oatsn-honey - Tumblr blog

oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

catharsis -- kagehina

ao3

masterlist

summary: Kageyama thought he wouldn't be able to withstand another instance of that bullcrap; watching helplessly as Hinata worked himself ragged, to the point of no return. Him left to guide his stupid, idiotic, dumb boyfriend from the gym, demanded by the coach to leave practice and rest. Another incident, another accident, another collapse. Were they nothing to Hinata? Well, they surely boiled Kageyama's blood, and each minute stacked another pressure and worry on his shoulders. There was no way he could do this again. And yet, here he was, waiting in the clubroom, Hinata, tears streaming down his face as coughs and tremors wracked his frighteningly frail body, enveloped in his arms.

notes: omg posting again after only 6 days??? literally feels like it was a month ago, what's goin on? quarantine got all time flow messed up (❁°͈▵°͈) anywho! pls enjoy!

Kageyama tugged at a fistful of his raven hair, stray strands tickling his face as a sigh forced itself from his chest. He swallowed thickly, feeling a shudder run through him. He couldn’t decide whether to be angry at Hinata or concerned for Hinata. “You’re exhausting, you know?” He supposed for now he would settle for exasperated.

His grip loosened and he gazed up at Hinata, his expression softening. He extended a hand to brush damp bangs, ratty and knotted, from the boy’s face. Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible to stay mad at him.

“I-I know,” the redhead hicced, his shoulders trembling as tears pooled on the tips of his light eyelashes and in the corners of his downcast eyes, “I’m s-sorry.” Kageyama’s brows furrowed, that aching desire to just make it better smothering everything in reach as he took a steadying breath.

“No, don’t apologize.” He rolled his shoulders to ease the growing tension, and from his crouch on the clubroom’s tatami mats, he reached up to massage Hinata’s jumping legs. The small desk chair the blocker rested in shook with him, and Kageyama’s mouth flattened into a frown.

A small sniffle caught his attention and his head jerked upward to stare at his boyfriend, “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” With his heart rate spiking, Kageyama’s free hand cupped his cheek, thumbing away the stray tears. The setter bit at his bottom lip, each swipe of his finger mounting a treacherous apprehension on his shoulders, constricting his heart until he couldn’t breathe from the ache.

His efforts proved futile to calm Hinata; the tears quickly carving streaks into his crestfallen face.

Releasing Hinata, Kageyama promptly delved into his duffle bag in search of something, hands fumbling with an uneasiness that threatened to choke him out -- he was no good in these situations. Triumphantly, he yanked out a wrinkled sweatshirt, thrusting it abruptly into Hinata’s lap. He helped him tug it on immediately, movements frenzied and yet cautious, until the smaller boy was engulfed by the folds and his quivering hands disappeared into the sleeves. Kageyama’s lips formed a grim line as he approached the spiker, his arms wrapping around the boy’s shoulders limply. Bending, he planted a kiss on the crown of his head, the tangled hair irritating his nose, as he whispered soothing words. Even if this wasn’t his area of expertise, per say, Kageyama would do all in his physical capabilities for Hinata. “Soon; she’ll be here soon.”

Hinata simply clutched to Kageyama, the other’s t-shirt scrunching in his fierce hold as small cries racked his body. Each congested sound pierced Kageyama’s heart, and he could only pray his mother would arrive soon.

Eventually, they moved to slump against the wall of the clubroom, Hinata’s whimpers pacified long enough for him to settle and his breaths to even out as he rested in Kageyama’s lap. The setter let his eyes drift closed, his head thudding once against the wall, as he traced familiar shapes onto the small of Hinata’s back.

He exhaled harshly, his own bout of exhaustion coursing through his body, sore from practice and left drained by his all-consuming concern. He took a moment to drag his hand down his face, digging the edge of his palm into his eye-socket. After a moment, his arm fell slack, resuming it’s ministrations on the material of his own sweatshirt on Hinata’s hot skin. His heart swelled at the sight of his boyfriend’s face; face flushed, lips parted as small gasps squeaked through. “Oi, what am I going to do with you?” He kissed his forehead, sweltering with a raging fever. His normally impassive (Hinata would call it angry, but he begged to differ) expression teasing at a small smile as his heart swelled.

Deep breaths passed through Kageyama, relaxed by the weight on his chest and the tantalizing extension of sleep. His hands stalled mid motion, and he wrapped them tighter around Hinata’s waist -- who would care if he took just a few minutes to close his eyes?

His phone buzzed erratically in his pocket of his shorts, pulling a groan from deep in his throat. Shifting Hinata in his lap, careful to not rouse him, his hands clasped around his cell, accepting the call and carelessly pressing it to his ear. “Hello?” He was so close to falling blissfully asleep.

“Tobio, I’m here.” He never really thought that he would be excited to hear his mother’s deadpan, authoritative, and vaguely annoyed voice especially when she’d interrupted his sleep, but here he was. He didn’t answer into the line, quickly disconnecting the call (something he would probably be reprimanded for later), slipping his phone back into his pocket.

I can do this, he reassured himself, one arm maneuvering to snake underneath the bend of Hinata’s knees. Swallowing, he eased himself from the ground, thighs protesting slightly at the extra weight. He cradled Hinata to his chest, careful to avoid jostling him too much.

His breath hitched panickedly at the small noise of protest Hinata made, but the spiker fell motionless aside from the small twitches of his closed eyelids. Some of the tightness left Kageyama’s body. Let’s do this; he steeled his nerves, slinging their bags over his shoulders. He stepped outside of the clubroom.

At some point during the car ride, perhaps when they were travelling over the crests and troughs of the hills or following the slithering turns of the mountain roads, Hinata stirred with a start. Gasping, he called aimlessly for Kageyama -- from the front seat, Kageyama angled his body to place a comforting hand on his boyfriend’s hip.

“Hey, now, it’s okay.”

Two tired eyes, the color hazed and swirling like melted caramel, slowly rose to meet his own. “Mmm,” Hinata moaned, shuddering and curling tighter on the car’s bench seat. Desperately, he grasped at Kageyama’s hand, holding it to his chest, rising and falling with each shaky breath.

Turning briefly to glance at his mom, her face unreadable as she casually turned the wheel, Kageyama asked, “Hey, mom, when will we be there?” After her terse answer, Kageyama echoed to Hinata (and to himself, perhaps), “Just five minutes, Shouyou.”

Kageyama received no response aside from wet coughs and stuttering breaths. God, when did he get like this? How could I let him get like this? Kageyama cursed himself. He could feel a headache blossoming across the crown of his head, pushing at his temples and leaving his mind muddled aside from the obnoxious anxiety pecking, pecking, pecking at his thoughts.

His shoulder, arm stretched uncomfortably, twinged with pain. Kageyama grunted, unbuckling his seat belt and moving to clamber into the back seat, long legs sliding over the center console. Next to him, his mother made a small hmph, but said nothing, attention focused on the dark roads of the mountainside.

Back bent uncomfortably to squat in the car, Kageyama took a seat and placed Hinata’s head in his lap. His presence, and perhaps warmth, seemed to hinder some of the shivers of the other boy. One hand came to rest on his side, the other carding through Hinata’s hair, gently combing out the small, intricate knots integrated into the forever untamed orange locks. He couldn’t be bothered by it tickling his skin. His eyebrows pressed closer; if this was all he could do for Hinata, what kind of boyfriend was he?

The boy beneath him shifted, clicking his tongue. His voice, dry and hoarse, but still ultimately heaven to Kageyama’s ears, wedged into Kageyama’s stupor. “Hey,” he tried before clearing his throat, coughing weakly once, “Thanks, Tobio.”

His chest puffing with his next inhale, warmth brushing the tips of his ears, Kageyama replied, “Well, of course.” His fingernails gently scratched against Hinata’s scalp -- a keening noise slipped past his pale lips, sending a twitch through Kageyama’s spine. “We’ll be there soon, okay?”

Hinata hummed feebly, turning into Kageyama as another wave of tremors wracked his frame. He really is an idiot, Kageyama thought fondly.

Still, disquiet disturbed the affection in his heart, leaving him with traitorous butterflies flitting in his gut and chest.

With Hinata’s arm thrown over his broad shoulder, his own arm wrapped protectively (perhaps overly so) around his waist, Kageyama toed open the door to the Hinata household, the door swinging open with a disconcerting screech. He stumbled to again lock the door, but managed to arrive safely in the dark entryway. With a grimace, Kageyama eased Hinata onto the ledge of the entrance, watching as he swayed haphazardly. Heart racing, each beat nearly gagging him, Kageyama’s hands flew to latch onto Hinata’s elbows, bracing him. His teeth ground together at the confused look Hinata sent him.

“Hey, I need you to support yourself for just a second, okay, Shou?” A weak nod in return -- one that Kageyama couldn’t fully trust. Testing the waters, he released his hold on Hinata; Kageyama began to untie and slip off the sneakers (so small; he was so small) on Hinata’s feet. His hands remained tense, the tendons flexing underneath the skin, ready to launch up to grab him again if need be.

“‘Kay,” he breathed, slipping an arm underneath Hinata’s armpit. He pulled them up together, helping Hinata step onto the hardwood floor. He watched as he shuddered from the cold. With fervor and haste, Kageyama stomped on the heels of his own shoes (he realized he hadn’t changed from his volleyball shoes -- Daichi would kill him) and yanked his feet out, socks left behind in the commotion.

“Do you want to take a bath?” he asked, guiding Hinata through his own house, his small feet sliding unsurely on the floor. He’s so out of it. Hinata’s eyes drifted from object to object, appearing almost confused by the home he had grown up in before Kageyama growled under his breath and repeated the question, “Hey, do you want to bathe?”

Eventually, they reached the couch -- thank the lord -- and Kageyama situated Hinata against the armrest, throwing a blanket over his quivering body. Sighing, he told him, “I’ll let you think about it, okay. Don’t fall asleep, I’ll be back in a second.” He left a fleeting kiss against his cheek, hot and wet from earlier.

Gnawing at the inside of his lip, Kageyama dug through the kitchen medicine cabinet for a thermometer, ears fine-tuned to listen into the living room. He found a bottle of ibuprofen during the quest, stowing it in his pocket for later. A gasp pushed past his lips as his hand wrapped around a thermometer, hidden deep in the back of the cabinet. Quickly, he slammed the door shut. After fetching a small glass, he filled it up with tap water from the sink, water splashing onto the countertop. Urgency pricked at his mind, his pulse quickening as he threw a towel on the mess, beginning to wipe the counter--

There was a crash.

Eyes widening, he rushed to the living room, mess left forgotten behind. On the steps to the second floor, Hinata, hand reaching desperately for the banister above the stairs. Coughs left his body quivering, shoulders hitching with each breath. It was like a bullet to the chest.

“Idiot!” Kageyama cried, slamming the cup onto the couch side table. He barrelled towards Hinata, demanding his heart not to burst through his chest and onto the wooden panels of the floor. “Hey, what were you thinking?! I told you not to move!” In his arms, he turned over Hinata, collapsed with perspiration spotting his face and neck, lifting his head towards his chest. He couldn’t help but curl over him protectively, hands finding their home on his shoulder. “Shouyou! Answer me!”

He flinched, and Kageyama’s eyes dilated with horror. Why is this so hard -- why does he make it so hard? “Sorry, sorry,” he moaned, voice shaking. His breaths, meant to be a calm example for Hinata, sped, distressed huffs of air. A hand gripped at his forearm, and he stared down at his boyfriend, his expression exhausted and yet soothing. “R-right,” Kageyama exhaled, sitting a touch straighter.

“So, how about we take a bath.” It wasn’t a question.

“Okay, I’m going to take your temperature now,” Kageyama relayed, pushing Hinata’s bangs from his forehead to get a good look at his dazed eyes. He stuck the thermometer underneath Hinata’s tongue, and guided the boy’s hand to latch onto the stick, holding secure. “Hold that there; I’ll be right back,” he called behind him, leaving him slumped on the closed toilet, wrapped in just a towel.

Strides wide and rushed, Kageyama bounded down the staircase, veering off at the bottom to snatch the glass he had left on the couch-side table. Already fearing what may have happened while Hinata was left unintended, he leapt up the steps, fear clutching at his heart. “Okay, I’m back,” his voice was slightly breathless as he pushed open the bathroom door.

“Hi,” Hinata slurred, a loopy smile stretching his lips. He hummed absently, the thermometer in his mouth bordering on falling to the tile. The towel Kageyama had so carefully secured around his body was beginning to droop off his shaking shoulders.

“Oi, idiot, I told you to hold onto that thermometer,” Kageyama strode over, crossing his arms over his chest. He pulled the device away and restarted it. “Here, we’ve gotta do it again.” Hinata blinked up at him, his mouth smacking closed after he had the thermometer, that slanted grin still teasing Kageyama -- he narrowed his eyes down at his boyfriend, one hand adjusting the blue towel around Hinata.

After half a minute, a series of beeps cued Kageyama to take the thermometer back. “Mm,” he read, “38.4.” He looked pointedly at Hinata, “Not good, Shou.” He received a half hearted shrug and tempting pout in response. “How many times do I have to tell you to, you know, not push yourself to the point of exhaustion and sickness?” Kageyama lamented, shuffling over to the bathtub to start the water. “How warm?”

A small cough, “I don’t know? A nice temperature, I guess?”

“Right, sure, makes perfect sense,” Kageyama rolled his eyes, testing the water on the inside of his wrist. He clicked his tongue, satisfied. After stopping the plug and adding a generous amount of lavender bubble bath (maybe Hinata’s, maybe his little sister’s), Kageyama turned back to his boyfriend, watching unhappily as his eyelids slid closed -- snapping open, then falling closed for several seconds, then open again, rinse and repeat.

Soon, he was in front of Hinata, letting the other boy slump his head against his stomach with a small, forced laugh. He threaded his long fingers through the fiery locks, once again working out new knots that he had no idea as to how they appeared. “Seriously, you’ve got to stop doing this, Shou.”

Hinata groaned, twitching uncomfortably, “I know, Tobio; I know.” He breathed haughtily, “Or I won’t be useful on the court, right?” His voice broke halfway, and Kageyama could feel his body tense. The sound of gushing bath water melded with the thunder of blood rushing in Kageyama’s ears.

“What?!” Kageyama bellowed, before consciously lowering his voice. Easily, he lowered to a kneel, and cupped Hinata’s cheeks, “I-- I never said that, Shouyou.” Silence. “I never even thought that, not once.” He took a steadying breath, his words sticking to his tongue like overcooked rice. Carefully, “Obviously, when you wear yourself to the ground -- especially when you’re sick! -- but regardless, it doesn’t help with our play.” Hinata’s face fell. “But, Shouyou, that’s not what’s important to me. I wouldn’t care if you couldn’t play volleyball at all, but I can’t stand seeing you do this to yourself -- working yourself ragged.” His words were no longer hesitant as he spoke next, “I love you, and I need you to take care of yourself. I want to see you happy and healthy.”

Hinata gaped at him, despite the ever-present distance in his eyes. Kageyama tugged a hand through his own hair, cheeks red. I never feel confident during times like this. Bashfully, he glared holes into the bathroom tiles.

A body came crashing onto his, two arms slinking around his shoulders. Struggling to maintain his balance, Kageyama cried shrilly, “Hinata, don’t hug me! You’re nearly naked!” He fell onto his rump, grimacing at the impact. He wrapped his arms around Hinata’s waist anyway, tucking his face into the junction between Hinata’s neck and shoulder. He planted a feather-light kiss there.

“Oh, like you care,” Hinata laughed, his croaky voice cracking every syllable. He left a sloppy, wet kiss on Kageyama’s forehead, then on each cheek, his nose, and lastly, his protesting lips.

“You’re going to get me sick!”

Hinata, bubbly giggles tumbling from his lips, peppered more kisses on Kageyama’s face, ignoring his half-hearted insults and whining.

“Ugh, let’s just get you in the bath; it’s nearly overflowing.” Kageyama moaned, resigning with hands raised in surrender. “Unless you want to pay for new flooring.”

