Shouto’s eyes trained on your hand. After a few more minutes of silence, just as you were about to give up your little interrogation for the night to go and take a shower, he broke the silence.

“I don’t get it,”

Eyebrows furrowing together, you leaned in closer to the man, as if the elimination of space would help you solve what was going on in his brain. “Don’t get what?”

He bit his lip, clearly going over the pros and cons of telling you what he’s been thinking for most of his life. Finally, he sighed, figuring that it was better to just rip off the bandaid rather than pretending that nothing was wrong.

“You called me handsome earlier,” He started, and when your face only grew more confused he continued, “The media likes to say that too. So why can’t I see myself that way too?”

He mumbled out the last part, as if he didn’t want you to hear it. At first, you stayed silent, unsure of what to say, or how to comfort the man in front of you. However, once you noticed his hands start to fidget, and his knees started to bounce, you moved so that he could see your face, a kind smile resting on your lips.

“Can I touch you?” You asked, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

When he nodded his head slightly, you gently grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the headboard of the bed before plopping yourself right into his lap. When he looked at you with a blank expression, you smiled sadly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“There, that’s better,” You started, gently brushing your thumbs across his face, “Now, let me into that gorgeous head of yours?” 

“Why do you call me that?” There was no venom behind his tone, just a confused boy who seemed hurt.

“Because it’s true,” You stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

When he still didn’t react positively, you retracted your hands from his face, opting to wrap them around his torso loosely. “Okay then, how about you list the things you don’t like about yourself, and I’ll tell you about the things that I love about you,”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Though he still indulged you regardless, even if bringing up all of his flaws worried him to an extreme amount.

“Fine, I hate my hair,” He started, his hands roughly pushing his bangs back, “I hate the way it looks and how it feels,”

“Well, I love your hair,” You countered, your own hands moving to gently pry his away from the red and white locks you love so much, “It reminds me of strawberries and milk, and it smells like it too,”

“It smells like charred hair,”

“So what? Sometimes my hair smells like gunpowder because of Katsuki, does that bother you?” When he shook his head, you smiled, patting his cheek lightly, “Exactly. What’s next?”

His grip on your waist seemed to grow tighter, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t like my eyes. Sometimes I wish they were a single color,”

“It makes you rather unique, don’t you think?” You asked.

“It makes me feel like a freak,”

You hummed, a low sound in your throat as you caressed his cheek, your thumb gently soothing the area under his eye. “Well, for what it counts, I love your eyes. It’s probably the first thing that drew me in,”

He stared at you for a few more seconds, trying to see if there were any signs of falsehood in them. When he came up with nothing, he continued to list his reasons:

“I don’t like my hands,” He stated, looking at yours, “They’re too rough and dry,”

Frowning, you reached to grab one of his hands with your own, bringing it up to your lips to press a sweet kiss to the back of his hand. “That just means you work hard, there’s nothing to be ashamed of there,”

He snorted, though you could tell there was no humor behind it, “It can’t feel nice to hold,”

“I like them,” You announced, interlocking your fingers together, “It shows how much dedication you have when it comes to your work, and holding your hand is one of my favorite activities to do,”

You could tell that your words were getting to him, as his eyes started to glisten, unshed tears beginning to come forward. Pulling his hand away from yours, he turned his head to the side, not wanting to look at you as he continued to speak, “I don’t like my scars,”

Thinking back to what had just occurred in the bathroom, you felt your heart break just a bit. Squeezing him just a bit tighter, you did your best to keep your voice steady.

“Your scars show that you’ve saved lives,” You said, your hands brushing against the raised skin on his arms, “You love to help others, even if it comes at the sake of your own safety,”

“Well what about this one?” He asked, point to the one covering his left eye, “Not all scars show that I’ve saved lives, (Y/N). They’re not something that’s amazing or beautiful, there’s blemishes that I wish I could get rid of,”

Grabbing his hand with both of yours, you moved to press a feather light kiss to the bottom of his scar, feeling how he trembled beneath you. Moving back, you could feel tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“No, you’re right. Not every scar tells a heroic story. Sometimes they’re reminders of horrible memories that we’d like to forget,” Squeezing his hand, you continued, “Your scars don’t define who you are though, Shouto. Sure, they tell the stories of your life, the struggles that you’ve been through, and the heroic deeds that you’ve done, but that doesn’t mean that it’s the only thing that defines you. I know that it’s hard to believe me now, and I hope in the future you’ll be able to feel the same way I do, but I love every single inch of you. I don’t care if your hair is silky or coarse, or if your hands are rough or not. All I care about is being with you, and all of those things that you hate, that’s what makes you so special to me. 

I’m not going to say that I can take away all of the pain you’ve been feeling, because honestly, I can’t. What I can promise you though is that I’ll still be with you no matter what, even on the days where you feel terrible and just want to hide away.”

By the end of your little speech, Shouto had dropped his head onto your shoulder, and you could feel his body begin to shake, and tears soak into your shoulder. 

For a while, the two of you said nothing, and the only sounds in the room were his light sniffles and your quiet humming. After what had to been half an hour, Shouto finally moved his head from your shoulder, his eyes having taken on a pink tint. When you felt him reach for your waist, you gladly let yourself be pulled into his chest, with your back pushed against his front. 

With a soft kiss to the top of your head, you heard him whisper out a quiet “thank you.” Smiling, you patted his hands, silently telling him that you were there.

“Don’t worry about it,” You spoke, feeling his breath begin to even out.

“Until you learn to love yourself, I’ll love you enough for the both of us,”

[wienerbarnes]

Secret’s Out

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,796

Warnings: not much, brief slight angst i guess

A/N: back on my cheek to cheek bullshit 😌 after this one, im going to be posting some oneshots that date back to some of reader’s background and times before bucky! which im excited for :D enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

Another mission, another briefing. You get the alert the morning of, the last minute meeting blaring in your room as you make yourself breakfast. You sigh and turn the stove off, accepting that you won’t have time to finish cooking and make it to the conference room in the next five minutes. You take the time instead to get dressed in what you normally wear to briefings and take your coffee to go.

When you arrive, there’s no one in the room, no one besides Sam and Bucky. Was the meeting for nine and not eight? Are you freakishly early? Could you have actually stayed and eaten your eggs and toast?

“Do you know what this is about? Because he won’t tell me.” Bucky huffs at you playfully, not actually angry, but still annoyed at the fact that Sam refused to tell him anything that’s going on until you got here.

You shake your head to tell him you don’t and slowly make your way over to the seat next to Bucky as Sam’s voice booms in the room.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., lock the door.” A distant click is heard as your bottom meets the chair and Bucky’s face becomes more and more confused.

Sam is silent for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out what words to say and how to start.

“I found a video of you.” He says.

“... What?” You whisper in disbelief.

“I was looking into your background. Specifically your HYDRA background. And I found a video that needs explanation.” As if on cue, a video is displayed behind Sam.

You are seen sitting at a small table, a small blender to the right of you. You look dangerously thin, hair greasy and matted, dark circles under your eyes. You have a crazy look in them, a look Bucky hasn’t seen since the first time he saw you in prison. This isn’t prison though, he very quickly realizes. Besides your body growing rigid next to him, he just knows that this is a HYDRA facility.

You’re humming obnoxiously loud in the video as a large man - presumably a Hydra scientist -  steps into frame. He wears a light blue button down shirt tucked into slacks underneath a lab coat. The tune of Singin’ in the Rain is all that’s heard for the first few seconds of the video as you stare up at the man, watching him as he checks the blender.

“Shut up.” He finally snaps at you, growing annoyed with your loud humming.

“I’m singing in the rain! Just singing in the rain! What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again!” You yell out, screaming out the lyrics in tune before a loud crack sounds, as the man in the lab coat slaps you hard across the face.

Bucky flinches next to you and you barely remember what this video was. You’re more consumed by the fact that Sam was doing some kind of background check on you for some reason and the fact that there’s a video at all. I didn’t know they recorded me.

You seem to hold back a smile at the man, as though he told some amazing joke and you’re trying not to laugh, despite having been backhanded across the cheek.

“Turn on the blender.” The man commands.

“That’s a very nice shirt you’re wearing.” You compliment.

He ignores you as he waits for you to turn on the blender. Bucky looks closely at it, but the button is on the side closest to the handler. He takes a wild guess that they don’t expect you to just reach around and switch it on with your finger.

You suddenly remember what this video is. And you realize why Sam is so angry. This isn’t good at all.

“It’s a nice shade of blue. A calming shade of blue. Like a sky blue.”

“Shut up. Turn on the blender.”

“No, no, not a sky blue. More like a… cerulean.”

“So what, you like my shirt. Turn. The. Blender. On. Now!” He commands, voice raising as his patience wears thin.

“Cerulean… blue. A nice shade… of cerulean… blue…” You drift off.

That’s when Bucky sees it. A small label on the blender, Cerulean. Before his thoughts can spiral too deeply into the name of the blender, it's a loud whirring sound in the video, making him flinch once more.

Nobody touched the blender, it seemed to have powered on by itself and a wide smile grows on your face, the same one he saw in the other video he’s seen of you, when you escaped the Hydra facility. You giggle girlishly as the man leans forward and shoves his hand into the powered blender, blood splattering out of it immediately, spraying across your face and your smiling teeth and tainting the blue of his shirt and lab coat.

Four men crowd you, holding you by the head, by the neck, by the shoulders, gripping your chin even though you barely moved through the duration video and the shot switches to black before powering off completely.

Bucky finally peels his eyes away from where the video was playing to look at you, and you look terrified.