Hinata laughed at his attempt at a jab (or joke; they were almost the same when it came to Kageyama), and used the wall to lift himself off of his boyfriend. “‘Kay,” he sang, sounding like his throat was in ribbons. Somehow, the towel was still secured around his shoulders.

He let Kageyama ease him into the tub, the other grumbling the whole process, complaining about how he would certainly fall ill now. As he sank into the bath, the water soothed his body, spent from the little tussle. His eyes were unfocused and closed as he fell deeper into the water, the bubbles tickling at his collarbone.

“Hey, turn for me; I’m going to wash your nasty hair,” Kageyama spat, still pretending to be bitter from earlier. Hinata mumbled something incoherently, listlessly allowing himself to be moved by Kageyama’s strong hands.

Those same hands were soon entangled in his hair, working shampoo smelling of coconut into a lather. He hummed contently, relaxing into Kageyama’s touch. “Hey, don’t fall asleep, Shou.” More muffled words, nonsense to Kageyama’s ears. He let him slump against his arms -- he was light enough to support, anyway.

“Okay, close your eyes, I’m going to rinse now.” He peered over Hinata’s shoulder. “Oh,” he breathed, “Your eyes are closed.” Hinata’s chest rattled with a laugh. With one hand tenderly cupped at his hairline, Kageyama steadily poured a cup of water -- regrettably soapy from the bubble bath -- over his hair. He did it three more times, and concluded with a toss of Hinata’s orange mop of locks. “All done.”

Hinata’s hands claspped together limply, applauding weakly, a small curl to his lips. Water splashed between them, still slightly submerged. “Oi,” Kageyama warned, ruffling Hinata’s hair again. He dipped his hand in the water and lightly smacked Hinata on the shoulder, leaving a mountain of bubbles. “I’ll be back; don’t drown.” He left the room, sparing a glance behind his shoulder.

Sauntering into Hinata’s room across the hall, the balls of his feet aching from practice, Kageyama assigned himself to unmaking the bed. He considered himself fortunate for knowing which pillows and stuffed animals Hinata slept with specifically -- if he were to forget that old lion stuffed animal, Hinata would whine and complain until he had it in his grabby little clutches.

After adjusting the three different blankets (it was crazy how easily Hinata got cold), Kageyama glanced around the room. Sitting conveniently on Hinata’s desk chair was a baby blue heating pad. Kageyama ambled across the room and tucked the pad underneath his arm.

After figuring out how the temperature gage worked on it (it was different from the one his mom had at home), he plugged it in and placed it carefully underneath the top sheet. He pursed his lips. Surely this is a fire hazard. He debated whether it was safe to put there, clearing various items from the floor -- a pair of shoes, a couple of his own sweatshirts (if Hinata wasn’t so sick, he would probably yell at him for it), a bag, and many mismatching socks strewn across the room.

He stilled for a moment.

It was far too silent across the hall.

Shouyou.

He flew across the hall, all worries regarding a fire gone, erased from memory. “Shouyou?!” He barged into the bathroom, ramming his shoulder into the door. What if he fell asleep and drowned?

Two caramel eyes floated up to him, unsuspecting and relaxed. “Yes?” he warbled, his minute motions stilling. The bubbles shifted around him, and in his hands, a rubber duck. “What’s wrong?”

Groaning, Kageyama threw his head into his palm, emotions tilting between relieved and exasperated. “I’m an idiot for worrying.” Hinata cast him a questioning look, his right index finger absently pushing the duck toy in the water. “Ugh, nothing,” Kageyama dismissed with a wave of his hand, trudging forwards.

“Are you ready to get out?”

“Yup!” He sounded far too chipper, Kageyama decided.

Soon enough, the bath’s stop was pulled, and the sudsy water began to drain. Offering an arm, which Hinata latched onto gratefully, Kageyama aided with the climb out, “And up we go.” Retrieving the towel, he softly shimmied the towel over his head, simultaneously flinging water everywhere and drying Hinata’s hair. His boyfriend grinned up at him cheekily. He flung the towel at Hinata, grumbling with pink cheeks, “You can dry yourself off.”

Hinata laughed, quavering and amused, and Kageyama couldn’t help but return a warm smile.

“I’ll go get you something to sleep in.”

Moments later, he returned with a fresh change of clothes (which of course included one of his own tees -- he couldn’t help it, it was like a guilty pleasure, seeing Hinata in his clothing). Hinata leant against the counter, bundled in his towel, a flourescent green toothbrush in his mouth. He mumbled a greeting around it, extending Kageyama’s own toothbrush (he always kept an extra at the Hinata household).

“Thanks,” Kageyama murmured, placing the small pile of clothes down. Two minutes later -- Hinata was very particular about dental hygiene for some reason -- they were finished, and Hinata was slipping on his change of attire while Kageyama rinsed his face and tidied up (as much as possible) the destroyed bathroom.

“Carry me?” Hinata implored, hand latching onto Kageyama’s sleeve, doe-eyes begging. They were still clouded with fever, face drained of color, but he swayed on the balls of his feet anyway.

“Shouyou, your room is literally 5 feet away,” Kageyama countered, voice sharp with mock-annoyance. But with another plea and pout, Kageyama was caught hook, line, and sinker. Securing his arms underneath Hinata’s legs, the spiker’s arms flung over his shoulders, Kageyama took his (their?) first step towards the bedroom, flicking the light switch on his way out.

He padded across the hallway and into Hinata’s room, before lowering his boyfriend, deceivingly tiny and thin, onto the twin bed. He set to digging through Hinata’s drawer, finding some clothes for himself while the other nuzzled into the comforter.

“It’s a good thing you always keep some clothes here, huh?” Hinata cooed from across the room, on top of and yet enveloped by the blankets and pillows (and, of course, Kageyama’s shirt). He watched sleepily, devoid of any readable emotion except mitigation, as Kageyama slipped on a new set of clothes for sleeping. He would just shower in the morning.

“Yeah,” Kageyama returned, making his way back to Hinata, who laid prone on the bed, eyes once again closed. While passing, he shut the door with a click and switched the lights off. “Hey, get under the covers.” He himself clambered underneath the sheets, lifting them up for Hinata to join him.

On hands and knees, Hinata advanced sluggishly, immediately clinging to Kageyama’s side. “Mm, so warm,” he drawled, unaware of the heating pad beneath him, somehow. After tossing the blankets over them, Kageyama carefully maneuvered it, thanking his stars that they had avoided a fire in his panic.

Kageyama stole a relaxing inhale, feeling some of the pent-up stress leave his body. His arm instinctively slid underneath Hinata, still tucked into his side, and his hand knitted into Hinata’s hair. Next to him, lips moving against him, Hinata drawled, “You’re the best, Tobio. I love you.”

His heart surged, exhilarating waves of affection -- something stronger than those butterflies -- crashing into his stomach. With a wobbly smile, he pressed a kiss into Hinata’s hair. “I love you too, Shou. Forever.”

“Even if you’re an idiot.”

notes: idk what to say,,,? (๑ ˊ͈ ᐞ ˋ͈ )ƅ̋ mmm, maybe smth like this was another spontaneous project that i shouldn't have worked on but did?? hopefully i'll finish up my other pending story here soon and get some other stuff done before i start another random project adfjas;dlfjadsfjas;df pls i beg of u, future me pls let me know what u thought in the comments! tysm for reading!! <3 ꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱♡

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfiction #kagehina #kagehina fanfiction #angst #fluff #kagehina angst #kagehina fluff #hurt/comfort #sickfic #sick hinata shouyou #anxiety #small hinata shouyou

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oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

breathe, and all will be well . . .

ao3

masterlist

summary: He was off today, Kageyama realized. His steps were too slow, too shaky. When he moved for a spike, it wasn't with his typical grace and enthusiasm.He didn't discover why until Hinata was collapsed on the floor, choking on his own breaths and face pale as a sheet. Or: Hinata hasn’t been eating enough and is overexerting his body.

notes: guess who's back back, back again tac's back with more rlly gay kagehina content pls enjoy! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

“One more!” Hinata bellowed, his arms swinging behind him as he prepared to jump, muscles flexing and firing. For a moment, amidst the cacophony of shouts, pants, and squeaking shoes, there was silence, and he was soaring -- looking down at the other side of the court and flashing upwards past the net. His eyes locked onto an empty sliver of polished floor, disregarding the blockers in all of their entirety. His palm connected with the ball -- flesh on leather -- and it’s slam against the wood resounded through the gym.

“Nice kill, Hinata!” He heard Tanaka from behind, the second-year approaching to sling his arm around the middle blocker’s small frame. Releasing a shaky breath, Hinata’s caramel eyes slid over to Kageyama -- the setter nodded in approval. They were perfectly in-sync.

Not for long, though, Hinata quickly realized. His steps were off-- too sluggish, too clumsy. As he urged his body onward, his chest heaving and jaw aching (why, he wasn’t sure), it felt far too cumbersome, like a dead weight he had been burdened with. His knees trembled as he jogged up to the net -- Kageyama glanced at him, panic flashing in those star-flecked eyes. He was several tempos slow.

Hinata swallowed, steeling his nerves. His body too, it seemed, as each joint stiffened in protest to his movement. Regardless, he flung his arms, and clenched his eyes, shut, and launched upward, pain and fatigue coursing down his legs.

Midair, his head not peaking above the net, the ball crashed to his left. His landing unsteady, narrowly avoiding a close-and-personal encounter with the floor, Hinata straightened (or so he thought, but perhaps he was still hunched over). A chorus of “don’t mind!” rang in his ears, but he could only stand and blink, staring at the forgotten ball.

“Hinata?” A strong hand clasped his shoulder, and he was spun around to meet the concerned face of their team captain. Daichi came closer, eyebrows drawing closer together, “Are you alright?” His doting was normally reassuring and heartwarming, but Hinata only wished the third-year would forget about him like that ball, that missed spike, and move on.

He cleared his throat, testing the choppy waters, “Uh, yeah! All good!” It was a lie told straight through his teeth, but he’d rather lie 100 times than be sent off the court simply because he felt ‘out-of-it’.

That choice, however, would soon come to bite him. He spent the entirety of the scrimmage lugging himself around, each step a tremendous effort to keep from collapsing. Nishinoya received Asahi’s monster serve, and it sailed towards Kageyama, his hands open and ready. God, he was going to have to spike again -- even if it went to Tanaka, he still needed to act as a decoy.

With a laborious inhale, he trudged forward -- or, he thought he did. Move! He screeched at his body, but it wouldn’t work. He couldn’t get it -- his body-- he wasn’t working. Oh god, oh god. The ball was about to hit Kageyama’s palms. The other boy flashed him a panicked look, and Hinata clamped his teeth hard on his lip to keep from crying out in desperation.

He tried to will his legs forward, but they shuffled a mere inch. Move, move, move! His vision -- his vision, oh lord, it was going, his vision was going. Black teased at the edges, and his breaths were small puffs, shuddering and frightened. His lungs, they were empty, he couldn’t get any air-- he was suffocating, oh god, he couldn’t breathe. His chest spasmed as he choked out, “K-Kage-ya-”

As the setter surged towards him, fear riddling his face, the team closed in from all sides, pressing on him-- pressing, get away. His limbs were numb; he couldn’t even twitch his fingers, but his chest was rising and falling so fast -- why couldn’t he get any air into his lungs? He couldn’t breathe! Why wasn’t his body listening? Just work!

An arm hooked around his back, but his vision, the black seeping into everything, was too blurry -- I can’t see, where am I, oh god, I can’t breathe, I can’t move -- to make out their face. “Hinata?!” The voice, frantic and too loud but too muddled all at the same time, pried at his mind. His head felt like it was about to split open, only for his heart to burst out at the same time, revealing his malfunctioning lungs -- why weren’t they working?

“Hinata, breathe.” A soothing voice, calm and smooth, cut into both the chaos and static of Hinata’s mind. A hand landed on his chest, and he couldn’t help but listen to the voice, carrying with it a godsent breath of fresh air and all of the fathomable kindness in the world. “That’s it, breathe with me.”

Slowly, the black spots faded, leaving behind a pounding headache and swimming vision -- maybe that was the tears though. He blinked them away as the sights beheld to him became clearer. His chest ached as he inhaled; each huff unsteady, but gloriously there.

“Hey.” It was Sugawara hovering above him, a comforting smile lifting his angelic face -- he almost looked like an angel, his head blocking the light above them, the rays splaying out and creating a halo. Not to mention that he had delivered that divine sanctuary of being able to breathe.

Hands grasped for him, and he cried out, that pressure in his chest returning with alarming speed, but Suga fended them off with a bark of, “Don’t overwhelm him!” His eyes flitted back down to Hinata, a hint of worry lacing his expression, and he spoke carefully, “Be careful. Give him a moment.”

Thankful for his upperclassman, Hinata sighed in relief, slumping against the support against his back. The support shifted -- wait what? He was between a set of knees, clad in black pads, and supported by a strong chest. Two hands were placed at either side of his extended legs. He studied the hands, each scar crossing over the skin, the shape of the fingers -- Kageyama. One of the hands rose to pat the top of his head. He smiled, relaxing into the welcome embrace.

The team, now a safe distance away, watched curiously as the trio sat in silence. Hinata’s eyes were drifting closed, his limbs tingling as feeling returned. They still felt heavy, though, as Suga gently broached, “So, what happened?”

He could feel Kageyama’s chest beneath him hitch -- maybe it was nervousness? Or maybe he was laughing, thinking, “Wouldn’t we all like to know?” Sighing, Hinata rubbed at his temple with his buzzing fingers, the nerves igniting at the feeling. He settled further into Kageyama, into that familiar comfort, and an arm came to wrap around his stomach (he couldn’t bring himself to care about the unusual public display).

“I-I,” Hinata cleared his throat with a small cough, “I don’t know. I was fine earlier, but the more I played, the worse I felt. It’s like my body wasn’t listening!” His voice, which started out weak, grew louder, more alarmed, “I couldn’t breathe -- couldn’t get the air to my lungs! My legs weren’t listening, they wouldn’t move-! And my v-vision-!”

“Hey, now. Calm down, breathe,” Suga cooed, leaning forward to brush Hinata’s bangs from his sweaty forehead. “It’s alright, Hinata, you’re alright.” They took another moment, the team growing anxious at the peculiar patience and serenity of the third-year setter. “Hinata,” he began again, “This all sounds like the type of things that happen when you haven’t eaten enough -- when you’re burning more calories than what your body has.”

Hinata bristled at Suga’s following question, “Did you eat lunch?”

He wasn’t given a chance to respond before Kageyama quipped angrily, “This idiot only ate a bowl of rice! And he didn’t even finish it!”

“H-hey!” Hinata craned his neck to glare at Kageyama, who returned the gesture in full, before tacking on, “I ate, like, 5 carrots too!”

Before their frustration with each other could build (strangely, Kageyama’s arm was still protectively wrapped around Hinata’s body), Suga intervened, “Hinata, a bowl of rice and carrots, while better than nothing, still isn’t enough food.” The boy pouted in response, body slacking in shame of being told he’d messed up -- even if it wasn’t inherently anything to feel guilty for. “With all of this extra training we’re doing in preparation for the tournament, we’re burning extra calories -- but I can see how it may have slipped your mind.”

He rose to his feet, a little sway to his stance. Leaning forward, he patted both Hinata and Kageyama on their heads. “How are you feeling now, Hinata?” His hands now wrapped around his sides, placed firmly at his hips.

“Mm,” Hinata took stock of his body before carefully answering, “I’m-- I’m still shaky, I think.” He tilted his head back, the crown of it hitting against Kageyama’s chest, to look up at his setter. The taller teenager simply rolled his shoulders and bit at his lip.

“Well then,” Suga extended a hand, and Hinata accepted it gratefully, unsteadily rising to his feet. He stumbled momentarily, jarred by the weight of his body (and the loss of Kageyama’s reassuring warmth), but was saved by Suga’s stable hands. With gentleness that left a river of light in its wake, the setter parted the crowd of teammates and guided Hinata to the bench.