“Sam,” You try to start.

“Mind. Control.” He says.

“Sam -” You try again.

“You hid mind control from us!” He yells.

“I can explain! “You better, and I’m only giving you thirty seconds to do so.” He snaps.

“It - It was fight or flight! I don’t even know how I did that! I barely remember that video at all! I’ve only ever been able to do that one other time! Sam - Sam -” You stutter, “They injected me with all kinds of shit, kept me awake for days on end, fed me, starved me; they did anything to manipulate my body in order to manifest powers. You have to - to - to believe me, I don't know how I did that -”

You’re getting hysterical. You can not fuck this up. You can’t be on your own again. You can’t be living in fear all the time anymore, you can’t go back to that. You can’t be away from Bucky, you can’t lose Bucky, can’t lose Bucky.

“Sam, that’s enough.” Bucky finally speaks up.

“Buck, I know she’s your little girlfriend, but -”

“Sam, do you hear yourself right now?! Look at her!” You’re on the verge of hyperventilating and overall losing it.

Bucky doesn’t pay Sam attention long enough to hear anything he’s going to say before ducking down to where you hold your head in your hands.

“Can’t… can’t be alone again… no, no, no,… can’t” You mumble to yourself.

Sam takes a deep breath, calming himself in order to assess the situation before him, “Hey. Hey!” He snaps, catching your attention and making you look up, tears in your eyes.

“I may be angry at you for keeping this from me… but you’re not going anywhere. Do I wish you would’ve told me so I wouldn’t be surprised by some ominous video this morning? Yes. But we’ll figure it out. We’re a team and I’m not abandoning you. So stop the crying so we can deal with this. Because you need to tell me everything.” Sam tells you with seriousness in his voice, the Captain coming out.

You take a deep breath and wipe your tears, preparing to tell them everything you can remember.

…

You’re exhausted. You cried. A lot. Trying to sift through thousands of memories you spent so long trying to repress because you never wanted to remember them; you never thought you’d need to.

You tell Bucky that don’t feel like being around anyone the rest of the day, and you’re glad he accepts that, letting you have your alone time and leaving you with a promise for breakfast the following morning.

Meanwhile, Bucky calls up an old friend, someone he hasn’t talked to in years. But it’s the only person he can think of that might be able to help you get a hold of your powers.

He sits on his couch in his apartment, phone against his ear as the line rings, before an accented voice finally answers.

“Hello?”

“... Hey.”

“... Bucky? Is that you?”

“Yeah. It’s me. How soon can you be in New York? From wherever you are? I need some help.”

Morning comes too soon for you, though.

“Agent 51?”

“Oh… my god. What do you want?” You groan, loving F.R.I.D.A.Y., but hating her voice so early in the morning, with only seven minutes to spare before your alarm was supposed to go off anyway.

“Your training has been canceled this morning by Captain Wilson. Instead, he has requested that you meet him in Conference Room B.”

“Ugh, at what time?”

“As soon as possible, Agent.”

“Holy shit,” You sigh, accepting that you won’t be able to sleep anymore, “Fine, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You hope that Bucky somehow knows your training is canceled and brings you breakfast in the conference room anyway as promised yesterday.

Making your way to the conference room with your coffee in hand for the second time in the span of two days - which you hope doesn’t become a routine - you might add, you make sure to rub a hand across your head, smoothing down any hairs sticking straight up at weird angles now that the hair is growing back. It’s only maybe an inch or two long, but not long enough to do anything to it and not short enough to ignore.

Entering the conference room, you see Sam, Bucky and some… woman, her back turned towards you. You close the door timidly behind you and Bucky turns around to greet you, styrofoam box in hand and the smell of bacon and toast hits your nostrils. Knew it.

“Brought you breakfast, baby.” He tells you with a smile, walking up to you to plant a soft kiss on your lips in Good morning.

“Ugh, ew.” Sam spews. The woman giggles at his reaction and you’re brought back to the stranger in the room.

“Who are you?” You ask, not really wanting to beat around the bush considering that Bucky just kissed you in front of somebody you don’t know, something he’s never done before.

The woman turns around and you take in her features. High cheekbones and big green eyes, she’s very beautiful but very… young. Like, really young. Younger than you, for sure, but not a teenager either. She wears what seems to be casual clothes, her nails painted dark with rings crowding her fingers. Her most striking physical detail, though, are the long waves of bright orangey-red hair, flowing across her shoulders.

She smiles at you sweetly, and you feel calm as she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Wanda.”

[lyranova]

The Proposal

Hi guys~! So here’s my first ever Greyche fic! I hope its good i actually really enjoyed writing this one hehe. This fic was actually supposed to be different and posted on Valentine’s day but I wanted to post it now 😂. I hope you guy’s enjoy it and I’m sorry it’s not as long as my other fics!

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,779

Warnings: None

————

To say Gauche was nervous was an understatement, he was downright terrified, and that was not a normal feeling for Gauche Adlai and it was one he found he did not like. At all. But he knew the cause of this feeling, tonight was the night that would change his life. For better or worse he didn’t know yet, but he knew one thing for sure; this was what he wanted to do. Tonight, he was going to propose to his girlfriend Grey. Gauche had considered taking this step for a while, he had even gone out and bought a ring for the occasion, but he forgot one major detail. How was he going to propose, Where was he going to propose, and most importantly, When was he going to propose? He had none of this planned out in the beginning. So Gauche did what anyone would do, he would go to the other members of the Black Bulls and get their advice. Well, some of the members.

First, Gauche started with Gordon. He asked the man if he knew of anywhere that was close by that was nice yet private. Gordon seemed in thought for a moment.

“ Actually, there’s a small cliff side nearby, it overlooks one of the most beautiful fields you’ve ever seen. I’ve only ever gone there at night but I think it’s-.” Gauche cut Gordon off.

“ Thanks Gordon you’ve been a big help.” Gauche turned on his heel and went to walk out of the room. But as he did he heard Gordon say softly.

“ Anything for my best friends!”

————

Gauche had managed to answer the where and when but still had to answer how. He didn’t have the faintest of ideas, anything he typically thought of when proposing just didn’t seem right. He couldn’t imagine himself getting down on one knee and being a complete romantic about it like some people, but he didn’t want to be the type to just throw Grey a ring and hope for the best. He wanted to do this right. So he went to the only member of the Black Bulls that was now married himself.

“ Couldn’t this wait Gauche? I’m probably going to be a while.” Yami shouted from the other side of the bathroom door, Gauche leaned against the wall next to the door.

“ Not really Captain. It's almost nightfall and I could really use the advice,” Gauche scratched the back of his neck nervously as though the captain could see him. “ how...how did you propose to Captain Roselei?” Sukehiro he mentally corrected himself. Gauche sometimes noticed that he would still call the Blue Rose Knights captain by her maiden name instead of her married one.

“ So you’re finally gonna pop the question to Grey huh?” Yami asked, Gauche felt his face heat up slightly and instantly began to, again, scratch the back of his head. For some reason, he nodded in confirmation even though the captain couldn’t see it.

“ Just ask her.” Was Yami’s reply, Gauche looked wide-eyed at the bathroom door. “ It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, with Charlotte I just said ‘So, wanna get married?’ And of course, she didn’t really like that approach.” Yami laughed and Gauche could help but let a small chuckle escape his lips, of course their captain would be blunt about it.

“ But after talking about it and explaining why I wanted to marry her, she said yes.” Yami continued softly, probably thinking back on the memory if Gauche were to guess. “ So just ask her, Grey doesn’t really strike me as the type to want a bunch of attention. So something small, simple, and quiet would be your best bet.” The captain finished as he walked out of the bathroom door, drying his hands off with a small towel.

“ You’re right Captain, thanks for the advice.” Yami only nodded his head and began to walk past Gauche, but he stopped and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“ I’m happy for you Gauche.” Yami told him with a small smile. Gauche was taken aback for a moment, he hadn’t really expected the captain to congratulate him or anything. He was so shocked by Yami’s words his brain couldn’t formulate a reply. The Captain patted him on the shoulder once more before walking away.

“ Don’t screw this up!” Yami threw over his shoulder and Gauche smirked, that was the reaction he was expecting.

———

Now here Gauche was, walking up the hill with Grey. Normally she walks beside him, but tonight she was slightly behind him clinging to the back of his shirt. Before they had started dating this would occasionally annoy him, but now he didn’t really mind. Grey was a strong and brave fighter, more than she’d ever give herself credit for, so it warmed his heart a little to think that she wanted him to protect her from some unknown dangers.

“ W-Where are we going Gauche? Isn’t it d-dangerous coming out here this late?” Grey’s voice shook as she asked him this question and her grip on the back of his shirt tightened.

“ You’ll see where we’re going in just a minute. No it’s not dangerous I made sure of that before bringing you out here.” Gauche told her, earlier in the day he had asked Zora to place some trap spells around the area just to keep some of the wild animals away. He felt Grey loosen her grip slightly at his assurance, he hoped she’d feel a little better once they got to the cliff side.

Gauche had to admit, Gordon was right that the cliff side was beautiful. There were trees as far as the eye could see, some as tall as the cliff they were standing on and at the bottom there was a small field with a stream running through the middle. He looked up at the sky and it was so clear you could see the moon and thousands upon thousands of stars. Behind him, Gauche heard a small gasp.

“ Oh Gauche, it’s so beautiful out here!” Grey said her voice full of awe, he looked next to him and saw a smile on her face and a reflection of the moon shining in her eyes. He would make sure to buy Gordon anything he wanted for recommending this place to him. It brought a smile to his girlfriends face, and to Gauche, that meant everything. He walked forward a bit and turned to look at Grey.