Gracelessly, Hinata plopped next to Yachi, who appeared increasingly alarmed and distressed by the situation -- even more so with his close presence. He thought about scooting away, but doubted the abilities of his wavering balance. Anxiously, his chest aching once again, Hinata flexed his fingers and toes.

“Anyone have some extra food?” Daichi’s booming voice sounded through the gym.

“Oo! I got some for you, Shouyou!” Nishinoya squealed excitedly, leaping into the air and lunging for his bag, hurridley digging into the discord for this so-called food. As the seconds ticked by, the team standing helplessly, Nishinoya grew further agitated as he continued his futile search, grunting in frustration. Eventually, Asahi had to tell the libero that it was alright if he didn’t have any food.

As Hinata watched the scene unfold, his stomach tying in nervous knots that made him grow sick at the thought of eating, something was thrust into his face. Lingering before him was Tsukkishima, face as impassive as ever, a graciously offered granola bar clasped in his outstretched hand. “Take it,” he growled, pushing his glasses up with a snarl.

Despite his coldness, something the team had long since grown accustomed to, Hinata’s face softened and he accepted the gift. “Thank you!” He tore into the package despite the protest of his stomach, knowing that eating it would mean returning to the court sooner.

“No problem,” The middle blocker sauntered off, casually waving his hand, to join the others. Hinata’s lips curled into a small smile as he took that first bite.

Practice resumed, eventually building speed as everyone recovered from the shock of the situation. Hinata watched longingly, an electric enthusiasm in his eyes. And even with the harsh lecture from Ukai and the less-harsh talk from Takeda, Hinata could only think one thing: I’ll be okay.

so this is actually based on an experience of mine at swim practice it was quite difficult to translate smth like this (not eating enough and thus having ur brain fail to tell ur body to move, like kick and take in oxygen while uNDERWATER) from swimming world to volleyball world i hope i did it okay! i also hope y'all could understand the emotional jumble of the actual anxiety attack itself ahgsdfasfd (๑ ˊ͈ ᐞ ˋ͈ )ƅ̋

#hurt/comfort #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfiction #kagehina #kagehina angst #angst #fluff #kagehina fluff #anxiety #anxiety attacks #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #tobio x hinata #tobio x shouyou #hinata x kageyama #sugawara is team mom #sugawara koushi #tsukishima kei #sawamura daichi

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oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

reblog to put this back on the top after my posting spree aha! for u my love @vx3art ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )

breakfast and flower crowns

for the amazing @vx3art!! ilysm!!

masterlist

summary: Link would do anything for his princess: steal the stars and the moon, give his life, vanquish all evil. But to them, the smalls things, insignificant and sweet moments, were what mattered the most. And so, for her birthday, he would deliver just that.

notes: babe, i’m so sorry this is so late!! :<<<< i’ve really dropped the ball ilysm, thank u for being so impossibly patient with me it’s not much, but i hope u enjoy this little thing b ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

The sweet smell of roasting fruits and sweet cake began to gently lure Zelda from her slumber. Tucked away and cozy in the small bed, she nestled into the comforter, thick and smelling of nature. Her lips curled gently, and she blinked slowly, enchanted by the sunlight glinting from the foggy window. The rays, warm and whispering tales of old, danced on her skin as she shifted, sighing contently.

She took a moment to revel in the calm of the scene, the domestic wonder of it all, and to delight in the gentle humming wafting from below. There was a soft clattering of pans and dishes, but it suited the atmosphere peculiarly well. Burrowing further into the warm bed, she briefly wondered what he was doing. Zelda didn’t have to ponder her question for much longer, as the familiar creak of the loft stairs reached her ears. The tantalizing smell of home (this home) and treasured memories drawing nearer. Excitedly, she sat up in bed, propped on her side by one elbow. Her hair, now short and light, swayed gently, tickling her raised shoulder. He rounded the corner, a pleased spring in his step, a smile illuminated his face. “Ah, you’re awake,” he spoke, setting himself onto the bed, the mattress shifting with his weight. In his hands were a plate and a bowl, which were very obviously the culprits of that delicious scent. The porcelain bowl emitted a bright clink as he set it on the bedside table. His free hand reached up to brush a stray strand of her dandelion hair from her eyes, “Morning.”

Keep reading

#reblog

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oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

cornflowers and caramel cubes

chapter one - aches and anxiety

masterlist

ao3

summary: Kageyama was always observant of his boyfriend, small and beautiful, vibrant and loud. Drinking in each feature, every word that fell from his lips, he could never get his fill. He was utterly enamored. And yet, how could he have missed something as blatantly obvious as this?

Or:Hinata gets extremely ill -- it’s appendicitis.

notes: i'm back writing fics i'm not supposed to beeeeeee help haikyuu and kagehina is absorbing my life-force and commanding me to create content this was a little hurt/comfort idea (when is it not hurt/comfort with me) that just popped in my head! pls enjoy!! <333 thank u sm for reading!

btw, just some warnings!! this does involve vomiting and vomiting blood, as well as other mentions of illness. there are hints to anxiety, but purely situational anxiety!

He looked beautiful that day, Kageyama thought. But, he looked beautiful every day. That didn’t stop his eyes from sneaking glances at him -- his milk skin; tangerine-pink lips, soft and supple (he would know, after all); those freckles that were lovelier than the stars painted in the sky; and, of course, that smile that never ceased to make his heart skip a beat (or ten) and immediately send heat straight to the tips of his ears.

“Tobio?” His voice, the sound like the morning sun, broke the setter from the stupor he had unknowingly found himself in. (Though, if he were to be honest, this was becoming a daily occurrence.) “You good?” The boy in front of him waved a small hand -- everything about him was small, except for maybe his heart. And eyes. And tenacity. And . . . -- in his face. Wait, when had he started staring?

“Uh, yeah. All good, Hinata.” He could feel his cheeks burning, the back of his neck feeling uncomfortably warm. The sun beating down at them wasn’t helpful in the slightest. Briefly, Kageyama found himself groaning internally -- When did I become so sappy? It’s gross. He’s gross. But cute.

He slumped against the brick wall, poking absently at the lunch placed in his lap. With a sigh, he switched his chopsticks for a box of milk. His brows pressed together, and he willed the warmth from his face away, as he sucked through the straw. His eyes slid over to Hinata, his partner aimlessly gazing at his food. Oddly, a murmur of distress fell from his lips, and he abruptly closed the lid to his bento, pushing it aside.

Kageyama curiously curled his lips to the side. Cocking an eyebrow, he prodded at his boyfriend, “Are you good?” Cornflower met caramel as they shared a look. A small hum from Hinata told him that he was alright, but Kageyama believed otherwise. That look in his eyes; it was pleading.

Practice was more-or-less a bust. At least, that’s what thought was at the forefront of the small decoy’s mind. Hunched over, a sharp and nagging pain coursing through his abdomen, Hinata counted the minutes until practice ended. 98, to be exact.

It didn’t help that Coach Ukai clearly had a personal vendetta against them (at least in the redhead’s mind), each player in nearly the same position as Hinata -- if not, their hands were atop their heads and heaving chests faced the ceiling. As the others regained their vigor enough to joke and laugh, though, Hinata’s breaths continued to come in short, laborious gasps that left his innards feeling as though they were contorting and twisting about within his body.

A single shout is an executive order for Hinata’s head. “12 laps around the gym, sprint!” A simple task, really. But with his intestines so jumbled, breaths simple puffs of air, and head pounding against his eyes, blood pumping in his ears, Hinata didn’t know if he could take even a single step more. He starts anyway, mindful to blend in with the others -- don’t fall behind; don’t push ahead. Just inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale through that knife stabbing at your stomach.

Next, receives. He supposed it went fine, considering he already tended to do poorly in that area. He swallowed harshly when a sardonic laugh made its way to his ear; “It’s almost like it’s the beginning of the year again!” He didn’t question who said it, only focused on not collapsing on the hardwood floor. His stomach should be a gymnast, he thought, with all of its tumbles and flips. An involuntary shiver ran through him as a tsunami of pain made its way to shore.

“5 minutes!” A chorus of relieved sighs and exclamations echoed in the gym, and the boys made their way towards the bench. Unsteadily, Hinata followed suit, his legs quivering and body tense. It’ll pass with a swig of water, he told himself. But when his trembling hands brought the water bottle up to his mouth, the opening knocking lightly against his teeth, he came to regret that thought.

It was all too much.

The shouts of Nishinoya and Tanaka.

The choir of heavy breathing and the squeal of shoes against the polished floor.

The sweat dripping down his back, the migraine threatening at his temples.

That awful twisting in his gut.

Hinata found himself on the floor propped on his hands and knees, his entire body burning and aching. The whole team had encircled him. His arms shook, but he was soon held protectively in someone’s arms. He grasped at their shirt, a wet sob broke past his lips, and he turned his face into them as strong hands rubbed circles into his quivering back. Kageyama.

He was covered in his own vomit. The floor was. The equipment was. Everything.

A hand, slightly cold to the touch, tenderly pushed his soaked bangs back from his forehead. As the black dots, piercing at his eyes, fade away, he sees the blurry face of Suga, gentle brows furrowed and his face pale with worry. “Hey,” he cooed, voice as lilting and soothing as ever. As the ringing in his ears quieted, but never truly disappeared, he could hear someone on the phone. His eyes flitted around the room anxiously, and his heart rate spiked.

“Hey, now, Hinata, look at me, okay?” That hand, still holding back his sweaty hair, gently scraped at his scalp, and he surrendered to the touch. “What’s wrong?” So the interrogation began.

A pained groan was as suitable a response as Sugawara had expected “Understandable,” Daichi’s booming voice, disquieted, pitched in from behind the setter. “Here,” he whispered, handing something to Suga that Hinata couldn’t make out. He twitched nervously in Kageyama’s -- whom he was relying completely on to sit up -- arms. “Don’t worry,” Sugawara reassured, his presence relaxing Hinata’s frantic pulse, “I’m just going to check your temperature.”

His senses returned to him slowly, but he could feel the thermometer underneath his tongue as the thermometer read his temperature. His eyes, dazed and misty-eyed, settled on Suga, his soft features quelling his panic. A small beep-beep-beep reached his ears, and the thermometer was taken back. His eyes shifted up to his captain, who hissed as he read the temperature. “38.5.” A groan rang throughout the gym and only then did Hinata fully comprehend just how close everyone was. It was suddenly too hot, too stuffy, too close.

“Okay, kiddo. Give him some space, guys!” Daichi ordered. Had he said that last bit out loud? He didn’t care, Hinata decided, simply needing to end the agony riddling his stomach. His exhale was trembling as he weakly pressed closer to Kageyama.

“Is it your stomach?” the raven-haired setter spoke softly in his ear. He nodded minutely, hands snaking around his own midsection. He hissed as Kageyama adjusted his grip on his feverish body, the movement jostling his tender pains far too greatly. He couldn’t help the whimper from escaping, his eyes screwed shut, as Kageyama rose to his feet, carrying him with the grace that could only belong to a setter towards the bench.

Hinata could feel hot tears stinging his eyes, angry with himself (for his weakness, he supposed), ashamed, and unable to stop the small whines of pain that slipped past his parted lips. He fell asleep to Kageyama’s soft whispers of, “It’s okay, Shou, you’re alright. I’m here.”

30 minutes later, he awoke to the stabbing in his gut, but he was somehow in his bed, blankets tossed about from his tossing. Downstairs, he could hear, and smell, his mother cooking. But the thought of food simply made him blanch.

As he shuffled into the gym Hinata steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation with his team; their demands as to why he was there. Their eyes turned to him and he was already prepared to shrug off their questions and answer half-heartedly. But what he had expected to be simple turned out to be more difficult than the arduous bike ride across the mountains (he would be sure to keep to himself the fact that he had to take several breaks, and had once found himself collapsed on the side of the road, trying to keep from spewing on the asphalt).

Hinata received a massive chewing-out from the entire team, Suga’s own reprimands surprisingly harsh. Seated on the bench, he observed the other boys’ practice, watching but not entirely seeing, gaze distant and hazy. There were painful goosebumps tickling at his skin and a shiver coursed through his back.

Rubbing his tense neck, the muscles knotted and hot, Kageyama glanced over at his boyfriend, doubled over at the bench. A curse was hissed through gnashed teeth as he made his way over to him in long, agitated strides.

Knocking the redhead’s shoulder lightly with his clenched fist, the setter asked pointedly, “Hey, shrimp, when was the last time you ate?” Doe-eyes sluggishly turned towards him, and Kageyama found himself gulping back in apprehension, the heat leaving his body. He gnawed at his lip tentatively. “Hey,” he pressed.

A storm of violent tremors ran through Hinata’s small body, quivering and haggard, leaving behind the damage of a natural disaster. As he answers, “I think I had a banana yesterday?” Kageyama’s calculating eyes are glued to the decoy’s face -- the lines and contours gaunt, the dark circles (he had been kept up by pain all night) beneath those normally vibrant eyes unsettling.

The taller boy cursed, color draining from his face, “Hinata!” His face scrunched in what he wished was fury -- Kageyama wanted to be angry, he really did. He knew how to deal with anger. But this concern, all-consuming and disastrous, left his heart in disarray and his mind jumbled. He could feel his nails digging into his palms, carving small crescents into the skin.

“I swear, I’m not hungry!” Hinata defended, his voice weak and breaking. His hands, clumsy and shaking, reached out to grab at Kageyama’s sleeve -- what for, he didn’t know. He worried at the inside of his lip, a drop of frigid sweat trickling down his back. He leaned forward, just missing Kageyama’s arm as the player turned away.

Shouting, his voice reverberated throughout the room, the drills slowing so each teenager could peek at the situation, “Coach!” He threw on his jacket, quickly zipping it up to his chest. “I’m taking Hinata home!” In a huff, he switches his shoes with mastered precision and throws his bag over his broad shoulder.

“W-wha-! No, Kageyama, you can’t do that!” Hinata stammered, his arms crossing over his body as he firmly planted himself on the bench. “I have scho-” A sputtering gasp pushed its way through his lips. That pain that he had nearly become accustomed to had morphed into something loathsomely sharper; something localized. His stomach, set ablaze, convulsed excruciatingly, and his hand shot up to clamp over his mouth. The corners of his vision tunneled inwards, that obnoxious, drowning ringing returning to consume all sound.

“Shou?” When had Kageyama kneeled in front of him? His hand, comforting with its strength, yet tenderness, was braced upon his knee. The team stole glances from behind the setter, frozen mid-motion. They inch closer and closer still.

A look at his boyfriend, lip caught between his teeth, worry etched into that already pressed face, led Hinata to unsteadily clamber to his feet. “I-I’m fi-fine,” he jumbled out, swaying and lurching, his face green. He slipped, plummeting into Kageyama’s arms, safe, a haven. “S-sorry.” He quaked, willing the wave to pass as Kageyama eased him back down onto the metal bench.

His hand, sturdy and reassuring, rubbed shapes into his knee. “It’s okay, Shouyou, take your time.” Even with his arms wrapped constrictingly around his turning stomach, the redhead peeked through his curly bangs -- which were needing a trim -- to stare lovingly at his boyfriend, his powder blue eyes like the dusk sky, swirling with stars. “But,” Kageyama hesitated a moment to nibble at his bottom lip, “You really should get home and try to rest, you know.”

“R-right.”

Suddenly, a weight settles on Tobio’s shoulder -- Takeda’s voice filtered into their little bubble, “I’ll take him home, Kageyama.” The setter whirled around to look up at his teacher, a set of keys jangled in his extended hand. He smiled gently, “You should stay and practice instead, okay?”

Despite his better-intuition asking-- no, begging-- him to say otherwise, he sputtered out, “O-Okay. Thanks.” His eyes, wavering and uncertain, flicked to Hinata’s. The apprehension and panic he sensed made every fiber of his body scream, “Stay with him!”

But, 5 minutes later, Hinata was being guided from the gym, Takeda’s hand braced on his elbow, and Kageyama was twirling a ball in his hands, his teammates calling for sets.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright alone? Do you need me to walk you in?” Takeda broached gently, shifting the vehicle into park. He unlocked the car and turned to gaze at Hinata, slumped against the cold window, moving to rest his bent arm on the center console.

Twitching uncomfortably, the redhead clutched onto the small handle, pushing the car door ajar. “Mmhmm, I’ll be okay,” he laughed weakly, the look in his eyes entirely contradictory. As his feet hit the pavement of his driveway he stifled the urge to cry out, trapping the sound behind his teeth. When he turned around to retrieve his school bag, an attempt at a smile, which appeared closer to a pained grimace, lined his features. “Thank you.”

Hinata didn’t care to announce his entrance as he dragged himself into the house, bothering only to slip his shoes off while entering. His bags clattered to the floor, and he couldn’t bring himself to worry whether he had disturbed the others in the house. His vision faded as he trudged up the stairs, his knuckles bone-white as he gripped the stair-rail.

He crawled into his bed, clad into a soft shirt Tobio had left at his house, the smell and reminder of him helping to calm the churning and biting of his stomach. It was nice, but it never quite substituted for the real thing. He settled into his covers, burrowing underneath their warmth, and faded into a fitful sleep, arms snaking around his abdomen.

He didn’t wake up for several hours.

Later that evening, in the Karasuno gym, Kageyama wrung his hands, slick with sweat, nervously. “He’ll be okay,” He heard Sugawara call from behind him, his tone consoling. But, the first-year couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about the whole situation. Shouyou had honestly looked horrendous. And he was so scared, Kageyama could tell.

Attempting to shake the thoughts out of his head, the setter rolled his shoulders and took a swig from his uncapped water. It was stale and room temperature -- unsatisfying. He set it down again, screwing the lid on again. Toying with his lip, he watched as the other players stretched and joked, but couldn’t bring himself to join. He just wanted to see Hinata.

An obnoxious song blasted throughout the gym suddenly, snapping Kageyama from his stupor. Gasping, he frantically lunged for his bag, digging for his cell. It was Hinata’s ringtone -- his favorite song. A shiver ran up Kageyama’s spine when Nishinoya and Tanaka creeped over his shoulder, lurking. His hand clamped around the small device, vibrating and singing still. He slid his finger across the screen frantically, “Hello?”

He took a moment to worry about how rushed and jumbled his words were, breathless and too-eager. But all thoughts were fully erased when a sound was carried through the line.

“Tobio,” A heart wrenching sob echoed through Kageyama’s head as his eyes widened and his stomach dropped. “Tobio, help. I-” Shrill, choked cries cut him off, filling all of the vacant space created by Kageyama’s silence.

He bristled at the sounds, and the team took immediate notice, practice halting in its entirety. Many joined Tanaka and Nishinoya, all encircling Kageyama as he crouched on the floor, his breath spiking in anxiety. He swallowed. “Shou, what’s wrong? Shou?”

He only briefly thought about how he hardly used nicknames around the rest of his team.

Through wails and frenzied huffs of air Kageyama heard, “To-Tobio, please, my stomach--I-” He was interrupted again by his own wails.

Kageyama hissed a curse through his teeth, and each and every person present knew what it meant -- the situation was bad. No questions arose as he moved towards his bags and began slipping his jacket over his sweat-soaked practice jersey. “I’ll be there soon, Shouyou; just hang on for me.”

The other was nearly suffocating on his breaths, the agonized gasps sending spikes through Kageyama’s chest and launching his mind into a spiraling panic of what-ifs. The redhead on the other end, muffled by something, managed to answer yet, “H-hurry, please, Tobio.”

“Hinata,” his tone hardened: firm, terribly distressed, and endeared all at the same time, “Listen, I need you to breathe.” He was close to hyperventilation. “Breathe,” he reiterated, “In, out, in, out.” He ignored the alarmed looks he received, like spears thrust into his back. The unsteady breaths, still shuttering with each inhale, slowed, thank Kageyama’s stars.

Takeda is standing just where Kageyama had prayed he would be: by the door with keys clutched in his trembling hands. Never before had Kageyama been so thankful for his teacher’s talents for observing -- he knew he needed to get there quickly.

“I’m gonna stay on the line, okay, Shou?” The words tumbled from his lips as he stepped from the gym and towards Takeda’s vehicle, each stride long and rushed. “Talk to me, and breathe. Can you stand? There’s medicine in your cabinet.” He knew because Hinata had gotten a fairly nasty headache the other day, and Tobio was fortunate enough to find himself in the role of personal nurse. He would’ve taken care of him anyway, though.

“N-no… I-I,” Another whine resonated in his ears, the noise muddled -- a definite no. He only resisted the urge to bark vulgar obscenities for the sake of his ailing boyfriend and teacher as he clambered into the car.

“Just... Just hang on, Shouyou,” he murmured, mostly to calm his own hectically pulsing heart. He flashed a look towards Takeda, eyes swimming with tears, and the teacher grit his teeth, pressing his foot firmer onto the pedal.

At some-point during their frenzied drive, the entire event a blur and yet lasting a million years to Kageyama, the connection had been lost between the call. He cursed the mountains and cell towers, fully knowing that it made no difference what he thought or what situation was occuring.

When they finally pull into Hinata’s drive-through, Kageyama itching to launch from the car, the setter flung his door open and barreled into the house (he praised whatever deity had been so blessed as to tempt Hinata to slip him an extra key).

“Shou!” he bellowed, storming into the domestic home, unfit for the chaos raging through him. “Shou!” He teared through each room, careless for the state they were left in.

The whimpers filtering from upstairs queued him, and immediately he was bounding up the staircase, each step an insignificant obstacle as he pummeled through. Barging into the dark room, Kageyama took not a single breath before he dove for the small crumpled figure on the unmade bed.

“Hey, hey.” He kneeled, his hands instinctively flying to run through Hinata’s curly locks, untamely and wet with sweat. “I’m here now.”

His lips, vacant of all color, trembled. Fat tears rolled down his ghastly cheeks, path skewed as he curled in on his side, arms wrapped protectively, and yet tentatively, around his midsection, his hands pale and cold. “T-Tobi-” he tried, only for another torrential wave of pain to flow through him.

The panic wedging itself into Kageyama’s mind, he rushed out, “Hey, talk to me Hinata.” But as the boy before him blanched, green tinting his pallor, his heart sank to his feet.

“B-bathroo-” There wasn’t enough time for him to finish -- it seemed there never was -- before a harsh hiccup ripped itself from his throat, his hand slapping over his own mouth. Without thinking, and with brilliant speed, Kageyama scooped him into his arms, body feeling unnervingly small and fragile, he surged towards the restroom down the hall.

By the time they had crossed the threshold, it was far too late -- it had already begun.

It was all over Kageyama’s shirt, Hinata’s pants, his lap, his entire body.

However, it continued as Hinata scrambled towards the toilet, throwing himself over it, retching over and over and over again. Futilely, Kageyama took to rubbing his partner’s back, convulsing with each heave, and smoothing the sweaty bangs away from Hinata’s burning forehead.

At the time, Kageyama had thought the noises from over the phone were the most wretched things ever conceived, but as he was forced to listen to the unbearable gags he wished to go back. These were sobs stopped only by the terrible choking that came with the upheaval of one’s own stomach contents. He clenched his eyes closed, sick to his own stomach.

Only after Hinata had finally finished, panting breaths raw from innumerable rounds of dry-heaving, did Kageyama finally take notice. He stared, pupils shrunk, at Hinata, slumped limply against his chest.

Those lips -- stained red.

The toilet brimming with blood swirled bile.

Their clothes soaked with a deep crimson.

This was bad.

big thank u to @Tmalasia on the izuocha temple server for editing this!! ilysm! pls go check out mal's stuff, it's amazing!! <3

so i actually finished this last night but i couldn't post it cuz i only had my school laptop and um when i went to ao3,,, it turned out that i was flagged and reported to my school board for,,,,,, umm, y'know. and now i am terrified for my life.

anywho!! second chapter of this is in the planning stage, so pls stay tuned!!! i rlly hope u enjoyed this first part, hopefully it wasn't too OOC and jarring aha,,,

also, i have *another* kagehina fic that i'm planning rn that should just be a short one-shot, only maybe 2K, so expect that soon!!

now,,,,!! just a word about the crisis happening rn (if u don't care or think this could trigger you, pls skip!) with all of the chaos happening rn, i'd like to just advice everyone to stay safe and calm -- pls practice good hygiene and do all you can to protect yourself (do elbow bumps instead of high fives, cough into ur elbows, wash ur hands frequently, disinfect surfaces, etc.) without going to excess. that's what's making everyone freak out, so do your best to know your own situation and stay rational! i'm sending good thoughts to everyone and their health rn, pls stay safe and healthy!! <333

thank you for reading!!! much love~! <3

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfiction #kagehina #kagehina fanfiction #tobio x hinata #hinata x kageyama #fluff #angst #kagehina angst #hurt/comfort #sickfic #appendectomy #vomiting #daisuga #daichi x sugawara #sugawara is team mom

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oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

coughing fits, thick blankets, and mario kart

for @cafeaulate_ on instagram!!

masterlist

ao3

summary: "Kageyama, Shouyou is really sick."When Hinata gets sick on a day off, Kageyama somehow winds up being tasked with caring for him. He has one thing to say -- that boy is a new kind of stubborn. And he's kinda cute. Okay so maybe two things.

notes: this is for my bestie uwu!! for years she tried to get me into haikyuu and i just would not budge!! i wish i had listened to her sooner, because i love these boys sm i swear. i started watching it when i rlly needed a creative pick up, and it came in at the most perfect time-i hope u enjoy!

Kageyama dragged a hand down his face, sighing exasperatedly as he glared at the defiant highschooler in front of him. Why did I think this would be a good idea, again? He groaned before trying again, “Hinata, please, you’ve got to eat something.” Despite his insistence, the redhead would just not listen to reason, turning away from him in his mountain of blankets upon the couch.

“Oh, Kageyama, what a sweet boy you are!” Hinata’s mother, a darling woman, had told him earlier that day, thanking him profusely, little Natsu bouncing in her arms. It was Friday, but a holiday, and she still had to work, and Natsu was still expected at daycare. Normally, something so trivial as leaving your teenage son at home wouldn’t be a worrisome thought, but Shouyou was terribly, horribly sick.

Kageyama couldn’t necessarily blame her for worrying about her child, especially considering how he was. “You can expect me back by 7:30! I left my number on a slip of paper on the countertop -- call me for anything, Kageyama.” Was it too late to call her and say that she chose the wrong person? That he was just as troublesome, just as difficult, as her son? Probably, he reasoned.

Breathing deeply, practicing what Sugawara had taught him for when he got riled up during a game, Kageyama approached the small bundle on the couch, speaking gentler than earlier, “Hinata, would you please try and eat something? Your mom made you some soup and she put me in charge of making sure you get something to eat.” Big brown eyes, bloodshot and clouded with fever, turned to look up at him as he hovered over the sofa. Jackpot. Kageyama got lucky -- using Hinata’s mother had been a rewarding play.

So, obviously, it had taken some coaxing, but now Hinata was seated in a dinner chair in the kitchen, that obnoxiously thick blanket that he had been clinging to all day wrapped around his small shoulders. Humming softly to himself (something that makes him feel oddly and uncomfortably domestic), Kageyama warmed some of the soup over the stove before ladeling it into two adorable bowls, decorated with small cat characters that reminded the setter of ‘Natsu’s’ bento.

“Eat up,” Kageyama declared, setting the bowl in front of the shivering Hinata, who honestly looked like death had warmed over him. He had sunken so far down into his chair that his head had nearly disappeared underneath the table. “Eat,” Kageyama insisted, sitting down with an aggressive huff.

“‘M not hung’y though,” Hinata argued weakly, his congestion making him sound strange and closer to Natsu’s age than a highschooler.

The taller boy’s eyes narrowed. “You have to eat -- ‘else you won’t heal and then won’t get to play volleyball.” Kageyama had struck a soft spot (knowingly, of course), and Hinata stared down at the murky broth, face blanched, as he took his spoon into a quivering hand.

After several agonizing minutes, Hinata had eaten a satisfactory meal -- as Kageyama deemed fit -- which amounted to a measly 8 spoonfuls. The decoy’s face had taken on a greenish tint, and perspiration spotted his forward, where his brows were pressed closed together. Patting the smaller teen’s head, Kageyama took the bowl away and began swiftly washing the dishes.

Eventually, they found their way back to the couch. Kageyama settled at one end, Hinata curling up at the other, resuming his huddled position amongst a fort of blankets. The TV played softly, Kageyama watching whatever was on mindlessly while Hinata dozed off, snoring softly, his breaths rattling in his chest.

Not too much longer after that, Kageyama was startled from his daze by a small, pained groan. He looked over at Hinata sleepily, who was clutching at his head, rubbing at his temples. “You good?” The raven-haired boy prodded quietly, tapping at Hinata’s leg gently.

“‘S my head,” He whined between bated breaths, each one catching in his inflamed lungs.

“Come here,” Kageyama beckoned, leaning forward to help Hinata sit up. The redhead flashed him a sceptical look, somewhere between curious, pained, concerned -- constipated, that’s what the expression was. (At least to Kageyama.) The taller boy guided his partner back down, his head coming to rest on Kageyama’s lap. He unfurled the blanket over the sick boy’s quivering body, smiling gently as he snuggled up to the welcomed warmth. Tenderally, he began carding his long fingers through those monstrous tufts of hair, the strands poking out in all directions -- an untamed beast, but unbelievably soft nonetheless. His hair, despite its fiery tenacity to be unruly, was like clouds along Kageyama’s hands.

Hinata hummed in contentment, pushing back against Kageyama’s fingers. However, after several minutes of a gentle, lulling peace, the ministrations had begun losing their effect, and Hinata was flinching at the pounding headache reintroducing itself, his brows furrowing once again. His body grew tenser, and his small hands, fingers wrapped in bandages, clutched at the blankets. “Hey, what’s the matter?” Kageyama stiffened, his voice urgent and oddly panicked.

“Still hurts,” Hinata breathed, jaw quivering just slightly, eyes clenched shut. Fleeting fingers met his temples and began to rub small, familiar circles. The calluses on Kageyama’s fingers, well earned after years of rigorous training and dedication, were peculiarly soothing as they ran over the soft skin of Hinata’s face. Thankfully, after a short while, the small boy finally relaxed enough for sleep to once again invade his senses. His unsteady breathing abated Kageyama’s worry, and eventually he too was able to relax into Hinata’s warmth.

A persistent, but feeble, poking at his jawline is what brings Kageyama back from his tranquil snooze. Before he has time to crack his eyelids open, anxiety is causing his stomach to sink and his mind is racing. Oh god, what’s wrong- Then he feels that reassuring weight settled atop his legs, and his heart rate slows and the panic is dissipating. “Yama?” The small, croaky voice is what allows him to finally breathe.

“Yeah, Hinata?” He peeked open his sapphire eyes and blinked down at the boy staring expectantly up at him. “What’s up?” He lifted his long arms above his head, stretching. He considers himself fortunate that Hinata doesn’t comment on the small squeak that escapes him.

“I’m bored -- will you play Mario Kart with me?” Kageyama knew that Hinata could be random, but he surely wasn’t expecting… that question. “Pleaseeee,” Hinata drawled, making to sit up, only for a small coughing fit to erupt and rack his body, leaving him clutching at his chest.

“Woah, woah,” Now fully awake, Kageyama surged forward, bracing Hinata’s shoulders. After the bout had subsided Hinata shook off Kageyama’s hands, desperately attempting to cooly catch his breath. “Hey now-,” The setter was interrupted by a pair of pleading eyes, staring sweetly up at him. For a moment, Kageyama was beyond confused, but realized what Hinata wanted. “Sure, I’d love to play.”