“ I’m glad you like it, I was hoping you would,” Gauche started, suddenly he felt his face get warm and his heart begin to race. This was it, he was going to ask her just like the Captain suggested, if he could get the lump out of his throat first. He was already nervous about asking her to marry him and now he was even more nervous to ask her. He already thought Grey was beautiful but she looked even more beautiful in the moonlight, with a few fireflies flying around her. Gauche was beginning to think he was having a heart attack with how fast his heart was beating.

“ G-Gauche, can I ask you something?” Grey suddenly asked, causing Gauche to snap out of his thoughts. He nodded for her to continue as he shoved a hand in his pocket, grabbing the ring that was inside and holding onto it.

“ I-I just...was wondering if you’d…” Grey trailed off, her face a bright shade of red, he noticed her hands were clenched into fists at her sides as though she were trying to summon up the courage to finish her sentence. Gauche was about to ask if she was alright when she blurted out.

“ Will you marry me Gauche?”

Gauche blinked a couple of times. What...did she just…? Gauche’s brain couldn’t process the question, it was almost as though someone had flipped the switch and shut his brain off. Grey, his Grey, had just asked him to marry her. Which was what Gauche was about to ask her himself! ‘Why doesn’t anything ever go to plan?’ A voice asked exasperatedly in his head, anytime he would try to plan something it would always get messed up by something or someone. But, as Gauche thought more about it, did it really matter who asked whom? Apparently they were both on the same wavelength, so why did it really matter? Grey must’ve been way more nervous than Gauche was if she had been carrying that question around all this time! He smiled softly, she was the bravest person he had ever known.

“ G-Gauche please say something!” He blinked again as he heard Grey’s voice tremble, he looked at her again and realized even though her face was hidden behind her hands, it was much redder than it had been earlier and she was trembling slightly. Gauche suddenly felt immense guilt.

He had been silent too long.

Gauche walked up to Grey and gently grabbed her wrists and tried to pry them away from her face. But of course, she wasn’t budging.

“ Grey, please look at me.” He tried to coax her, but again, she did not budge. “ Please! I’m not angry I promise, just look at me for a moment.” He pleaded and eventually it worked. Grey looked up at him and saw a soft smile, which made her face flush even more if that were possible. It was a smile he reserved for her and Marie only.

“ Of course I’ll marry you. There’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” Gauche told her softly as he rested his forehead against hers, even though the comment was cheesy as hell, he found that it was actually true.

“ R-Really? You will?” She asked with a surprised yet very bright and happy smile on her face, when he nodded a small laugh escaped Grey’s lips and she jumped into his arms and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck as Gauche held her.

“ I love you Gauche.”

“ And I love you, Grey.”

——-

The next morning, when Gauche showed Grey the ring he had bought for her weeks earlier, he lied and told her he had gone out that morning and bought it. For the rest of their lives Gauche never told her the truth, that he was the one that was going to propose to her that night. Because he wanted her to remember the bravery she showed that night and carry it with her always.

Ah I’m sorry this fell apart towards the end! I feel like all my fics do that 😅. But I hope you enjoyed it and I apologize if you didn’t, if anyone wants to be added to the taglist please let me know. Hope everyone has a good day~!

Tag List: @eme-eleff

[jettingtothemoon]

Shiggy pt 2

➳ pairing: shigaraki tomura x f!reader ➳ genre: fluff, smut ➳ warnings: swearing, smut, soft shiggy, rough sex, unprotected sex, pulling out, slight overstimulation, virgin shiggy, shigaraki being a parent to y/n for a solid chunk of this fic ➳ word count: 4900 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n is unexpectedly hit with a quirk that turns her into a toddler for a short while and has no memory of shiggy. ➳ a/n: y/n turns back before the sex because like if she didn’t that would be seriously wrong. also reading part 1 isn’t necessary but is advised ^.^

After confessing for feelings for Shigaraki, the two of you started dating. Cuddles in his room became common for the two of you. Not to mention your late-night gaming sessions. Shiggy would sit on the floor with you in his lap, a controller in both of your hands as you played until the early hours of the morning.

Kurogiri always told the two of you not to stay up too late, especially as your quirk required a lot of energy to run on, but you didn't listen. You figured it would be fine as long as you ate enough food before going out on a mission. Eventually, however, the late nights caught up on you.

It was supposed to be an easy mission and, had you been at your full capacity, it would have been. It was just you and Dabi as your quirks were the best suited for the job. Unfortunately, you were not aware of your opponents' quirks. You were being careful and, after only a couple of minutes you had figured out most of their quirks. Well, all but one. It was that one quirk that would incapacitate you during the fight. You were caught off guard when you didn't have enough neon energy to use another bust to get away in time and, as soon as their hand landed on you, everything became rather... unusual.

Everyone suddenly seemed much, much taller than you. In fact, who even where these people? And what was all that noise? Such scary noises. It wasn't until a burst of blue flames shot overhead that your fear finally settled in and you fell onto your bottom as you began to squeal out. Tears ran down your face as you sniffled, not understanding what was happening. Before you could even begin to comprehend where you were, someone was scooping you up into their arms and running away. You didn't recognise the man but, for some reason, he seemed familiar.

He ran with you in his arms as he tried to keep you safe and, when you were finally away from the scary people, your tears began to clam down.

Shigaraki was sitting at the bar as usual while he waited for your return. He sat there, playing on his switch as he waited for you and Dabi to come back through the door safe and sound to update him on how the mission went. However, when the door did open and you finally came back, Shigaraki furrowed his brows.

"Who's the kid? Where's y/n?" He asked, bringing to scratch at his neck.

"We might have a slight problem." Dabi sighed as he walked over with the child, carrying her over to his boss.

Shigaraki's eyes widened when he finally recognised that small little face, "y-y/n?"

He reached out, taking you from Dabi's arms, as h3 tried to process what he was looking at. It was most certainly you but you were, well, small. A baby almost, probably about four or five. You clung to him, your tiny hands scrunching up his shirt as you nuzzled your head into the dark material.

This man, he seemed familiar too. Although you had no idea who he was or why you felt so safe in his arms. You couldn't remember any of these people but you knew they were not your family. You remembered your family, your mum and dad. They were not here, maybe they were at work? Maybe this was an uncle you hadn't met before?

"Shigaraki." Kurogiri spoke, drawing your boyfriend's attention away from your tiny form for a moment.

"What do we do?" Shigaraki asked, looking back down to you as you fell asleep in his arms while sucking your thumb in between your teeth.

Kurogiri began to reassure him, "This is most likely a temporary effect. Not many quirks are powerful enough to have a permanent effect like this so she should be back to normal in a few days."

"A few days," Shigaraki spoke a little too loudly and lowered his voice when you began to stir, "She could be like this for a few fucking days?"

"Calm down, we will be able to look after her until she turns back to normal."

Shigaraki lifted you up, holding you at arm's length from himself as he looked over your tiny sleeping face.

Then, his own face softened and he pulled you back to his chest, "Someone needs to watch her all the time. This place is dangerous enough as it is, let alone for a child."

"Aww, little Shiggy is getting soft." Toga giggled although it only earned her a threatening glare from Shigaraki.

Only you were allowed to call him that.

Toga held her hands up in surrender but continued to giggle when he stood up and carefully carried you into his room.

He put you down on his bed, gently tucking you in before brushing a strand of hair from your face. You were so tiny that it scared him. He didn't know what to do, he wasn't good with children, but he also knew that someone needed to keep an eye on you. Knowing that he would certainly not entrust your safety to Toga or Dabi, he decided that either he or Kurogiri would need to watch you and maker sure you weren't doing anything dangerous.

He sighed and left you in bed as he went over to his computer and loaded up a game. You were sleeping for now, after all, so it wasn't like you could get into too much trouble. He wasn't sure if you remembered who he was but he hoped to find out once you woke up later.

He had been playing for about an hour when it started. At first, you began to call out quietly for your mummy, which he sympathised with as, although he didn't know the ins and outs of what happened to your family, he knew they were no longer around. You were alone just like him but he wasn't alone anymore because you had become his family. He was going to pause the game and check on you but you soon quietened down again so he continued.

Ignorant of what was happening behind him, Shigaraki continued to immerse himself in the game, almost forgetting about your current situation completely. Well, until he heard a crash.

He threw his controller down and jumped up, running over to you and scooping you up off of the bed just before a piece of the ceiling fell on you.

"What the hell?" He questioned looking up at the purple scorches that had clearly been created with your quirk.

Before he could even begin to understand what had just happened, you were crying rather loudly. Your tiny little face was covered in tears and snot as you hugged him tightly and fisted at his shirt.

He still didn't know what to do or how to deal with this but he knew he needed to at least try and calm you down. So, he carried you over to the chair by his computer and sat down, holding you carefully as you sat in his lap and contained to cry.

"y/n? It's okay, I... I'm here." He thought about how a normal person would comfort a small child such as yourself and tried his best to sound calm in hopes of calming you with the tone of his voice.

You sniffled in his arms and pulled his top towards you, rubbing your runny nose with it before looking up at him with big, red eyes.

"I- I had a nightmare." You sniffled again and suddenly it began to make sense.

You had mentioned to him before about how you were a handful for your parents when your quirk first manifested because any little emotion could set it off. That must have been what had happened while you were sleeping.

"It's okay, y/n. It was just a bad dream. You're okay." He hugged you and ran his fingers through your hair again, being extra gentle as he was still not used to your fragile form.