So, the esteemed first-year genius of Karasuno found himself playing Mario Kart on Hinata’s Wii, the unmanageable decoy still curled into his side for warmth, doing his best to sound menacing whenever he hurled (very, extremely weak) insults at Kageyama, even though his voice broke in a million places and continuously gave out. Already, 4 rounds of Grand Prix had passed, and the countdown for the last race of their 5th had just begun. “I’ll beat you for sure, Kageyama!” Hinata declared, straightening his back just a touch.

Each and every race, Kageyama had come in the top three. And Hinata had always come in dead last, all but once.

“Sure you will, Shorty.”

The race, taking place on the infamous and formidable Rainbow Road, finished with unsurprising results: Kageyama in 1st (naturally), and Hinata in 12th place. “Hmph, that’s what I thought,” The winner puffed, turning towards Hinata as the award ceremony played on screen.

That’s when he saw it: Hinata staring blankly at the TV, Wii remote limp in his hands, his cherry nose twitching upwards, tears swimming in his eyes.

“Hinata?!” Kageyama exclaimed, dropping his remote in shock. Hinata twisted to look at him, a teardrop clinging to the tips of his light lashes.

He spoke weakly, “You’re so mean, Bakageyama. You’re always better than me,” He sniveled, his face scrunched up. Suddenly, a small cry passed his lips, and a storm of fat tears were rolling down his face.

Placing his head in his hands, eyes blown wide and astonished, profanities flew rampant through Kageyama’s mind. “Hinata, I’m sorry,” He tried after calming his thoughts, but the smaller boy simply cried harder, passing off his apology -- it was a miracle he even made one, for heaven’s sake! After briefly pressing his eyes, Kageyama snatched the remote and shut off the obnoxious TV. He gave it another shot, “Hey, listen, if I had known that it was this important, I wouldn't have been so--” He bit his lip, using no restraint, when he accepted that Hinata wasn’t going to pay attention. He heaved a great sigh. “What can I do to make it better?”

Caramel eyes, glimmering with tears, peaked up through messy bangs. “Mean it?”

With a steadying breath, Kageyama answered in kind, “I mean it.”

“Can I get a hug? And go to bed?” Hinata appealed sheepishly, tucking the majority of his flushed (from fever, Kageyama supposed) face underneath the blanket.

Easy enough, Kageyama supposed as he opened his arms wide, expectantly. Chewing on the inside of his lip, face pressed and tight, Hinata shuffled forward and into his embrace. He exhaled shakily, clumsily, thankfully relaxing into Kageyama’s chest. The majority of his weight was released as his body lost all energy, and he smiled softly, the tears drying swiftly upon his pale, ever-so-slightly freckled cheeks.

It came to Kageyama with no surprise when Hinata began drifting off in his arms. Poking the decoy’s arm, Kageyama muttered, “To bed now?”

Still wrapped safely in the thick blanket, Kageyama guided Hinata throughout the house, hand gently (but firmly lest he stumble) on his teammate’s back. A slow journey later, they reached Hinata’s bedroom and the sick teenager was easily persuaded into bed, where Kageyama tenderly pulled the covers up to his chin. After a small cough, Hinata was long gone, snoring softly in that way that Kageyama once found tiresome, but now endeared him to his partner.

“You’re such a mess.” Kageyama came to murmur softly, warmly, brushing away the residual tears upon Hinata’s cheeks with caring fingertips. “Sweet dreams, sleepy head. Get well soon,” He whispered affectionately, closing the door to the boy who had miraculously wormed his way into Kageyama’s fortified heart.

i'm sorry if it's ooc, but i just finished the second season, so i may not have the most accurate grasps on their characters,, aha also obv hinata is more ooc than anything but! if u happened to read the tags, colds can actually activate that part of ur brain that makes u sad and depressed, and so it can cause mood swings! so that's where that bit of drama comes from- this idea came from when i was playing mario kart today and i started tearing up because i was losing lol (i have a pretty nasty cold rn,,,)

anywhosit! i hope u enjoyed reading and that it wasn't too painfully ooc! (i'm kinda worried my friend won't like it ahhh) pls comment if u want to share what u thought!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kagehina #kageyama tobio x hinata shouoyu #hinata x kageyama #kageyama x hinata #tobio x hinata #fluff #sickfic #hurt/comfort #snuggling #mario kart #haikyuu!! fanfiction #kagehina fanfiction

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oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

fragile

ao3

masterlist

summary:

Zelda just doesn't understand why he can't admit that it's his fault they're in this whole "Calamity Ganon" mess. But, maybe she just wants someone else to blame.

or: Link and Zelda get into a fight, both running off into separate directions. Eventually, Zelda seeks to find him and apologize

notes: i'm rlly hesitant about posting this, just because i worry it won't be well received, but i figure i need to share it at some point.this is a vent-fic, so it is technically me projecting onto a character, so if you have a problem with the sensitivity to the content, i ask that you please simply stop reading instead of coming for me. thank you. for readers who are sensitive, this does contain references to self harm (although none actually occurs).

Turning the fish skewer absently over the open fire, Zelda observed the lake in front of her; Link leaping in and out of the frigid water, still fully clothed. His head bobbed up and down as he swam, dashing towards fish and capturing them in swift motions, securing a hearty lunch.

She would’ve found the sight amusing, had it not been for a single thought plaguing her mind. That, and the fact that not even Link himself was smiling — not even in the slightest. It was annoying. It was annoying that he could look regal and refined when doing something so seemingly foolish (any other person would’ve looked either insane or ridiculous). It was annoying that she could never do that.

“Link! I think we have caught plenty!” She called, eyeing the pile of assorted fish at her feet with disdain — just another reminder of her own incompetence. He nodded, lips still that hard line, rising out of the water, catch in hand. Zelda sighed, turning back to the flames and adjusting her grip on the stick.

She could hear his sloshing steps as he approached, clothing dripping and hair soaked, and feel the splash of water when he sat down. “Here,” She thrust the skewer out to him, giving not the briefest glance upwards, before puncturing another fish. “Take it. After all, you were the one to catch all of them,” She could hardly keep the indifference from her voice.

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes when she received no answer and her arm continued to hang in the air, food still very much held in her fingers. The softest touch met the back of her hand — he wanted her to look up. “What?” She hissed, launching up, the contempt too obvious to miss or cover up.

His hands stopped, suspended in the air, ready to sign, fingers curled back in resignation. His expression remained neutral, flat as ever, but there was a flash of hurt across his ocean eyes. Barely detectable, his shoulders drooped, and his hands went limp.

Zelda ran a hand down her face, harshly blowing air through her lips, before asking more gently, “What?”

He pushed the skewer toward her and began to move his hands slowly, carefully so that she understood, “It’s for you, Princess.” The words were kind, but she felt no different. This was probably just another ploy — a way to make her feel guilty.

She narrowed her eyes at him, yanking the fish away, sinking her teeth into it in a single aggressive bite. “Fine by me,” She growled. And he had the gall to continue on with that straight face. Had she been paying any attention, and she wasn’t, most definitely not, she may have guessed there was a small smile on the corner of his lips.

Link grabbed a sharpened stick of his own, sliding a large Hyrule Bass onto it and roasting it over the fire. Zelda slowed her bites (she reminded herself to remain calm), watching the flames lick the food as Link turned it in his hands. He seemed fairly satisfied when the fish reached a golden brown, taking a mouthful of it.

Zelda finished her own meal, stabbing the skewer into the soft ground. She wiped her hands on her dark trousers (her father would’ve been mortified), shifting to rest her elbows on her knees. The princess placed her chin in her hand, blankly watching her knight — within mere moments, her teeth were already grinding in unfounded anger.

“You know, Link,” she started, voice too innocent and unassuming, “Why does everything come so easily to you?”

She waited for a response, the moment only filled with the sounds of the lake’s water stirring and the creatures flitting about the area. Her patience was wearing thin.

“Well?!” She snapped, face filled with annoyance, “You don’t know how to answer?” She stood up, clenching her fists in rage, “You’ve probably never known what it’s even like to work hard, or to not excel at something! Because you’ve never had to try at anything, right?”

She gave a hysterical laugh of repudiation, “You are the chosen one, after all! It makes sense, you were able to become a knight as a child, no effort, no sweat! You pulled the sword from its pedestal as if was hardly a stretch!”

She turned to fully face him, eyes misty but harboring a deep animosity, “I bet you look at me and laugh, ‘Why is everything so hard for her? Why can’t she just figure out how to unlock her blasted powers? Wasn’t she supposed to be born with them?’”

She gave him no room to argue, her fury passionately forcing his protests back, “I wouldn’t doubt it if you’re sick and tired of waiting around for me. I bet I just slow you down and annoy you to no end!”

“That’s probably why you never talk, right?” Zelda insisted fervently, “Because there’s no way that you could ever say anything to me without insulting and breaking the knight’s code! I’m sure that you say horrid things behind my back.”

Each assumption stung like a poisoned weapon slicing through Link’s skin, but he had already lost the right to fight against her.

“Nothing to say, chosen one?” She sneered. “Well, I’ll have you know, it’s your fault that we’re even in this mess! This mess of Calamity Ganon, this mess of unlocking some accursed sealing powers. If you hadn’t pulled that glorified blade from its resting place, none of this would be happening!” She waved her hands around emphatically, every word stressed by the motions, “That’s right! Maybe you should tame your foolish avarice and realize that not everything is some childish game that can be easily conquered!”

Her final words were accentuated with a sob and flying tears, “This is your fault!”

Zelda heaved, still reeling from her outburst of raw emotion. “Well?” She cried breathlessly, “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Link’s jaw quivered, expression withdrawn and head hung in surrender. His knuckles had grown a bone white from the force of his clamped fists. Silently, he made his way over to discarded weapons — “that glorified blade.”

“Where do you think you’re going?!” She demanded, foot stamping in agitation. He didn’t respond, continuing to sling the sword across his back. There was a quiver in her voice as it bellowed after him, “Link!”

Her response was boots pounding on the ground, drifting farther away.

With an infuriated huff, she turned on her heels, her arms crossed and teeth grinding in agitation. “Fine then-! If he wants to be immature then so be it!” Scooping the discarded Shekiah Slate into her hands, her thoughts escalated, “Just wait until Father here’s of his behavior — he will no longer think so highly of a knight that can’t handle the truth!”

The princess stamped out the remainders of the fire, each stomp in time with a jab at her ‘protector’. With fire burning at her tongue, waiting impatiently to be released, she mounted her steed, urging it forward. A speech of malice was already racing through her mind, only pushing her onward towards the castle. She didn’t even look over her shoulder to ensure that Link’s own horse was following her.

Foreboding clouds formed only 2 minutes into her journey — or perhaps they had been there the whole time, unnoticed and overpowered by her boiling temper. The promise of a storm only served to further damper her mood.

When the first drop splattered across her nose, she wanted to scream, “Well isn’t this just my luck!” Instead, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides. Galloping towards the castle, Zelda anticipated her arrival, her anger coiling painfully in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, when Urbosa hears of this…”

By the time hooves collided with perfect stone slabs, the storm had begun, water flooding Zelda’s vision and thunder peeling through the sky. Without a thought, she leaped from her horse, leaving it to the guards, and took long, heavy strides towards the gates.

Bursting through the door, she dismissed her father’s reprimanding comment, quickly scanning the room for a single person.

“Ah, little bird—“ Her strong voice rang before she caught sight of Zelda’s expression and stiff body language — the girl was nearly boiling over. “Please excuse us, your highness,” Urbosa apologized. The king waved his hand, using the other to rub exasperatedly at his face.

Steps confident, Urbosa followed after Zelda, peridot eyes cold and calculating as she observed the young princess. They ascended several flights of alabaster steps, twisting through familiar corridors, illuminated by flames and adorned with ornate tapestries. When they reached Zelda’s quarters the princess heaved open the unwieldy doors, her lacy top nearly ripping at the shoulders with her impassioned strength. The blonde stomped into the room, furiously tugging her braid from its place. The Gerudo woman followed her, curiously cocking a sharp eyebrow at the girl’s huffing and agitation.

“Ugh, Urbosa!” Zelda groaned, hands tensing as she began furiously pacing the room’s length. “I just can’t believe him -- the audacity!” She turned to her friend, who had taken a seat in Zelda’s plush desk chair. “He’s just so, so,” she stuttered, mind muddled by her fury, “so irresponsible! And disrespectful! I am the princess, I am royalty, he can’t just ignore a question!” She let out a choked scream, “And he has the gal to just leave! How unbelievable!”

Urbosa’s face remained calm as she began to speak, relying on her intuition to fill in the blanks in Zelda’s ranting, “Now, little bird, please take a moment.” Zelda shot her a deceitful glare, but Urbosa simply raised her eyebrows, unintimidated. “I don’t see why royalty matters in this instance. Isn’t your anger caused by the envy you feel towards his ability to discover his foretold destiny when you have yet to?” Zelda stuttered, forming a rebuttal that had no chance to surface, “In that case, shouldn’t you treat him as an equal, and give him the respect that you desire from him? Besides, his whole life has been respecting others, and you are no exception to that.”

“W-Well, I--” Zelda stammered, hands clenched as she hoped to conjure a response.

She wasn’t given a moment to try, “You know, that boy hasn’t quite had an easy life either. There’s no plausible way a child could’ve advanced the ranks to knight without grueling training and a strict upbringing -- I’m sure he has struggled. Being the “Goddess’s Chosen Hero” is certainly less than it is envisioned as, and I doubt it’s what he wanted from his life. Just as you despise being the Goddess Incarnate. Trust me, I’m certain there is more to his silence than timidity and conduct procedures -- he’s probably seen his share of the world’s darkness, just as you and I.” Zela hung her head as Urbosa continued, “We do not possess the knowledge of what plagues his mind and heart, the burdens he carries -- for all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Urbosa, I apologize, I spoke out of m-” Zelda started, before a harsh glare from Urbosa caused her to teeter out. After a moment, the look softened out.

“Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets.”

“I understand…” Zelda resigned in defeat, hands limply clinging to the sides of her dirty trousers.

Catching her off guard, Urbosa commanded with a thunderous voice, “Now! Go find that boy!”

Nodding determinedly, Zelda snatched a coat on her way from the room, heart beating with the pelts of rain against the castle. She set out on horseback, galloping across the plains and forests of Central Hyrule.

An hour of searching, soaked to the bone by the frigid rain, all to no avail, left her feeling hopeless. Steeling herself, guilt still rampant in her spirit, encouraged her to begin again.

She found herself drawn to the Applean Forest, the small wooded area beckoning her towards its trees. Zelda was certain that he was there. Dismounting from her horse, she hesitantly approached the wood, her clothing and shoes plastered in mud from the wet ground.

After weaving through the trees, a soft sounds piqued her attention, and she sets out to follow it. She rounded a tree carefully, eyes coming to rest on Link (as she had suspected and hoped) huddled up against it, his knees pulled close to his chest and arms cradled between them.

“Link?” She asked ever so quietly, moving so little that she refrained from blinking. He made a muffled, surprised noise, choking on his cries, before backing away from her like a frightened animal, avoiding her eyes.

Then, she saw it. A knife to his side, cast away, glistening with rain water.

“For all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Oh, Goddess, Link!” She collapsed before him, praying that he didn’t have so much as have a scrape, forcefully grabbing his arms and pulling them forward for her to see. When she threw the dripping sleeves forward, she was met with… smooth skin, untouched.

He gazed up at her, hot tears still trailing down his face, before he looked at the knife. His voice wavered as he spoke, “I couldn’t do it.”

Zelda’s heart swelled with tumultuous relief, “Thank Hylia,” She breathed before dropping her head and lightly kissing his arms in a beholden act.