"W- Who are you?" You sniffled again and his heart dropped, you didn't remember him.

"I- I'm Shigaraki."

You giggled to yourself and grinned up at him, "Uncle Shiggy."

It seemed even the child you liked to give people nicknames, or maybe it was a remnant of your missing memories.

He sighed and nodded his head, "Yeah... Uncle Shiggy."

Uncle Shiggy looked after you all night. He got you something to eat, that Kurogiri prepared just for you, and even stayed by your side as you ate. While you were eating, Shigaraki explained what had happened earlier to Kurogiri, who explained that all they could do was try to keep you calm so that you wouldn't accidentally hurt yourself or anyone else with your quirk.

When you finished eating, you demanded that Uncle Shiggy carry you to bed, which Toga found rather amusing, but he did so nonetheless.

"I want to sleep with Uncle Shiggy!" You exclaimed with your arms outstretched towards him, grabbing at the air hoping for him to come close.

Shigaraki sighed, knowing that the others had certainly heard you call out and were most likely sat giggling in the other room, but he still turned his games off and climbed into bed with you.

"Uncle Shiggy?" You asked as you snuggled up to him.

He only hummed.

"Why am I here? Where are mum and dad?"

You really did want to know why you were staying here instead of going home, not that you minded having a sleepover with Uncle Shiggy.

Shigaraki didn't know quite what to say, or do, in this situation and his silence started to worry you.

"Uncle Shiggy?"

"Your parents have some business they need to take care of so you're staying here with us for a while." He explained but, had you not been a toddler, you would not have been convinced with his words.

"I get to stay here with you?" You asked, growing more excited as you thought about having more fun with Uncle Shiggy.

He nodded and turned over to turn the light off, "Yes, now go to sleep."

"But what about my nose rubbies?" You pouted, looking up at him.

He raised an eyebrow, "Nose rubbies?"

"Yes, I need my nose rubbies before going to bed." You demanded.

"Um..."

After a moment, even the child version of yourself knew that Shigaraki had no idea what you were going on about.

"This is a nose rubbies." You huffed before pressing your nose softly to his and rubbing it side to side.

Shigaraki, who was still not used to the physical affection in your normal relationship, practically froze stiff when your nose pressed against his. Regardless, he didn't stop you and even found some comfort in your small, innocent gesture.

Without realising quite what came over him, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your nose and pulled you closer. He would have liked to have kissed you normally but, as you were currently a child, that would have been much too weird even for him.

"Nighty night." You yawned, wrapping a tiny arm around what you could of Shigaraki.

He just sighed but, smiled a little nonetheless, "Nighty night, little y/n."

When morning came, you had thankfully not had another nightmare and hadn't caused any harm or damage to the building or anyone in it. You woke up, lying against Shigaraki, who still had one arm wrapped around you.

Shigaraki was one who liked to sleep in, unfortunately, with an energetic child to look after that wasn't going to happen.

You climbed up onto him and he groaned when you dropped your weight onto his chest.

"Uncle Shiggy. Wake up, it's morning."

He groaned again, draping an arm up over his eyes before lifting it slightly to peel his eyes open and look at you.

"Shit."

He flipped his head back down onto the pillow, arm back over his eyes as he came to realise that what happened yesterday wasn't just a bad dream and that he really was stuck with a child version of his girlfriend for the foreseeable future.

"That's a naughty word." You complained, scalding Uncle Shiggy for his choice in words this morning.

He just sighed and lifted you off of him as he climbed out of bed before placing you back down. He stretched and looked at the clock before turning back to you with an almost angry expression.

"You woke me up at five to seven?"

In his tone alone you could tell that maybe you should have let him sleep a little longer but it was too late now, the damage was done. And so, you simply hung your head and mumbled, "Sorry."

He sighed again and sat back down at the end of the bed, "It's fine. Just... try not to do it tomorrow."

You grinned and nodded obediently, "Okay, I won't. I promise."

Although, when the next day came, you broke that promise.

"I thought I told you to let me fucking sleep?" He yelled.

However, his tone quickly changed when all it did was make you cry.

He immediately sat beside you and tired to hush your cries, gently wiping your tears away with his sleeve, "I'm sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

You sniffled and looked at him with your big puffy eyes, "I'm sorry, Uncle Shiggy. I just had so much fun yesterday that I wanted to wake you up early to have more fun today."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest as he carded his fingers through your hair.

Although he didn't particularly find the day before to be any fun at all, you certainly had. After waking him up before seven, he made you breakfast, although he wasn't entirely sure how to do it or what you could eat. Then, once you had eaten, he pretty much just let you watch movies all day.

He sent Dabi out to get popcorn and sweets, which turned out to be a very bad idea because it just made you hyper. Not to mention, watching you watch crappy kids tv and movies all day drained the life out of him. You stood in front of the screen, singing along or calling out when the characters on the screen asked you something. You literally stood on the spot, bouncing up and down constantly until hours had passed and you were finally drained of your energy. 

By that point, Shigaraki picked you up and tucked you into bed, hoping that this would have tired you out enough to get some more sleep the next day. He was wrong, however, and you had somehow managed to wake him up even earlier than before.

You were now onto day three. Three days of looking after a toddler. Three days of his life that Shigaraki was never going to get back and it didn't look like you would be turning back any time soon. He just missed you, the older you. He missed your kisses and cuddles. Holding such a tiny version of you in his arms just wasn't the same. You would fidget and try to take off his gloves even though he told you how bad it would be if you did so. He was starting to understand why so many parents seemed so exhausted all of the time. Only, he wasn't looking after his child. He was looking after you, his girlfriend, who should most certainly not be a toddler when you were really a fully grown adult.

"How much longer will she be like this?" Shigaraki asked, still holding you in his arms as he spoke to Kurogiri.

Of course, you were too preoccupied with the toy he had made Toga buy you to pay any attention to their conversation.

"It shouldn't be much longer. To be honest, I thought she would have already turned back by now."

Shigaraki looked down at you, "What if she never turns back?"

"She will. No quirk is that strong." Kurogiri reassured, although it didn't help ease Shigaraki's nerves.

When it was time for bed, Uncle Shiggy tucked you in like usual but was surprised when your little hand reached up to touch the dried skin around his eyes.

You tilted your little head to the side and asked so innocently, "Why is your skin like this?"

Shigaraki was taken aback by our question, not really expecting you to bring it up because you hadn't even bothered to ask when you were adult.

He frowned a little and began to scratch at his neck as he sat down on the bed beside you, "It's, um, some kind of skin condition? I think- I don't really know. Allergies or something?"

"Oh."

That was all you said, your only reply and, somehow, it was the best one you could have given. Your lack of interest in it made Shigaraki feel better somehow because it was like it lacked importance. As if it didn't really matter that his skin was dry and, as he had heard so many times before, gross. He had always hated it, especially when he was younger and actually cared what people thought of him. He just wanted to look normal, like all of the other kids. He was insecure about it, not that he really showed it all that much, and was especially insecure about it around you. Because you were the only one that mattered.

He smiled when you just grabbed his hand and turned onto your side, closing your eyes as you drifted off to sleep. He sat there and brushed your hair out of your face, leaving his other hand where it was being hugged by your two little ones while he waited for you to fall asleep.

It was only ever quiet when you were asleep and he had found that he even enjoyed watching you sleep so soundly. When you were definitely asleep, he slipped his hand out and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before walking around the bed and climbing in the other side.

The next morning, despite his scalding of you the two days before, he had expected to be woken up early. However, when you were finally shaking him awake, it was much later than those other days.

"Shiggy?" You questioned, not quite remembering how you had wound up in his bed.

You cuddled a lot but you hadn't slept in here yet, surely you would remember why you were in here in the first place. The last thing you do remember is fighting alongside Dabi.

"y/n?" Shigaraki exclaimed, sitting up so abruptly that it made you jump.

Before you could ask him what was going on or why he looked so surprised, he dived onto you and wrapped his arms tightly around you. You giggled and hugged him back despite still not understanding what was going on.

"We are never having kids." He grumbled upon releasing you, only confusing you further.

After that, he explained everything to you about what had happened and how many days had passed. Four days ago you had been turned into a toddler thanks to a de-ageing quirk but now you were thankfully back to normal.

Of course, Toga had giggled and told you all about how cute you were and how Shigaraki was so protective of you. She also told you that you had taken to calling him 'Uncle Shiggy' and that you demanded to sleep in his bed with him every night. Not to mention, you apparently liked to sit in his lap and cuddle him pretty much all of the time.

You just chuckled at it all as she told you and glanced over to Shiggy, who was frowning but blushing a little nonetheless, every time Toga brought up how he was with you in your tiny form. It made you smile as you thought about him looking after you when you were so small and confused, especially how much of a handful you must have been.

When Shigaraki had had enough of listening to everyone explaining it all to you, he took hold of your wrist and dragged you along to his room. You sat down on his bed, eagerly waiting for him to sit beside you so you could cuddle up next to him. He soon complied and nestled his head into your hair when you cuddled into his chest.

"When you were- well, little- you had a nightmare and your neon was purple. Does it change colour a lot?" Shiggy asked.

You nodded, "The colour changes based on my mood. It'll be red when I'm angry or fighting. It goes blue when I'm sad and yellow when I'm happy. Purple means I'm scared or in distress."

He hummed and seemed to think for a moment before flipping you down onto the bed so that he was on top of you, his face hovering just above yours.

"What colour is it now?" His breath fanned over your face, his lips barely brushing over yours.

You smiled, feeling your heart pound in your chest and allowed a flicker of light to flash through your eyes.

"Pink? What does it mean?" He tilted his head to the side, eyes still looking into your own as you reached out for his hand.

You pulled his hand over and placed it onto your chest, knowing he would be able to feel the rapid beats of your heart, "What do you think it means?"

His answer to that question was rather simple as his head dived down and he finally captured your lips with his own. His hand didn't move from where you had placed it until you pushed one of your own into his hair and used your other to move his.

When you moved his hand so that he was cupping your breast, he took the sign and didn't hesitate to squeeze it slightly. His groping only continued as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

When your lips parted, you pulled his bottom one between your teeth before letting it go and kissing him again.

"I love you." You grinned, grinding against him as your lips connected again.

His hands continued to roam your body until one slipped under your shirt. His fingers were almost gentle as they ran over your skin, still somewhat unsure of how to do this affection thing. Not to mention, you were his first kiss so he was certainly still a virgin.

Not that it made much of an impact.

Shigaraki was new to showing affection, new to kisses and cuddles and tender touches between lovers. And yet, he was an unexpectedly fast learner. He still seemed unsure but his confidence only grew as you continued to kiss him with such desperation, such need.

His touches grew rougher as he pulled reactions from you, figuring out what felt good and what didn't. He came to realise that you liked his rough hands, much like you liked the rough skin of his lips against your own. However, what seemed to set you off the most, was a combination of both roughness and gentleness. So, as one hand almost harshly pulled at your hair, the other tenderly squeezed at your breast while a gentle thumb rubbed over your nipple.

Both of your hands were in his hair, moving around to twirl and tug at his messy locks. Occasionally, your hands would slip back towards his face until his ear was between your fingers. His ears were sensitive, as you had unexpectedly discovered during one of your cuddle sessions.

As he kissed at your neck, tongue coming out to lick you here and there, your lips went to his ear. Your teeth pulled at his lobe, biting down just enough to leave the pale skin there a pretty shade of pink.

When his hand ventured lower, slipping into your underwear, your breath hitched.

"S-Shiggy-"

You were cut off with a groan as he slipped a finger inside of you, moving it about randomly as he got a feel of your insides before slipping in another. He spread them about inside you, trying to figure out what felt good as he listened to your breathing. A hitch; he'd hit a sweet spot. A moan; he was doing a good job. Nothing; you weren't feeling it at all.

"I- Is it okay? Does it... does it feel good?" He asked, his insecurities coming into the light once again.

You nodded, breathing out another moan as you tightened your grip on his hair.

"It feels really good but- but I want you." You had to stop halfway to catch your breath only to whine in dissatisfaction when he pulled his fingers out.

Although, your breath stopped altogether seconds later when he suddenly pushed into you. You could tell he was trying not to move right away but, from the small movements of his hips, you could tell he was struggling.

You buried your head into his neck, holding tightly onto the back of his shirt as you adjusted. He was somewhat larger than you had expected but not so much that it shocked you. He was around average and, in your opinion, the perfect size to slot comfortably in you.

"Y- You can move, Shiggy. You don't have to hold back."

With your confirmation, he began thrusting into you. He tried to keep a steady pace at first but grew rough quickly. Not that you minded. Actually, you liked seeing him losing control over you.

Every time his hips snapped into you, his little grunts and groans humming in your ear, you squeezed so tightly against his shirt that you swear your knuckles must have been white. It just felt so good. Not that it was the best sex in the world. He was clumsy and even a little sloppy if you were being honest but just the fact that it was him was enough. Just knowing that he was pouring all of his feelings, however new to him they may have been, into trying to please you was enough. You loved him so, so much. And, although it wasn't always so clear, he loved you too.

"Fuck, Shiggy. There, right there." You whimpered out as he hit that certain spot within you.

He hit it over and over, missing every couple of thrusts only to hit it head-on again the next time. He was trying so hard. He just wanted to try his best to make you feel good too.

Many people, civilians, heroes and even villains alike would call Shigaraki selfish. He didn't care for his league, he just cared about himself. His goal was to be the most powerful villain, to kill the great all might, to take over from his master.

To you, however, he was anything but selfish. He was a shimmer of hope in the darkness. He did care, he was just bad at showing it. He cared for you and the rest of the league in his own special way. Obviously, the way he felt about you was very different from his feelings towards them. However, they were the closest thing he had to a family now and he knew that. If someone were to harm any of you he would kill them without hesitation.

That was just how he was. Shigaraki cared, he always had.

"Shiggy. I'm going to-" Before you could even finish you released.

Toes curling, back-arching, nails digging into his shoulder blades. After that, it was all too much for you but he still wasn't quite there. His thrusts grew even harsher as he chased his own high, over-stimulating you in the process. When he finally saw the tears building in your eyes, he quickly pulled out and finished himself off in his hand. He came all over you, dirtying your shirt as he rubbed himself through his release.

When he was done, he reached up and wiped the tears from your eyes, apologising for hurting you but his eyes only widened when you took a hold of his hand and kissed his palm with gentle lips.

"It's okay Shiggy. It didn't hurt, it was just a little too much." 

Your eyes met his and he seemed to melt completely. But, after feeling his own tiredness, he climbed off of you and got off of the bed. He grabbed a hoodie of his and passed it to you before he delved into a messy draw for some clean sheets.

You got up, putting his hoodie on and grabbing a box of tissues to clean yourself up. When you were finally free of all the sticky bodily fluids, you threw the tissue into the bin and grabbed a clean pair of pants, pulling them on before climbing back into the newly made bed.

You reached out like a child, hands grabbing out towards Shigaraki to get him to come to you.

He sighed, "Not this again."

With a soft chuckle, you pulled him into the bed. His head rested on your chest as you played with his hair, pulling the covers up over the both of you.

"Goodnight Shiggy. I love you." You smiled, yawning as you cuddled him.

He closed his eyes, head resting against your comfortable chest as he mumbled, "I love you too."

[dinfeanoriel]

Ghoul Rats and Gibdos

Boy, how I’ve missed writing! Hope you guys enjoy this 5k+ fic I’ve had laying around for months... ~~~~~

I swear to Hylia, if I’ve gone blind…

This was the first thought to filter across Twilight’s muddled mind when he cracked open to pitch blackness. There was no light, no glow, no luminescence of any kind to be found. It was as if the Ordonian had awoken to find himself trapped in a void. A place completely enshrouded by darkness. 

Tell me we did not switch while I was sleeping...

There was no answer save for the silence. Not a voice was to be heard, not a rustle, nor a breeze. Only the absence of sound. 

The Ranch Hand frowned starkly to himself. The absolute stillness and nothingness unsettled him. It reminded him of his time in Arbiter's Grounds- a time he would rather forget. 

Wonderful. How am I supposed to figure out where I am? 

He supposed he could light his lantern but there was no telling if any enemies were nearby. He didn’t want to risk being ambushed if there happened to be a band of Bokoblins or Moblins somewhere close. It wouldn’t do to fend off Dark Link’s infected enemies alone.

He strained his ears, going as far as to extend his senses but couldn’t detect a single sound or presence. With a sinking heart, Twilight came to the grim conclusion that the group must have been separated else the noise would have been plentiful. A welcome distraction from the inky darkness enshrouding him. He could not hear a single, comforting, heartbeat or calm, steady, breathing. He was alone with only the silence for company and no way of knowing whether or not his companions were safe and sound. 

Twilight suppressed the urge to growl. 

Displeasure mingled with worry welled in his chest. There were vague reminders of the time the children of Ordon had been abducted from their homes he couldn’t ignore. For weeks, Twilight hadn’t known whether or not Beth, Talo, Malo, and Colin were alive. Weeks he suffered and wallowed in uncertainty and fear for their lives yet he valiantly pressed on. He stalwartly refused to believe they were dead. 

 It was by chance he’d found them in Kakariko, virtually unharmed but not unaffected by the traumatic experience. Since then, Twilight found himself reluctant to allow anyone out of sight. He’d grown especially protective of the group of Links, keeping a watchful eye on every Hero and tracking where they went. 

It was a habit he couldn’t bring himself to break. An instinctive urge of his he knew grated on some of their nerves but he refused to explain himself. Wild had once tried to ask the reason behind his fierce vigilance only to receive an ambiguous response. The younger Hero merely shrugged it off and let his mentor do as he pleased. 

Twilight grit his teeth together, shoving the dark memories into the furthest corner of his mind. It wouldn’t do for him to linger on them. Three years had passed since that dreadful day and, yet, the experience stubbornly clung to him, refusing to relinquish its grasp. 

He shook his head, inwardly barking at himself to focus. 

Find the others. 

That was his singlemost priority as of this moment. 

A quiet hiss and soft, measured, footsteps from behind broke into Twilight’s thoughts, disproving his aforementioned belief of being alone. With bared teeth, Twilight spun on his heel, ready to attack should the unknown entity prove to be a foe. He instinctively moved to grip the handle of the Ordon sword, poised to unsheathe the blade and strike, but something stilled his hand. His senses weren’t warning him of any danger and he sensed no evil lurking around. He didn’t feel the least bit threatened by this presence. 

His hand slipped from the sword, moving instead to draw his lantern free from his pack. 

The chainlinks of the metal contraption clinked ominously and the ambient, red-orange, candle flared to life. The glow chased away the darkness and allowed Twilight to see- 

“Gah!” “Ah!” 

Two startled cries pierced the foreboding silence. 

Twilight’s heart thundered in his chest, beating a mile a minute as it struggled to overcome the sudden spike of undiluted fear that had seized it whole. He’d been given the scare of his life when the light of the lantern revealed something green and blue standing directly across from him. 