“I’m sorry,” She heard him mumble, soft voice bubbling with emotion, tears blurring is vision. “You’re right, it is my fault, if only I hadn’t--”

Throwing her arms around him, Zelda refused his admission, “Shut up, you dummy! I’m sorry! What I said was so, so wrong. It’s never been your fault, ever. I’m so sorry, I just wanted someone else to blame, and I never, ever should’ve said that. I was so wrong, I know that life hasn’t been easy for you, either. I never should’ve assumed that. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Link.”

He didn’t return her embrace, but he eased into her hug, his crying slowing to gentle sniffles. She mumbled apologies repeatedly, tears soaking into his uniform.

“Link, can you forgive me?” Zelda pulled away from him, looking into his swollen, but brilliantly blue eyes. The knight nodded softly and she pursed her lips, hoping to hold onto the memory of his voice, for she had never heard it before. Why is he so silent, the princess asked herself.

Shrugging the thought off for later, she stood, extending her hand down towards Link. “We should probably head back now.” He hesitantly accepted her offer, hand cold in her own. “It’s late and you’re shivering quite a bit.” His lips pressed together in embarrassment, a vain attempt to quell the chattering of his teeth.

As she helped him mount her horse, this time the role of guard belonging to her, Zelda felt her stomach knot with apprehension and her senses overwhelmed by a strong bout of protectiveness. She smiled up at him briefly before grabbing ahold of the reigns. As they set out towards the castle, the rain still bombarding the earth, her eyes set with cold conviction. She would come to understand him.

“I am fragile. He is fragile. All of life is fragile.”

sorry >< i know that it's not the best and that it's probably not everyone's favorite topic,,,,

but, since i did mention that this was a vent fic and that i was projecting onto a character, link in this case, i would like to let anyone who is curious know that i have been doing much much better (and that this is from a couple months ago)

thank you sm for reading! i love all of you! please stay strong!

#legend of zelda #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #breath of the wild #zelink #pre-zelink #friendship #angst #zelink angst #tw: self harm #tw: mental health #fights #hurt/comfort #sign language #signing #selectively mute #selective mute link

34 notes · View notes

oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

masterlist!!

my hero academia

key:

<3 = all <3 ships!

<3(1) = izuocha

<3(2) = todomomo

X = blood/violence

* = angst

~ = romance

+ = fluff

S = submission/ask

# is put in front of things that are extreme. (Ex: #X = extreme blood and violence)

ratings:

K, K+, T (I don’t do M)

The Sorrow Behind the Smile: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4,(More Chapters Soon)

<3(1), *, ~, +, T

The day that Izuku discovered he was quirkless is fast approaching. The day that started all of it. The bullies. The anxiety and depression. The self doubt. This day always brings forth unwanted emotions and memories, resulting in a hard shut down. Izuku is accustomed to having his sweet mother to comfort him on this certain day, but now he lives away at the U.A. dorms. He’s far from his main comfort system. And, to make matters worse, his classmates still have no idea of what hides behind their bright boy’s vibrant smile. They soon will.

Backbone: Chapters to be Added Soon!

<3(1), X, *, ~, +, T

After the Final Exams, Recovery Girl tells All Might that he needs to learn how to hold back, and that he could’ve easily caused permanent damage to the students. She highlights the severity of Midoriya’s spine injury, saying that she was barely able to heal it. What if it turned out that she couldn’t heal him, after all? What would be the cause? If only Izuku had had the backbone to fight All Might at the beginning of the test.

Wrinkles

#<3(1), ~, #+, K

Arguments between couples can make wrinkles in relationships. And wrinkles in clothes. Or: A one-shot where Izuku and Ochako get into a silly argument, and everything ends up happy and fluffy.

Collapsing Memories and Birthday Wishes: Chapter 1 - Part 1, Chapter 1 - Part 2, Chapter 2 - Part 1, Chapter 2 - Part 2, (More chapters soon.)

<3(1), #X, *, ~, +, <3(2), T

Trapped in an uncomfortable position and bleeding out within a collapsed building isn’t how Izuku imagined he would spend his birthday, but the world is funny that way.

Or:

Being sent out on patrol on your birthday isn’t exactly what someone would wish for, but Izuku wouldn’t have it any other way. After a day of shenanigans and cat saving under the burning sun, he and Ochako are called to the site of a villain attack, where Ochako finds herself doing all she can to save her boyfriend’s life. (Set in the summer of third year.)

Sweet Sensations

<3(1), ~, #+, K, (along with background ships)

The 1-A students decide to take a quick trip down to the local candy shop, where goofiness and romantic chaos ensue. As a result of the little venture, Izuku and Ochako grow just a bit closer, in a flustered and muttering way, of course.

Guess We’ll Just Be Unpacking Tomorrow, Then

<3(2), #~, #+, K, S

The engaged pro-heroes Shouto and Yaoyorouzu move in together! But when they’re supposed to be unpacking, the duo gets quite distracted, and somehow finds themselves admiring beautiful sunsets and stars - and most importantly, each other. (Tooth rotting fluff! And hopefully some humor!)

Stray

<3(1), #+, #~, K, S

Izuku and Ochako, now married, take in a stray puppy.

“She’s not you.”

<3(1), ~, X, *, K+, S

“Don’t touch him!”

<3(1), ~, X, *, K+, S

legend of zelda

key:

<3 zelink

X = blood/violence

* = angst

~ = romance

+ = fluff

H = hurt/comfort

S = submission/ask

# is put in front of things that are extreme. (Ex: #X = extreme blood and violence)

ratings:

K, K+, T (I don’t do M)

Simple Words

<3, #*, ~, +, H, T

Zelda was concerned for him – he had been awfully quiet that day. She wondered, “Is this the breaking point?”

Storms

<3, *, ~, +, H, K+

She couldn’t tell if he was scared of them or comforted by them, but either way Zelda would hold him dearly during the thunderstorms that rattled their little home in Hateno.

Tranquility

<3, #+, #~, K

“I wonder where the captain sleeps?” Three knights ponder this question. Zelda races to stop an approaching doom.

Or:

Link and Zelda take a much deserved nap. Snuggles!

Tribulation (pt 2 of Tranquility)

<3, *, #+, #~, H, T

He wants to shake his head in protest at the wet, sorrowful glimmering in her eyes. “Why can’t you just ask someone for help?” “Please,” She slowly sinks down on him, pressing her head into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him, “Just talk to me. Be open with me.”

Or:

A continuation of a supposed one-shot, where Link is sick and it results in the saviors of Hyrule unpacking some emotional damage and snuggling in between.

More Stories To Be Added Soon!! Feel Free to Suggest Stories Here!!

#reblogging cuz i'm tired of scrolling to the bottom of my page lol #masterlist #masterpost

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oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

breakfast and flower crowns

for the amazing @vx3art!! ilysm!!

masterlist

notes: babe, i'm so sorry this is so late!! :<<<< i've really dropped the ball ilysm, thank u for being so impossibly patient with me it's not much, but i hope u enjoy this little thing b ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

“Morning, Link,” she cooed, an airy giggle passing from her lips. “What have you been up to?” She peered down at the plate still in his hands. Immediately, she could feel herself begin to salivate at the sight that greeted her.

“Here.” He pushed the dish, the border decorated with flowery designs and figures of small animals, into her hands. “For you.” Her heart fluttered; his smile lit the world, she was sure.

“Oh my,” she breathed, staring down at the beautiful spread. Her eyes drifted to the center, surrounded by berries and various fruits, where a generous slice of fruitcake awaited her. “Link,” her voice broke as she gazed up at him, eyes glimmering with tears. “Thank you.”

Fruitcake: forever an emblem of her mother, who would make it each birthday for her. “Happy birthday, Zel.” He leaned in and kissed the crown of her head, ruffling her already bed-tousled hair. She laughed wetly.

“What a sweet gift,” she hummed, blinking away her tears. She smiled up at him again, love and adoration shining in her eyes.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today,” Zelda asked, a bounce in her step. Her dress, yellow and breezy, swayed in time with the woven basket hooked in the bend of her arm. “I was thinking we would stop by the flea market and get ingredients for dinner tonight.” She turned to him, hopeful smile brilliant and heavenly.

“Up to you.” Rolling up his sleeves -- the spring sun was growing stronger each day -- and gazing at the pleasantly clear sky, Link felt fulfilled and joyous, a strong affection soaring in his heart.

Strolling up next to him, Zelda looped her free arm around his, groaning up at him. “Oh, come now! Surely you can help me decide what to do!” A spurious pout plastered on her face. It was replaced by a mischievous smile quickly, the facade melting away.

He beamed down at her, laughs tumbling from his lips. “It is your birthday, you should choose.”

“Well then,” she huffed, pointing her chin upwards, “I do choose to go to the market.” And so, she led them off, laughing and swaying, towards the bustling market of Hateno.

“What do you think of this tomato?” She held the fruit up for him to inspect, both scrutinizing it’s surface for bumps and bruises. The sun bounced from its flesh as she turned it in her hands.

“Looks good to me,” he decided, brows furrowed. “Ah, and how many carrots should we grab?” He showcased a handful, and she grabbed several from his clutches, placing them into her basket.

They paid the kind vendor, a sweet old woman, and wished her well. Moving onto the spice stand, a group of children sitting outside of a booth caught their attention. As it would seem, they caught theirs as well. One child, a boy of a tender age, beckoned for them.

“Whatcha doin’?” Link asked, bending down to examine the various items and plants tossed about the children. In his hands, the boy weaved several vines and flowers together.

“We’re making jewelry, Link!” A girl chimed, grinning up at the couple, her smile toothless and innocent. “What do ya’ think, Zel?”

Scooping the small child into her arms, Zelda praised her, “It’s wonderful! You’re so very skilled!” Her hand, graceful and thin, came to tickle the girl, and her squeals of laughter rang through the air. The other children giggled with them, and Link took the moment to admire her, and all she did.

As her laughter slowly dwindled, Zelda asked the girl, “So, where did you acquire these supplies anyway?” Excitedly, the children, bouncing in place, described the field and forest in which they found each and every plant and flower.

The two left them then, parting with large waves and bright smiles, and made their way to this field to enjoy their lunch. The gentle breeze passed through their hair, curving around them, as they made their way through the village, pacifying and domestic just as its people.

Soon, they found themselves in a field with swaying grass and small critters, littered with flowers that created land-bound constellations upon the earth. After taking in the sloping hills and serene landscape, Zelda unfurled their quilted blanket and sat herself down, patting the space next to her.

“Lunch is served,” she hummed, saving her hand dramatically over the food. “Dig in.” They sat in peace, listening to the chirp of birds and the song of the wind passing through the grass and trees’ leaves.

Eventually, with their basket near empty beside a small collection of berries and slices of meat, they settled on their backs. The sky, a beautiful blue, smiled down on them that day, few clouds dotting its excellence, the sun a warm reminder of life, and all it stood for. A gentle exhale, in it carrying every stress away, passed through Zelda, and she allowed her eyes to drift closed, held secure against Link’s side.

When she finally opened her eyes again, the always gorgeous sky was painted with strokes of pink and orange, and the sun winked at the horizon. She turned, eyes settling on his, and he smiled at her, leaning closer to plant a sloppy peck on her forehead. Zelda laughed and returned the favor.

She sat up, hoping to watch the sun slip under the edge of her sight. He sat up with her, and turned to face her, one hand risen to cup her cheek tenderly. In his hands, a gorgeous crown of small flowers and vines, braided and twisted in an eloquent design.

There was no shock or surprise when he placed it on her head, fixing it around her mussed hair. Their eyes locked, a motionless dance commencing between them, and he whispered, voice brimming with emotion, “For you, my princess, anything. Happy birthday.”

thank u for reading!! ♡ฅ(ᐤˊ꒳ฅˋᐤ♪) pls leave ur thoughts below!! i also highly recommend going to check out vi's art!! she's absolutely amazing and i love her so much! ꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱♡ (she also has her half of the exchange on her insta and tumblr!!)

links: ♡ instagram link ♡ tumblr link

#legend of zelda: breath of the wild #loz breath of the wild #zelink #zelink fanfiction #fluff #zelink fluff #picnics #flower crowns #gift fic

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oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

restless

masterlist

AO3

summary: This time, Winry isn't the one waking him up from the dream. It's his own terrified screams that break his fitful slumber.

notes: hey!! i'm somehow here with another fic, not too long after my last post!! :>>> it's not as long, but i hope u enjoy this little one-shot! <333

“They’re back,” He breathed while they were laying in bed one night. Lined up with the edge of the mattress, limbs nearly dangling off, his back was turned to her.

Her brows creasing together in confusion, she stared at his shoulders. Despite her yearning to reach out for him, she refrained, knowing it would prompt him to stop speaking, doing more harm than good. “What’s ba--,”

“The nightmares,” He finished finally twisting around to face her, the blankets rustling with the movement. Their gazes linked, blue meeting a quivering, guilt laden gold. His face, strange shadows splaying across his freckled skin in the moonlight, was disturbingly blank as he broke eye contact. A small part of her wished that he would allow himself to cry, just to show that vulnerability and trust to her, but she quickly squashed it down with scorn. His doubts were reasonable -- understandable, even -- and valid. And she accepted that they were drilled into his subconscious by years of pain and paranoia. She was simply appreciative of the shred of honesty. His lips pursed, he continued, “But, they never honestly stopped in the first place. They’ve just… gotten worse.”

“Yeah,” She sighed, making a minute motion forward. “It’s almost every night now, huh?” He nodded, lips quirking awkwardly to one side. She swallowed harshly, voice quivering and hesitant, “What are they about? You’ve only mentioned a few...”

His hand, the one returned to him, emerged from the covers to rub at the corner of his eye. He settled, staring blankly at nothing through the cracks between his fingers. Finally, that serious frown managed to worm its way onto his face, and she quickly came to realize that she had, in one fell swoop, ruined any chance of delving further into the matter. “I don’t really feel like talking about it.”

She mustered a small, sad smile, and caved at last, slinking forward and near him. Pressing her body flush against his, she wrapped her arms firmly around his waist, pulling him close to her. He tucked his arms underneath her own, resting his head on her shoulder, holding onto her tightly. When she felt the small quivers running through his body, she tenderly whispered, “It’s alright, everything will be fine. You don’t have to tell me now. It’ll be okay, Ed.” She pressed her face into his hair, the golden tresses falling around her face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! No, stop! I didn’t know, I’m sorry!”

He woke up screaming again, bellows of terror echoing throughout the ominously dark room. Chest heaving, lungs constricted, stomach churning, he sat straight up, swallowing the wave of nausea that urged him to vomit. Without Winry to shake him awake, frantically calling his name, Edward found that the dream had become more exceedingly horrendous. Too petrified to even close his eyes, he unsteadily swung his legs over the bed, the automail of his left feeling heavier than lead. Attempting to quell the rapid beating of his heart and the anxiety and fear shooting through his body, he shakily rose.

The buzz of Winry’s machine lures him, and he finds himself wobbling out of the room and into the hallway. As the noise grows louder, his throat begins to feel tighter. Once, the clatter of her tools lulled him to sleep, but now it only served to grate at his mind, reminding him of all the strain he had made her withstand throughout the years, all that he forced onto others. The nightmare flashed in his vision, and with a stumble he took a moment to rest against the wall, panting heavily.

Regaining control over his frantic breaths, he shuffled tiredly towards her workroom, immediately catching sight of the flying sparks, generated by the particular tool in her hand. The room was dark and hot, suffocating, with only a bright desk lamp shining down on her work. With the roaring of her machine, Winry didn’t hear him stop at the doorway.

“Winry,” He introduced, leaning exhaustively against the doorframe. She clicked off the tool and the mechanical whir petered out. She swiveled in her chair, facing him. Pushing her goggles past her hairline, she tilted her head at him. “You should go to bed.”

Giving him a look, she laughed wryly, “Could say the same thing to you, Elric.”