“Hylia’s Grace, Twilight!” Warrior breathed, his voice a pitch higher than normal. The Knight had a hand pressed to his chest, cobalt blues wide with an echo of shock and startlement. “I thought you were a poe!” Twilight, still recovering from his own fright, snapped back just as fraily, “I thought you were a Bokoblin!” 

The look of incredulity and affrontement stealing across Warrior’s features would have been amusing had both not been reeling and fighting to compose themselves. “A Bokoblin?” Warrior repeated sourly, “Really?” 

“What else was I to think?!” “Do Bokoblins wear scarves, Twilight?” The Captain flicked his scarf in emphasis, entirely deadpan in both looks and tone. Twilight defended himself, “You came out of nowhere, Warrior! All I saw was green and blue-” “-And all I heard was the clinking of your lantern!” 

The bickering died down, granting the Ordonian and Captain a moment to recover and collect themselves. The lantern swayed in place, basking them in a warm glow and keeping the darkness at bay. 

“Pretty sure I lost ten years of my life in a single second…” Twilight’s sharp hearing caught Warrior’s murmur. He snorted softly to himself and with a shake of his head, straightened his back and shoulders with a deep exhale. 

“Let’s find a way out of here.” The sooner they were out of the dreadful place the better. 

Warrior followed suit, “Let’s.” 

Slipping alongside the Captain, Twilight held his lantern up to illuminate their path. The Ranch Hand found himself glad for the company. He was reassured upon seeing Warrior unscathed. The blond did not appear the least bit frazzled or disgruntled by the sudden shift. He was calm and collected, taking the abrupt switch in stride and Twilight commended Warrior’s ability to remain level-headed and composed especially under duress. 

The more the Ordonian mulled on it, the more he realized he’d never seen Warrior crack when pressure was high or when circumstances were dire. He marveled at it and wondered if his capability to remain poised and unruffled stemmed from the wars he’d fought.

Together, they followed the tiled path leading across the sandy depths. Twilight suppressed a shudder. This place was increasingly similar to Arbiter’s Grounds. The darkened chamber, the broken and cracked tiles, the neverending sand, and the hollow and ruinous atmosphere… He half-expected stalchildren to unbury themselves and come swarming them with their minuscule spears. Arbiter’s Grounds had been a grisly and gruesome shock to Twilight. The tarnished history of Hyrule brought to life and accentuated the further he’d traversed into the desolate and ghastly dungeon. The heinous crimes committed there...the wretchedness and sufferings of the Gerudo prisoners...The tortured souls...the air of devastating despair and anguish and hopelessness capable of stealing his own living breath... It was not difficult for Twilight to understand what had taken place during the Gerudo-Hylian war. It was painstakingly, earth-shatteringly, clear and vivid. The unimaginable atrocities and horrors sickened him. Twilight persevered to the end of the daunting dungeon through sheer will and determination alone. Midna’s companionship helped. Had he been left on his own, Twilight wasn’t sure he would have managed to endure the vile and tragic environment. At times he swore he could hear the cries of the dead… 

The echoes of terrified, disconsolate, screams ringing in his ears and heart-rending wails piercing the still silence. Sometimes, he thought he caught glimpses of mutilated and deformed spirits floating listlessly and purposelessly, waiting to be released from their tormented state.  

The atmosphere was heavy with grief, wallowing despair, endless cruelty, and malevolence. 

“Oh, look!” Warrior’s voice drew Twilight from his dark thoughts and his keen eyes were quick to follow the direction he was pointing, “A door!” 

A locked door, they soon discovered. 

Blades hissed as swords were unsheathed and the two Heroes pressed their backs to one another, waiting. Twilight found their reaction to be a little saddening although he couldn’t deny his gladness for the distraction. After all, locked doors told of something to come. 

For a long anticipatory moment, both stood unmoving and weapons extended. Nothing happened. “What’s taking so long?” Twilight muttered, loud enough for Warrior to hear. The Captain surveyed the old, archaic chamber as best he could given the limited light. “I see torches there,” He said with a jut of his chin, “I’m guessing they need to be lit.” 

Twilight did so with a couple well-aimed swings. “I hate this part,” He groused to himself, earning a hum of agreeance from his companion. He wanted to be free of this place. He wanted to escape and never look back. He stepped closer to Warrior, ensuring little distance existed between them. The Knight took note of his movement but refrained from remarking on it. Instead, he adapted to the change in position and turned his body so he stood next to the Ordonian. 

Nothing prepared them for what took place next.

A deafening sound erupted from the furthermost wall. The chamber shook and groaned as intense tremors racked the foundation of the old depths. The ground and ceiling quaked violently, showering them with loose rocks and debris. Twilight and Warrior stumbled when the earth then wrenched beneath their feet, arms flailing uselessly as they strove vainly to maintain their balance. The world around them crashed and crumbled. 

The room fell apart. 

The ceiling caved, the walls collapsed, and the floor began to gyrate. 

Instant regret is what Twilight would identify the feelings coursing through him as. He grit his teeth together, expression hardening and growing fierce. “This is not what I imagined would happen!” Warrior’s voice was hardly audible over the chaos taking place around them. It was thanks to his heightened hearing Twilight was able to hear him. “What is going on?” 

Twilight had a sinking feeling he knew. He’d experienced this before. The severe and discomforting sense of déjà vu was so potent it momentarily threw him off-kilter. “Whatever you do, stay off the sand-” He started to holler, words drowned out and unable to reach Warrior through the pervading cacophony of sounds. The sands of the dungeon-like chamber started to drain, the tiles disappearing into its gulphs. “What?” 

It was this moment- this single split second- in which everything spiraled out of control. Warrior staggered back and off the stone ledge. His boot was immediately swallowed up by the thick, coiling, sand. Twilight could pinpoint the exact instant Warrior realized his costly mistake. The look on his face...the widening of his eyes… Twilight made a desperate lunge for his friend, an alarmed cry tearing from his throat, and arm extended in the hopes of snatching him back to safety- “Warrior!” 

The Captain’s back slammed into the sinking sand. 

I shouldn’t have lit the torches

The excruciating thought racked Twilight’s mind, body, and soul as he watched the sand engulf the Hero’s lower half and shoulders. The Ordonian snapped his hand out, curling his fingers tenaciously and yanking Warrior’s wrist. With nothing save but brute strength, Twilight combatted the might of the subsiding sands and succeeded in tearing Warrior partway free. His head, shoulders, and midriff were visible but it wasn’t enough to appease the horror-stricken and determined Hero. Cobalt blues locked onto cerulean and Twilight grimaced as his arm shook from exertion. The strength of the submerging sand forcefully pulling and tugging Warrior towards the center caused his muscles to scream in protest. He refused to relent. “Get out of here, Twilight!” Warrior shouted, earnest and concerned for the safety of his companion and friend. He recognized the dangers. He knew Twilight was risking his life trying to pull him to safety. 

Twilight despised the intrepidity etched into the Captain’s features. His eyes shone, fearless and bold in the face of certain death. Stubbornly, Twilight ignored Warrior’s urgings and bent forward to grasp Warrior’s forearm with his free hand. He leant back on his heels, hauling with all his might. The old, frail and rotting tiles beneath his feet splintered, cracks webbing across and bits of stone disintegrating. 

Pain flashed briefly across Warrior’s face then vanished. He grew more insistent, bellowing and shouting but Twilight couldn’t hear what he was saying. The thunderous roar of the chamber collapsing into itself filled his ears and when the tiles beneath him gave way under the strain, Twilight and Warrior were plunged into the whirling sands. 

Twilight was immersed in complete darkness. He sealed his lips and screwed his eyes shut as his body twisted and turned, prey to the sinking sands. He clung fast to Warrior, never relinquishing his grasp. 

The sands drained, drowning them in its unforgiving depths when suddenly, the disorienting whirling, tossing, and turning stalled and the world froze. Twilight felt gravity take its toll soon afterwards. His back crashed onto solid ground, his breath escaping him with a wheeze, and Warrior’s body tumbled atop him. 

Twilight’s mouth opened in a silent, breathless, gasp. No air left or entered his screaming lungs. The reservoir was completely depleted and a surge of panic ensnared him. 

Sand filtered around them, spilling into the room they’d been unceremoniously discarded into. 

Warrior was the first to recover, his fall having been softened by the unfortunate Twilight. His shock was cast aside as the Knight rolled and scrambled to his hands and knees. His attention was solely on his winded and wide-eyed rescuer. “Twilight!” 

Hands grasped his shoulders, Warrior’s face obscuring his vision of the rough-textured ceiling as the Knight spoke speedily and urgently to him. Twilight understood not a word. Warrior’s expression hardened with steely resolve. The Captain disappeared from view. A strong arm wound around his chest a second later and the Ordonian was effortlessly hauled to safety as the discharge of sand continued to flood the room.

At long last, the ability to breathe was granted to him and Twilight greedily sucked in a huge breath. “Sweet mother of breathing-” 

Warrior slumped with relief, plopping back onto the ground with a shaky exhale. 

The Ordonian remained collapsed against him, dropping his head back and shutting his eyes. 

Warrior was alive. They were alive. Neither of them had died. 

When next he looked, he found the Captain taking in their newfound surroundings with a critical eye before he turned and scrutinized Twilight’s prone form with a creased brow. When the Ordonian grimaced and tried to sit up, Warrior swiftly moved to help. He curled an arm around Twilight’s shoulder, lifting him with ease.  “That was a rough landing,” You don’t say, Twilight grumbled sassily. 

“You’re not hurt are you?” A thread of concern seeped into Warrior’s tone when the Ordonian remained seated. Twilight was simply relishing in his ability to breathe again. With a belated shake of his head, Twilight responded, “A little banged up and bruised,” He took another breath, “But other than that, I’m fine.” The answer satisfied Warrior. “Good to know.” Something in his tone alerted Twilight and the Hylian-turned-wolf studied the Captain in the corner of his eye. “What is it?” He muttered quietly. Warrior pursed his lips, gaze flickering to the far wall. The chamber they were in was brighter than the last with lit torches casting an eerie ambience. 

A chill raced down Twilight’s spine. A sense of wrongness, a deep thrum of warning, crawled along his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his inner wolf growling. “I don’t think we’re alone.” The foreboding words gravely spoken by the Captain urged Twilight to reach out with his senses once more. He closed his eyes, calling on his wolf spirit to aid him in an in-depth search of the room. A growl rumbled in Twilight’s chest and up to the back of his throat when he detected movement. His ears twitched, eyes narrowing dangerously in the direction Warrior was staring intently in. Warrior flashed him a quick, bemused, glance. “Tell me that was you.” “And if it wasn’t?” Twilight coyly replied. Warrior’s expression flat-lined. “Not funny.” His ears twitched again and Twilight sharply raised a hand in a gesture for silence. Warrior clicked his jaw shut. The Ordonian focused on the subtle sound he’d caught, trying to ascertain the cause of it and determine whether or not it was a threat. He ignored the steady beating of Warrior’s heart and his quiet, even, breathing, forcing them into the background. Something is in that room, Twilight signed. 

Warrior snapped to attention. Drawing his left up, he demanded to know, Threat? 

Without a doubt. Plan? 

Warrior pondered for a moment, perusing their limited options. With no knowledge of what to expect or what anomaly Twilight sensed could potentially be, there were few reliable plans to rely on. 

 Right approach. I’ll take left. 

The two separated into their designated directions, weapons drawn and ready. They crept silently towards the wall. Their eyes met the moment their backs touched the coarse bricks. 

Secret chamber. 

Opening? 

They needn’t look far. Warrior pressed against the wall and a protruding brick was slid back into place. 

The locks and gears of an unseen mechanism started to turn, grinding against one another with a resounding groan. 

Found it. 

Twilight suppressed a snort. 

You don’t say. It’s funny how sarcasm and sass could translate so blatantly clear in their use of sign. 

The entrance to the hidden room was revealed when a part of the wall jerked and coasted open. Dust trickled down on the waiting Heroes. 

Warrior took the first glance into the section. “Gibdos!” “You have got to be kidding…” If there was anything Twilight detested more than the disturbing, mutilated, and terrifying Poes in Arbiter’s Grounds, it was the rotten, bandage-wrapped, limping Gibdos. Their manner of walk, the dragging of their sword, their chilling screams capable of freezing one to the core, was something he could not forget so easily. 

The look on Warrior’s face was difficult for Twilight to interpret but he could recognize the horrified remembrance etched into his tense features. 

“Yours, then?” Twilight asked, risking a peek into the dank, musty, chamber. His nose crinkled from the nauseating scent of death and decay. His fierce eyes fell upon the bony, decrepit figure swathed in bandages and his brow creased. “No, mine.” Warrior spared him a sharp glance, “They’re from your world?” Twilight cocked an eyebrow, “You recognize them?” 

“How could I forget?” Warrior muttered in reply. Twilight shared the unspoken sentiment. 

A terrifying, blood-curdling, screech pierced the silence, cutting sharply into their exchange. The two Heroes pivoted around to discover three skeletal Gibdos gimping towards them. Deformed faces with gaping mouths, broken and distended jaws, and scarred or absent eyes, drew closer. “I’m beginning to believe your world is the most terrifying, Twilight,” Warrior remarked uneasily, shuffling closer to the Ordonian, “And I have yet to visit it. On to more important matters, we need to take these guys down. The three are in close proximity to one another, so-” “Range attacks.” 

Warrior blinked at the abrupt interruption. 

“What?” Twilight took a few steps backwards, features contorted with disgust and unease, “I usually attacked from a safe distance away. Bomb arrows.” He gestured vaguely to his pack. “You…” The corner of Warrior’s lips twitched upwards in repressed mirth. His eyes practically shown with amusement. Twilight narrowed his own with a small snarl, “Careful, or I will leave you to them.” 

Warrior bit his lower lip to keep from smiling. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself, 

“Right, right. Sorry.” A snicker escaped before he could quell it. “By Hylia’s Grace, War-” 

“I’m sorry!” 

Twilight’s senses told him the Captain was completely unrepentant. A laugh broke loose. 

“You’re on your own.” 

“Hey! Get back here, mutt!”  ~~~~~

“So...How was it?” Twilight asked minutes later when an exasperated, adrenaline-filled, and mirthless Warrior stalked his way. 

“Absolutely wonderful,” Warrior deadpanned, “The thrill of battle, the adrenaline racing through my veins, and the song composed by swords and discordant shrieks was lovely. You should try it sometimes.” 

Twilight couldn’t suppress his grin. “In fact, why don’t you? I handled two of them. You’ll be fine with one, right?” Without giving the incredulous Twilight a chance to respond, Warrior plopped down on the ground beside him and slumped against the wall with his eyes closed and hands casually folded behind his head, “Good. I’ve done my share. It’s only fair you do yours.” 

“What?” 

Warrior peeked an eye open to find Twilight searching thoroughly for the remaining Gibdo. He released a small laugh, “I got rid of all three, Twi.” 

Twilight stilled, then, with agonizing slowness, turned to fix Warrior with a venomous glare. 

The Knight was unfazed. 

Twilight stewed in indignant silence. He utilized the time the Captain used to rest and regain his strength to think of ways to seek vengeance. 

“Alright,” The Captain grunted, moving to stand, “We should probably get a move on. There’s no telling where the others might be.” 

Twilight followed after him. He didn’t spare the dead Gibdos a single glance. 

“Not a fan of them, I take it?” Warrior teased lightly, nudging Twilight with his elbow. Twilight’s lips furled. 

“They are absolutely wretched. Their screams, their walk, the way they freeze you in place then jump and latch onto you-” Warrior abruptly stopped. 

“They what?” Twilight paused, turning slightly to find the Knight looking vaguely ill. 

“They latch onto you..? And...strangle you…” He trailed off at the glimmer of horror stealing across Warrior’s calm features.

“They do?!” The Knight slid a hand up to his neck, horrified. “Is that why they scream when they come close?” “...yes? It makes it easier for them if you are paralyzed and unable to move.” 

Understanding dawned on Warrior and he turned to shoot Twilight a penitent look. “That’s why you hate them so much.” 

Warrior looked horrified enough, Twilight figured, and so the Ordonian did not expound on how exactly the Redeads would fasten onto their victims. He spared the Knight the disturbing details. 

~~~~~

“I don’t like this.” 

The quiet-spoken words gently broke the eerie silence of the chamber Warrior and Twilight had stepped into. Yet another door leading to nothing but a dank, empty, and eerie room with chains, broken tiles, and vases. 

Twilight’s inner wolf huffed, shrinking into itself. Another intense wave of déjà vu washed over him and the Ranch Hand stifled a world-weary sigh. 

Something was wrong with this chamber. He could sense it. 

“There’s a door on the other side.” “Of course there is,” Twilight groused, rolling his head back to give the ceiling his best woe-is-me look. He dropped his chin forward and pursed his lips, “Should we dare to cross..?” 

Warrior hummed. With a small shrug, the Captain murmured, “We might as well go for it. How else will we find a way out?” “If we find a way out.” “Come now, Twi,” Warrior drawled, amusement seeping into his tone, “Have some faith!” 

“In what? You?” 

“Ouch. Felt that one.” Warrior slapped a hand over his heart with a look of mock hurt. He dropped his arm with a growing smile, “This is a first. I don’t think I have ever seen you so antsy before.” 

Twilight shot him a side-eyed glare but reluctantly followed after the Captain when Warrior started to make his way across. 

If Warrior’s strides were noticeably faster than usual, Twilight didn’t remark on it. It let him know he wasn’t the only one affected by whatever place they were trapped within. 

Keen, cobalt blues searched the hollow chamber endlessly. Twilight would not allow himself to be caught off guard by anything. There was no doubt in his mind that there was something in this chamber. It was only a matter of finding out what exactly was there with them. 

Squeak

Twilight came to an abrupt halt, his skin crawling and goosebumps scattering across his skin. 

The spirit of the wolf whined, curling up tightly. 

This was a sound Twilight was far too familiar with. A sound he could never forget no matter how hard he tried. Already, he experienced the phantom sensations of tiny little paws grappling onto his clothes and scrabbling upwards. Sharp, piercing teeth and hauntingly beady eyes that glowed in the dark filtered through his mind. 

He waited for a second, straining his ears to catch the sound again. 

Nothing but silence met them. 

Slowly, Twilight relaxed, the tension bleeding from his back and shoulders. Perhaps it was his paranoia acting up and his mind was making up the noises. This place was a great deal like Arbiter’s Grounds. It would make sense. 

He shook his head and hastened forward. Warrior was already a good distance ahead of him. 

The Ordonian swore he heard the scraping of claws against the disjointed and fractured tiles but he refused to believe it. Reliving Arbiter’s Grounds was not something Twilight was keen on doing. 

And that was when he felt it. 

Something latching onto his pants leg and racing upwards. 

Horror and dismay contorted Twilight’s features as he instinctively stiffened, all sense of mobility fleeing from him. 

“Warrior - Captain - Pretty Boy-” He sifted through Warrior’s names, body paralyzed and frozen stiff. The claws climbed precariously higher, but the Ordonian couldn’t bring himself to look and see what had latched onto him. If it was what he knew it was… Warrior whirled around, concern creasing his brow at the urgency in Twilight’s voice, “Twi, what-” 

Twilight flinched, eyes squeezed shut, limbs cold and hands raised, “Get it off, get it off, get. it. off,” He repeated the mantra two more times. 

Warrior rushed to his side, searching for whatever it was Twilight felt. He saw nothing. “What-” “My back!” Twilight grit his teeth together, catching a barely-audible squeak as razor-sharp claws made their way up his spine, “It’s on my back! Don’t just stand there, Warrior, if you don’t-” He was cut off when Warrior cast aside his confusion and swiped his hand down Twilight back. 

He was taken by surprise when he was met with some resistance. Both Heroes heard a startled squeak as an invisible force made contact with the ground, the impact ringing in their ears. 

Warrior blinked dumbly down at the ground, arm half-bent and hovering in the air. 

There was nothing there. He hadn’t seen anything on Twilight and yet...He’d clearly hit something. “What was that?!” Warrior shrilly demanded to know. “A rat.” “A rat?! I didn’t see a rat!” “Of course you didn’t,” Twilight said with a trace of sarcasm, his heart rate slowing now that he was in no imminent danger, “They’re ghoul rats.” “Ghoul rats?!” 

As if called upon, several other squeaks and the speedy clicking of claws came from somewhere around them. Warrior looked around incredulously. 

A slightly hysterical laugh rose in Twilight’s throat because of course this would happen, but he suppressed it when the Captain shoved him forward. 

“Out, out, out,” The Knight prompted urgently, racing for the door, “I don’t do invisible rats.” 

“You only deal with the visible ones then?” Twilight couldn’t help but quip. 

Warrior all but threw open the door in response, the two stumbling free of the room and slamming it shut behind them. Several thumps resounded against the door. 

Leaning against the cold metal, Warrior heaved a sigh and swore, “Never again. Never.”

Twilight collapsed beside him, more than happy to take a brief respite. 

“Gibdos, ghoul rats, and sinking sand,” He listed off unhappily, his head falling back, “I can only imagine what comes next.”

Warrior turned to him, chest heaving from having all but booked it out of there. 

“No more. I don’t think I can handle whatever horrors your world holds, Twi,” 

Twi snorted quietly. “I’m beginning to wonder how I did.” 

It was a good thing, Twilight figured to himself, that Warrior had never seen what the poes of his world looked like. 