Expression falling, he sighed. There was a moment of silence, and a bone-deep tiredness radiated from both of them. “Winry, please, you need to rest. There’s no need to rush anymore -- you can take some time for yourse--”

Pushing against her brow, Winry spoke adamantly, exasperatedly, “Well, you aren’t, and never were, my only client, Ed, so you don’t have much to say in regards to whether or not I need to rush.” Her words stang, and he made an indignant rebuttal that she promptly interrupted, “ You aren’t my priority right this second, and there are people who need urgently need my automail. I’m not sure if your prideful attitude and confidence will allow you to see that fact, but it’s true.” She grunted, crossing her arms and drawing her lips into a thin line.

In her heart, Winry fully knew that she was being unfair -- flitting her eyes up towards him, she could plainly see the bruise-like circles carved underneath his now dulled amber eyes. Heaving a burdensome sigh, she collapsed into her hands. “Sorry,” She whined, dragging a slim hand down her cheek, voice taut with emotions and sounding close to tears. Reprimanding herself, she was reminded of how utterly exhausted they both were.

She bit her lip at the memory of jostling Edward awake, sobbing and frightened as she cried his name through the screams. “No, you’re right,” His defeated words broke her from the reprieve. Winry’s shoulders drooped and she felt like sobbing at his admission, knowing that he was too drained for even the thought of snapping back at her.

Following a long, drawn-out pause, with her mind too jumbled to respond, he was left to uncomfortably shift his weight between his two very different feet. “I think… that I’m going to go.” He turned away, before stopping just outside the door. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Winry.” He disappeared down the hallway, his metal leg clanking along with his uneven steps. She could distinctly make out the limp.

Choking back a shout of his name that was itching at her throat, she cried quietly. Swiveling in her chair, she hurriedly told herself to calm down, the panic pricking throughout her body contradicting the sentiment. “I’ve already made it bad enough.”

She bashed the heel of her hand into her forehead, tears of humiliation and shame leaving wet trails on her cheeks. The mechanic rubbed at her temples, willing the worsening headache away. With a regretful exhale, she clenched her eyes shut, early drifting off to the stillness of the air and the hum of the old house. Blinking rapidly, she sat up, warding off the drowsiness.

She stood, swallowing her bout of anxiety, and dragged herself from the room and making her way down the creaky stairs. When she poked her head into the kitchen, Winry found a hot kettle of tea kept warm on the stove. A mug had been set out. After wringing her hands nervously, she poured herself some, wrapping her calloused hands tenderly around the warm glass. As she watched the dark liquid slosh around in the cup, the tea’s herbal scent wafted up to her, prompting her to take a tentative sip. The all-too familiar flavor of an oat flower, lavender, and lime-flower brew greeted her. The taste bit at Winry’s tongue, throwing her mistake right at her heart. This was the combination that was used in Xing -- to combat nightmares, anxiety, and depression.

In a flash, Winry was reminded of the phone call she shared with Mei just a week previously. “The oat flower works to regulate circadian rhythms and synthesize natural melatonin. In Xing, lime-flower is used to treat anxiety and sleep disorders, and is effective against nightmares. It’s also used to assist retired soldiers, as it also functions as a mild sedative and antidepressant.” With the information invading her thoughts, her guilt increased tenfold.

Shuffling out to the sitting room, she found Ed slumped against the couch’s armrest, a book situated on his crossed legs, his steaming mug cupped in his hands. Hoping to muffle any sound, Winry took a seat in the armchair opposite of him, nearly missing his small flinch at the sound of scrunching material.

“Hey, I,” She started, thrown off by the urgent need to swallow thickly. He didn’t glance up at her, but Winry couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes drifted shut, only to snap open brief seconds later, frantically searching the page’s of his thick alchemic book for a familiar passage. Taking in a steadying breath, Winry began, “I’m sorry, Ed. It wasn’t fair of me to say that.” Voice teetering out again, she searched for the words she knew she still had left to say.

Tired eyes looked up at her, meeting with her own, he sighed, closing the weathered book. She didn’t miss the way he neglected to move the bookmark. Placing his tea down on the side table, he responded despondently, “Win, I’m sorry too, I--”

“No, Ed!” Winry exclaimed, the liquid in her mug nearly sloshing over the edge. Exhaling forcefully, she attempted desperately to ring the tension from her face and voice. “No, Ed, you have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong.”

“But, Winry,” He argued, only to be abruptly cut off once again.

“You were worried about me. You weren’t saying that my patient’s don’t have priority. You were just saying that I should have priority too, and I’m sorry that I didn’t understand.” Her body slumped, defeated. “I’m just so… tired,” A wry chuckle passed her lips, “But I guess that’s contradictory to me staying up.”

Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Winry,” He sighed laboriously, placing his head in his hands, “No, I’m sorry for… putting you through so much.” She pursed her lips, eyebrows furrowing at his words. “You were right,” Winry made a sound of protest, but didn’t get a chance to make an outcry at his words, “I was, am, prideful. I didn’t ever consider that you had to take care of other people, or yourself, and I consistently worked you to death. Not to mention,” He paused briefly before continuing, “I was always coming back to you banged up, and would never even tell you why.”

“Edward…,” Her face fell, face drawn as she looked towards him; the way his hair cascaded down and brushed his legs. Leaning forward, her hand came to rest on his knees.

“I never thought of how you felt, I didn’t consider your pain, Winry.” Looking up at her, his eyes were pooled with guilt and sorrow.

“Ed,” Winry’s voice was taut with emotion, and she launched forward, wrapping muscular arms around him. He didn’t make a sound, simply placing his fingertips tenderly at her waist. “Please, stop, Ed. Please just stop blaming yourself for everything that happened. You were doing all you could to save your brother, and no one is upset at you for anything you did. Everyone’s, I’m, just glad that you both are back and safe.”

Leaning away rapidly, her hands rose to gently smack his cheeks -- his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “Now!” She declared, “Cut it out! I love you, you big goof!”

Lips still pursed, his eyes softened, before he smiled gently. Her thumb caressed his cheek tenderly, “Seriously, Ed, I love you, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You deserve a break.” His arms wrapped more tightly around her waist, and she leaned in to embrace him again.

Suddenly, she found herself flipped over and onto the couch, Edward hovering over her, laughing as his fingers danced lightly against her skin, tickling -- Winry began howling so forcefully that she couldn’t decide if it was even funny or not. Tears pricked at her eyes, only from joy instead of remorse. “Stop! Stop!” She found herself squealing between giggles.

“Nope!” He sang, amusement lacing his tone. Kissing her neck, his fingers tickled her sides, making her nearly sick to her stomach with glee. In a feat exhibiting her tenacity and strength (and ability to squirm away), she had overpowered him, reversing their roles. Now tickling him, she pulled a loud string of laughs (despite his lack of ticklishness), entertained by her hilarious assertion of pride and dominance.

In their playful match, she finally relinquished, leaning back and groaning exaggeratedly, “Fine,” She dragged out, “Enough is enough!” She leveled a teasing glare with him, “It’s a draw.” Smiling, Edward laughed silently, before bursting out with hearty chuckles. She whacked his arm, winking, before hopping off of the couch. She latched onto his hand, dragging him into their kitchen.

Sitting him down at the table, Winry scampered off, hollering behind her, “Wait a moment!” She emerged moments later with an armful of old board games, housed in deteriorating boxes. Smirking, she slammed them down on the table.

Edward gasped, launching from his seat to snatch a box from the pile. “Win! This is the game you, Al and I would play all the time as kids,” He shouted, eyes shining with something akin to childlike excitement, “We always had fights over it!”

Winry yanked it from his hands, staring down at the faded box, “Oh my gosh! It is!” Sliding the rest of the games off of the table, hardly caring about the mess created, the mechanic began to prepare the board.

Sitting down urgently, nearly bouncing in her seat, Winry encouraged, “You first.” She offered him the dice.

“Don’t mind if I do,” He smirked, rolling the dice (as Winry rolled her eyes), putting his turn into motion. Groaning at the low number, he moved his game piece dejectedly. She snickered, confidently grabbing the dice off of the table.

Not 15 minutes later, both were slumped over the table, game pieces strewn about the table and tiled floor. With their hands intertwined, reaching across and over the board, both began to nod off.

“I won,” Winry heard, and Ed felt her hand tense in his in response. He laughed softly, tiredly, and she did the same.

“Sure,” She hummed, looking up at him through her eyelashes, only to find his eyes closed, breathing even. Sighing, body miraculously relaxing in the increasingly uncomfortable position (she told herself it was the power of exhaustion), Winry smiled gently.

Just as her consciousness fades, a delightful sound reaches her ears. “I love you, Winry. Thank you.”

notes: hope u liked it!! this is actually my first fma fic i've ever posted, which is really surprising, considering it was my first fandom! funny enough, my first fanfic was fma and i wrote it in a little notebook that i carried around with me!

i'm so in love with these dorks,,,, and i hope y'all liked the way i wrote for them! at first i was like,,, "wait they wouldn't fight" and then i felt stupid. so

i hope u have accepted my strange gift of random tea knowledge haa

pls let me know what u think about this down below! tysm for reading!! <3333 (also, happy new year!!! hope u have a great 2020!! keep ur chin up!)

#fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist #fma #edwin #edward elric x winry rockbell #edward elric #winry rockbell #fanfiction #fma fanfiction #automail #nightmares #angst #romance #fluff #hurt/comfort #post-fma #edwin fanfiction #one-shot #edward x winry

21 notes · View notes

oatsn-honey · 4 years

Text

Tribulation (Tranquility chp 2)

AO3

masterlist

Summary: He wants to shake his head in protest at the wet, sorrowful glimmering in her eyes. “Why can’t you just ask someone for help?”“Please,” She slowly sinks down on him, pressing her head into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him, “Just talk to me. Be open with me.” --- A continuation of a supposed one-shot, where Link is sick and it results in the saviors of Hyrule unpacking some emotional damage and snuggling in between.

hiiii :>>> this is a continuation of a one-shot i posted a long time ago -- this has been floating around in my head ever since, and i actually hinted at this happening when i posted that thingy i'm sorry that it's taken so long for me to update and finish anything! but hopefully u enjoy this regardless!

When she awakens, Zelda is tangled up in soaked sheets. Something hangs in the room’s thick air, and the princess feels like she’s suffocating against the blistering heat. There’s distressed shifting next to her, ceaseless, troubled tosses. With worry gnawing at her stomach, and her mind denying what she already knows, Zelda turns her body towards him.

“Link…?” Her voice is hesitant, eyes scanning his scrunched up face for any sign of consciousness. She moves with an unsure hand, brushing the tense muscle of his shoulder. She nearly flinches away at the scorching temperature, but steels herself. Sitting up, her free hand supporting her body, she tries again, “Link, are you alright?” She gives his shoulder a gentle shake.

His voice rumbles in a quiet groan, eyelids twitching and brows furrowing. “Hmm?” The hum comes out raspy, cracking painfully.

“Are you alright?” Zelda repeats, gently stroking his arm, hoping to further rouse him awake. “You’re burning up.” A suppressed, wet cough breaks from his throat, and Zelda cringes at how painful it sounds. Her insides knot with concern.

Link’s eyes open in slits, the blue a hazy cloud. “I’m alright,” he croaks out, slowly lifting his body. One elbow braced under him, he tenderly, carefully ( never harshly ) peels her hand from his arm. “I bet I just got,” His words are interrupted by a cough intended to be concealed, “hot under the covers.”

Zelda unleashes the most doubtful look she can possibly muster and levels her gaze with his own. “Mmhmm,” She drones, quickly pushing the blankets back, “And that’s why you’re shivering, right?”

He lets out a nervous laugh, making to fully sit up. He ignores the way his vision sways and his stomach lurches. “You just pulled back the covers, it was a temperature shock,” His voice is strained and he turns away from her. He rubs his legs in an attempt to make the goose bumps disappear.

“You were always an awful liar, you know.”

“I-I wasn’t—” The knight sluggishly swings his legs over the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the cold ground.

“Don’t even think about getting up, Link.” She warns, and he can hear the bedding rustling as she moves closer. A slender hand tugs at his own — reminiscent of his own actions from earlier in the day — and her voice turns pleading, “You’re not well. Please, lay down again.”

He sighs, brows pressed as he worries his bottom lip (a nervous habit the other knights had so kindly pointed out). “O-Okay.”

With gentle hands, she guides him back to her, her emerald eyes shimmering with tender concern. “Thank you,” She breathes in relief, propping some pillows against the bedframe for him.

He hums a pitiful response, gaze locked on his lap, plump lip still trapped between his teeth.

“Stay here for a moment,” Link can practically hear the frown in her voice. Bare feet pad across the floorboards and the screech of old drawers opening echoes off the walls. After rustling through the chest, Zelda returns with a pile of clothes for Link. (She is thankful that she keeps a drawer for just his clothing.) “You’re soaked.”

He looks down at his tunic — she’s right, he realizes. With trembling, numb hands, he begins to untie the string on his tunic. Quickly, and expectedly, Zelda takes over, unraveling the tie and slipping the shirt from his torso.

Many agonizing minutes later — every movement sends bile shooting up his throat — Link’s uniform has been exchanged for cotton sleeping clothes. Laying breathless and covered in a new sheen of sweat, his muscles scream in an all too familiar post-battle ache.

Worry dripping from her pressed brows, Zelda hovers over him, brushing his long bangs from his face. A whoosh of air escapes her lips, a strange little sound, as if she has lost her ability to speak. She swallows thickly, fingers tentatively running through his hair, massaging his scalp (Link tries to avoid leaning into her comforting touch), before squeaking out, “So… So how long has this been going on?”

Something coils deep within Link’s stomach, wrapping around his lungs and heart — and he’s pretty sure it’s not sickness. Tired eyes darting anywhere but at Zelda, his lip finds its place between his teeth once again, easily settling into that jittery tendency.

Ministrations coming to a halt and all apprehension falling away, Zelda purses her lips. “Link,” She warns, hints of scorn accompanying the uncomfortably common unease.

He stamps down the urge to recede into that stoic husk of blankness and silence. “This is Zelda. You trust her, you love her,” He reminded himself. “Um, maybe a couple of days?” It was intentionally phrased as a question — he didn’t know, really, hadn’t cared much to pay attention.

“Link!” He flinches back, expecting but still afraid of her reaction. He curls in on himself, preparing for more outrage and shock. He deserves to be scolded, most likely.

“Sorry,” He whispers, staring at the silk bed sheets.

With a heavy, burdened sigh, she drags her slim hands down her face. Exasperation lacing her tone, she speaks in a hushed voice, “Link.” Taking care, Zelda brushes his cheek and makes him look up at her. He wants to shake his head in protest at the wet, sorrowful glimmering in her eyes. “Why can’t you just ask someone for help?”

His jaw quivers, at a loss for words. Guilt plays in his heart, crushing any voice left into shambles. “It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to have moments of weakness, it’s okay to be weak. There’s no need for you to always be strong anymore, Link. There are people who want you to be happy and healthy. But you can’t do that by yourself, and we can’t help you if you don’t let us.” Distressed tears drip from her emerald eyes, and he ignores the ones threatening to fall from his own. “ Please, ” She slowly sinks down on him, pressing her head into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him, “Just talk to me. Be open with me.”

Hot liquid cascades down his face, soaking the bed underneath him. “I’m here for you, Link.”

Shaky arms snake around her waist, and he tucks his head into the gentle crook of her neck. Link tries to ignore the stinging tears swimming in his vision, sliding off of his flushed skin; willing them away with weak blinks, to no avail. “Sorry,” He chokes, clutching her ornate dress like a lifeline.

“Shh,” She hushes, voice strained and high, “It’s alright, love, it’s alright.” Overtaken, she kisses his cheek, the tear tracks. Gentle words -- tender whispers and mutters -- tumble from her lips as they brush against his burning skin. She runs her hands through his long hair, cradling him, as she presses her lips again to his face, the freckles that map like constellations. Soft lips meet a fever-riddled forehead, then the corners of closed eyes, tears lingering in thick eyelashes. A constricted sob escapes him, his chest hiccuping against her, and she pecks the tip of his nose, red from crying and illness. “Link,” she murmurs as another strangled cry resounds throughout the room. Zelda places her shaking hands on either side of his face, caressing the scarred skin with her thumbs. She kisses the spot where that single dimple resides, the counterpart to every smile. And with an unyielding love glistening with the tears in her emerald eyes, their lips lock together.