~~~~~

“Should we even dare?” 

Twilight wanted to tear his hair out. 

Warrior shifted indecisively. 

This, Twilight grumbled, is pathetic. 

“There’s no telling what’s behind this door.”

“No, but if we’ve learned anything, it’s that nothing good is behind this door,” Twilight muttered and his wolf self yipped in agreement. 

Warrior gave a small chuckle, the sound lacking its typical warmth and genuinity. He rubbed at the back of his neck, staring at the door in consideration. 

“It could be the last one we have to go through.” 

The ‘or not,’ was left unsaid but not unheard. 

Both knew they were stalling. Neither one of them wanted to cross the threshold to discover what surprise this chamber might hold. Heaving a sigh, eyes closing in resignation, Twilight planted a hand against the cool metal, 

“We might as well get this over with. The sooner we get out of this place, the better.” 

Warrior huffed. Then, with a dramatic gesture of his hand, said, “After you.” 

Twilight was not amused. 

With both hands, he unstuck the door and shoved it upwards then quickly stepped to the side once it vanished. 

Cautiously, both Heroes peered inside to scope out the interior of this new room. 

Warrior blinked, a vague impression of unease and revulsion etched into his features. Twilight was too tired to care anymore. 

“You...Am I seeing correctly?” Warrior asked, his voice the ghost of a whisper. He turned to Twilight, pointing with his left. 

“Well you aren’t imagining it,” Twilight muttered in response. He took hold of the Ordon blade and unsheathed it, “Come along now, Captain, the sooner we finish this, the sooner we leave.” 

Warrior raised both eyebrows, commenting wryly, “Now where was this attitude when-” 

“Captain,” 

“Coming.” 

And with that, Warrior slipped into the room after Twilight. Both stilled when the door slid shut and locked behind them. They spared it a glance then returned their attention to the center of the musty chamber. It was, by far, the smallest room they had been in, meaning there was little space for them to move. 

“Ominous,” Warrior remarked idly, taking in the grotesque, rotting, bony arms sticking out of the ground. “Must be our boss battle.” 

“Disgusting,” Twilight tacked on. His nose crinkled at the foul and overwhelming stench of death and decay in the heavy air. Sometimes, it did not pay to have heightened senses. 

His wolf self grumbled in indignation. 

“Do we chop off the arms?” Warrior wondered aloud, studying the eerie skeletal limbs swaying in a nonexistent breeze. “Where is the main body?”  “If there is one,” Twilight scowled. He and Warrior slowly approached the center of the room, careful not to step within reach of the stiff arms. 

“Here goes nothing,” Warrior shrugged, taking a swing of his sword and chopping a couple of the limbs halfway. 

There was an ear-splitting shriek that made Twilight slap his hands over his ears and cringe.  “Din’s name! The arms grew back!” Warrior exclaimed, drawing Twilight’s attention back to...whatever they were facing. Revulsion contorted Warrior’s face, “Oh, that was sickening.” 

Twilight’s lip curled back in agreement. 

“Maybe all of the arms at once?” He suggested. Warrior gestured for him to give it a whirl. Twilight exhaled deeply and moved to the middle of the extended limbs. Without warning, one of the bony fingers of a nearby hand twitched, agitated after sensing his movement, and snatched. 

Twilight gave a muffled shout when the hand grasped tightly at his face, his vision going dark from his eyes being covered. Sharp nails cut into his skin, trickles of blood slipping free from the slivers.  The Rancher’s hands snatched at the offending limb, striving vainly to tug himself free. He felt Warrior trying to help him, the Knight muttering harshly under his breath. His sharp ears also detected something unburying itself from the ground and his heart plummeted. 

“Sweet Hylia!” Warrior cried from behind, “Din, Farore, and Nayru forbid, that thing is atrocious! Holy heavens,” 

Would you focus on setting me free?! Twilight inwardly shouted. His wolf spirit howled, barked, growled, and snapped his teeth.  

“Oh, gross, it’s coming closer-” Warrior iterated, “-Disgusting. Look at those teeth-” 

I can’t, Twilight deadpanned, not daring to speak. The slimy, rotting hand on his face prevented him from doing anything. He didn’t want to risk even breathing. 

“I have never seen anything so hideously hideous in my entire life-” 

Have you looked in a mirror? Twilight wanted to quip, his wolf self snickering. He growled, the sound muffled. 

“I am not going anywhere near that thing, so-” Strong arms wound around Twilight’s chest and Warrior yanked with all his might, tearing Twilight free of the hand just in time to see what exactly had taken him captive. 

Deep, abyss-filled eyes on a gaunt, white, sickly face inches away from Twilight’s own greeted the Ordonian. Wide, long, teeth stretched in a broad smile on that thin head at the end of an extended neck momentarily horrified Twilight.  Wolfie all but shrieked at the unexpected and ghastly sight, fur standing on end. 

He grunted when Warrior crashed back onto the ground, still holding onto the Rancher. Both stayed sprawled on the ground, staring in terrified wonder at this unfamiliar, wretched, and slouched creature. 

The monster, realizing they were now out of reach, disappeared back into the ground. 

Twilight and Warrior simultaneously released sighs of relief, jumping when the door behind them crashed open. 

“What in Hylia’s name is going on here?” A familiar voice demanded to know. Twilight and Warrior scrambled to their feet with an enthusiastic cry of,  “Time!” 

Time’s eye darted between the two as they bolted towards him, a brooding look of wearied exasperation etched into his features, “I could hear the two of you from down the corridor-” He was cut off when the teens found refuge behind him, huddling together in a vain attempt to disappear from view. His expression flat-lined. “What are you both doing?”  “Did you know Ghoul Rats exist?” Warrior asked, beyond disturbed and scarred.  “Not to mention that thing,” Twilight added with a shudder of his own,  “We don’t talk about that thing, Twi,” 

“’That thing’ came out of the ground-” Twilight pointed ahead of them. Time suppressed the urge to sigh and turned his head to pin whatever creature the two were so thoroughly shaken by with a glare. 

His gaze froze when he took in the rotting, white-limbed, arms sticking up from the ground, clawed fingers curled and ready to snatch at anyone who dared come near.  A strange expression crawled across the Old Man’s face. One neither Twilight nor Warrior had ever seen him wear. His eye had gone dead and cold, recognition flaring to life before the elder Hero spun on his heel, grabbed the teens by their shoulders, and ushered them out. 

“Um, Time, shouldn’t we-” Warrior began, gesturing vaguely back to the room they’d left. 

“We don’t have time to waste,” The Old Man smoothly interjected, patting Warrior’s shoulder. He slipped between the two and began striding down the corridor. “We still have six other Links to find.” 

Twilight and Warrior shared a bemused look but dutifully followed after the golden-clad Hylian. They spared one last glance at the metallic door hiding the monster from view and, recalling the horrors they’d experienced in the span of two minutes, and skittered away. 

“Never again,” Warrior swore, hastening his pace. 

Never, Twilight agreed.