When they break apart moments later, Zelda smiles -- a sad, tight expression -- down at him. He tries to return it with his own wobbly smile, only for his face to scrunch up painfully, sobs once again breaking from his tattered throat. Fresh tears trail down his face as Zelda pulls him to her shoulder, holding him desperately. Her words catch, and she’s left to embrace him as he cries, rocking them gently.

His hands grip further up her back, the silk wrinkling in his grasp, as his chest aches and his heart sinks. “Zelda-” Wails rip past his raw throat, muffled by her shoulder. Her hand braces the back of his head as she leaves chaste kisses on searing skin. She presses her forehead to his temple, the contact leaving her kindled. In a voice wrought with emotion, she finds herself humming -- to soothe herself, too.

Days later, it seems, his weeps dwindle down into weak whimpers. Weeks later, those too vanish. Zelda lifts her head to gaze at him, finding Link’s eyes closed, chest rising in shuddering breaths. With the pads of her thumbs, she delicately swipes at the water clinging to his lashes and freckled cheeks.

Slithering out of his iron-tight clasp, she brushes the sweat-soaked bangs from his blistering hot forehead. Eyebrows furrowing, she presses the back of her hand to his face, then his neck. “Poor thing, cried himself to sleep. And he’s burning up.” Zelda purses her lips, heartache glinting in her half-lidded eyes.

A knock at the door rouses her from her stupor. Resisting the urge to groan, Zelda eases herself from the bed (careful not to awaken Link). She smoothes out her horribly crinkled dress as she makes her way to the door. “Princess?” An older woman’s voice comes from the other side.

“Y-Yes! Coming,” Zelda calls, her voice quiet. She gives her clothing one last glance before opening the door. “Yes, what is it?”

“Oh my,” The old maid’s expression is temporarily shocked as she takes in Zelda’s appearance: bed-messed hair, cheeks flushed from crying, tired gaze, a pained look harbored in her eyes, the state of her gown. Zelda gives an uncomfortable laugh, one side of her mouth quirking up awkwardly. “Your highness, pardon me for asking, but are you alright?”

“Uh, yes! I am fine,” Zelda affirms, nodding her head, “Fit as a fiddle!”

“Are you,” A soft sound (a snore, a whine, perhaps) comes from farther in the room, “sure?” The attendant's brows press together, and she leans to look through the doorway.

Zelda quickly covers the visible gap with her body. “Yes, I am sure,” She emphasizes. “Is there anything else?” She smiles, aware of the lady’s attempts to see past her.

“It’s just that you’ve been in your room all-- I mean, do you have any particular requests for dinner?” The maid shakes her head, dismissing her earlier statement.

“Actually, could I have two bowls of soup? Nothing too rich, and could we try to avoid lots of meat?”

“Excuse me, did you say two?” The woman cocks a brow, eyes narrowing.

The princess laughs nervously, cheeks flushing. “You should’ve thought this through, Zelda.” “Yes, I am feeling especially hungry tonight!”

The maid hums suspiciously, “Two bowls of soup, then.”

“Oh! And could I get two glasses of water, as well -- very parched.” She adds, tone chipper and unsuspecting.

“Would you like a glass and a pitcher, instead?”

“No, two glasses, please.” Zelda tilts her head, fully aware of failure to deter the woman’s doubts.

“Alright, two soups and two waters. Anything else? Two deserts, maybe?”

Zelda restrains a small laugh at the jab, “That will be all, thank you.” She sends the maid off, allowing herself a sigh of relief. “I’m glad that she didn’t press for explanations too much, at least.”

She creeps back into the dim room, the foul stench of illness invading her senses. She heaves a great breath, approaching the bedside. He’s curled up now, knees tucked nearly to his chest. Each inhale is a rattling wheeze, hoarse and shallow. “Link,” She coos, sweeping her slender fingers through his matted, honey hair. “Still asleep. Good.”

Silent as possible, Zelda lifts the lid of a chest with a creak. She cringes, but swiftly retrieves a sleeping gown. Sliding out of her rumpled, elegant dress she shimmies into the laced, translucent slip. The princess laments about the smock as she steps into the washroom, “I just don’t see the need for embroidery on something that’s being worn to sleep . It’s not like anyone sees it.” She thinks of Link, “At least no one that cares what I wear.”

She snatches a small rag from the towel rack and dips it into a bucket of clean water. She shivers from the biting temperature. “Perhaps I should grab some of my clothes from home.” Zelda hums, wringing out the cloth, “It definitely wouldn’t hurt to take a trip there.” Rising to her feet, she stretches out her back, looking into the room. The figure on the bed emphasizes her point, “Soon.”

She ambles over to the bed, placing a knee on the blankets and leaning over Link. Smoothing his hair back, Zelda gingerly places the wet towel on his still boiling forehead. She bit her lip, hand lingering on his cheek. “I hope his fever goes down soon.” Stroking his skin lovingly, she lowers herself to the bed. “He’s so stressed out, a little break would do some good. Maybe I should request some leave for this coming weekend.”

“Your highness?” A meek voice calls from the door, “Dinner is here.” Sighing, and with one last tender kiss, she drifts to the door.

“Thank you,” She smiles softly, taking the tray from the maid, much younger this time. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course, milady. The soup is just as you requested -- it’s a thin poultry broth with vegetables,” The young woman informs, tilting her head towards the bowls. With a small curtsy, the servant turns away, and Zelda begins to close the door.

“Oh, and Princess?” The maid is facing her again, expression unreadable.

“Yes?” Zelda hesitates, looking over her shoulder.

“I hope you two get some rest.” Zelda’s gasp rings in the marbled hallways, her eyes widening and shoulders shooting up. If she wasn’t occupied with the food, she would be frantically fanning the fiery, embarrassed pink on her cheekbones. “That is all. Have a good evening,” The attendant’s knowing smile falls, and she retreats.

As she teeters back into the room, setting the trays on the wooden bed stand, Zelda tries to ignore the blood pumping to her face and the stinging at the tips of her ears. She takes a steadying breath. “Why do I feel the need to be embarrassed,” Reprimanding herself, her gaze settles on the sleeping knight, studying his features, “When there’s nothing to hide.”

“Link,” Her voice is like a sweet lullaby as she rubs his shoulder. “Do you think you can eat something?”

It takes a moment, but eventually Link stirs, a quiet groan as his first sign of waking. “Hmm?” He hums, her voice lulling him into consciousness. Tired eyes, puffy and red from earlier (or from sickness, too) peek open at her, hazy with fever.

“Do you think you can eat something?” She repeats, her smile light and cautious. She stares down at the warrior, noticing the sluggish blinks that are beginning to last longer. “Link,” She whispers, and he gives a small shake of his head (followed by a grimace at the motion) to keep himself awake.

“‘Can try,” his voice is hoarse, and every vibration of his vocal chords aggravates his throat -- it feels like it’s shred into ribbons. They both cringe, Zelda pursing her lips in worry.

She fetches the damp, now warm towel from his forehead, placing it on the carved headboard. She checks his temperature, frowning, “You still have a raging fever.” She wraps her arm around him, bracing him with the other, and soon he’s leaning against the pillows. “Goodness,” She exhales. He doesn’t ask what she’s referring to.

“The chef made some soup,” She announces, grabbing a bowl, steam puffing from the liquid. Taking the polished spoon in her hand, she gives the food a stir, watching as the vegetables float and shift around. “Here,” Zelda gives him the bowl, her hold lasting, lest he drop it.

“Thanks,” Link murmurs, voice scratchy. “So, wha--” The statement is interrupted by a series of wet coughs, and he brings a quaking hand up to his throat, haltingly rubbing the sore skin.

“Are you alright?” Her brow presses in worry, as she leans towards him. Link nods, face full of discomfort. “Maybe…” She starts, hesitating. “You could, um, sign instead of talking?” It’s phrased more as a question than a suggestion.

“Yeah, maybe,” He whispers, gazing down at the soup. Zelda can’t help the small laugh that tumbles from her lips, and when he realizes his lapse, he softly chuckles along with her.

“Now, let’s eat,” Zelda declares, snatching the second dish from the table, “Before it gets cold.” She hastily blows on a spoonful before tasting it. “Mm,” she hums, her voice sing-song as she practically melts.

Several minutes pass in silence, both occupied with dinner. She’s sitting across from him, knees touching, watching him frown at the food. He stirs it, takes a spoonful and slowly dumps it back into the bowl, then stirs it again -- over and over. When he sighs heavily, tilting his head back to rest against the headboard, Zelda finally intervenes. “Link,” She begins, setting her half-empty bowl to the side.

His own dish safely resting in his lap, he signs, “I know, I know.” He fixes his gaze on her, a small pout on his full lips, “I promised that I would eat a little.” Link grabs the soup again, blowing on the since chilled substance. He stares with distaste at the murky broth.

“No, that’s not what I--” Zelda shuffles forward, biting the inside of her lip. “Does your stomach really hurt that much?” She brushes his thigh, hovering near.

He angles his head to her, cobalt eyes half-lidded and glazed over. He quirks his mouth to the side and gives his shoulders a gentle toss. “I guess,” Link glances back at the soup, and his face blanches, “Yeah,” He decides, thrusting the bowl towards her. She’s afraid he might vomit, but instead, he simply pulls the downy covers higher up his shuddering body.

“Alright then,” She places the dishes back on the trays, her eyes briefly studying the opulently decorated metal. The princess slides closer, and she envelopes him, her arms tucked underneath his. He groans, leaning forward to place his head on her shoulder, exposed from her gown’s wide neckline. “Oh,” She breathes, blowing away the pieces of his hair tickling her skin, “Tired?” A small nod, and her face softens, a small smile peeking through her concerned demeanor.

She pecks his mop of hair, snuggling into his warmth. “Why don’t we go to bed?” She hums, and he can feel the comforting reverberation of her chest, “Alright?” Zelda places a sloppy kiss on his forehead, making more distance between them, and Link whines at the loss of contact. It’s hard to keep his eyes open as he watches Zelda’s pleasantly pink lips curve into a perceptive smile. “C’mon,” She beckons, moving to rest her back against the headboard. Her hand pats her thigh.

“Oh,” Link exhales, and he tries not to break into a violent coughing fit. Hesitantly, he sets his head into her lap, curling up on his side.

“I’m sorry that you’re so sick, love,” She mumbles as her fingers begin to sift through his golden locks. Her nails gently scrape against his scalp and he leans into her touch, his scarred hands clinging to her gown. Zelda examines his face: the red-rimmed eyes, swollen and tightly closed; the splattered freckles and supple lips. Sticking out her bottom lip, she proposes, “Link, darling, do you need anything? Water, or-”

He shakes his head curtly, the motion hardly detectable. “S’fine,” Link slurs, nearing the brink of sleep. Her lips curl upwards, the sweet smile lifting her solemn face. “Love you,” he whispers, cuddling into her as she twirls a tendril of honey hair.

“I love you too, more than you can imagine,” The cherished song is natural as it reaches his ears, Zelda’s voice lilting blissfully. As the knight begins to fade from reality, he can faintly sense his princess adjusting the blanket around him, tucking it near his face and swaddling him in a grounding warmth. The ocean-orbed champion drifts off with fondness in his heart and his other half sorting his hair into sloppy plaits.

For the second time in the same evening, Zelda is startled awake by panicked thrashing. “Huh?” She jolts upward, met with a horrendous crack of her neck and blurry vision. Her head nearly slams back onto the headboard, but she resists. Her heart leaps as she frantically scans the room, a drowning sense of wrong overtaking her.

Whimpering fills her ears and she finally has the mind to look down, to the knight resting fitfully, his head on her thigh. His mop of hair spills from its clumsy braid, cascading over her leg, as he shifts continuously. She presses her hand to Link’s forehead, flinching back at the temperature. “The fever has only grown worse.” Zelda harbors a deep breath, cupping her own face. “Maybe I could-”

He jolts awake, his head nearly colliding with her own. “Link!” She calls as his body jerks upwards. He doesn’t answer, only throwing the thick blankets away from himself. “Link?” She tries again as his legs rapidly swing over the bed and his feet hit the floor. He lurches forward, stumbling into the wash-closet, and her heart sinks.

By the time she’s raced over, crouching next to him, he’s already leaning over a wooden bucket. “Goddess,” Zelda’s voice, high pitched and frightened, wavers, as she scrambles to gather his hair. “I-I’m so sorry, Link, I’m so-” Her breath hitches as her shaky hands rub lopsided circles on his violently spasming back, “Sorry.” He veers forward again, a choked cry passing his lips.

Minutes of torment and dry heaving later, Link’s leaning against Zelda, both exhausted. The princess cradles him in her arms, her nimble fingers instinctively tracing familiar triangles into his warm skin. Every inhale he draws is shuddering, his arms wrapping limply around his abdomen. Zelda bites her lip, watching as his pale face scrunches in pain.

She bitterly curses herself; curses the part of her that’s thankful for his trust in her -- trust to reveal pain. “How could that even cross your mind right now?!”

“Link,” Her voice is meek, but it still makes his muscles tense, goosebumps littering his skin. “I have to get help,” She rolls one of her shoulders, sore from supporting Link.

“N-No,” He tries, his voice even gravellier than before and less than a wheeze. A corner of his thoughts wonder if she can hear him, but his limbs are too numb and heavy to begin to sign. “Jus’ g-gimme a momen’. I’ll be fine,” Link croaks, tired eyes shifting to look up at her through thick, wet eyelashes.

She purses her lips, her eyebrows gathering in scorn, “Absolutely not ,” She lifts her hands from him, his loss at her ministrations clear, to show him that she’s serious. “You are sick, Link, really sick. And I’ll be damned if I let you die from some illness that got out of hand because you couldn’t swallow your pride and accept that I’m here and willing to help you.”

Abruptly, she launches up and whips around to the other side of him, to see his face. He nearly falls back without her support, but braces himself with his hands. His newfound balance is almost lost at her expression -- cold hard determination. Link visibly gulps. “I refuse to lose you.”

Zelda surges forward, enveloping him in a warm hug. His face is shoved into her shoulder, her sunflower hair tickling his nose -- he can smell the lavender and hyrule herb in it. Her hand weaves its way through his locks, her opposite arm wrapping around his waist. Link takes a shuddering breath -- and let’s his body grow lax, sinking into her embrace. His fingers fiddle absently with the hem of her slack gown.

She mumbles something, the gentle sound of her voice relaxing, and his eyes flutter closed. He ebbs from consciousness, safe in Zelda’s arms. By the time she murmurs, “Link?” he’s too far gone.

“Are you asleep?” Zelda cranes her neck to peek at him. She smiles fondly, cherishing his placid expression. After a brief moment of contemplation, the princess decides that she’ll allow a few more minutes -- after all, it seems to be his first fitless rest. Leaning her head against his, she takes a deep breath, allowing her eyes to drift shut. “Do not fall asleep, Zelda,” She warns, too aware of her waning sense of waking, “Lest you wake up on the washroom floor tomorrow morning with an even sicker hero.”

It seems the tranquil scene, much like a second of breath, is over all too soon. But the stomach churning stench calls to Zelda’s attention. She bites her lip, considering her options. No matter what, she’s going to need someone. As soon as the first needle of anxiety pricks her heart, her mind is racing -- “Who can I trust?”

In some distant corner of her mind, she recalls something. “‘Oh, and princess?’” her mind echoes, “‘I hope you two get some rest.’” The maid! A murky, distorted image of the young brunette flashes before her. In her excitement, Zelda hardly notices the sleeping Link beginning to slip from her arms. “Oh!” She cries, rushing to catch him. “He must really be out,” She whispers, holding him securely once again.

The princess heaves a steadying breath, her lips pursed and quirked to the side, emerald eyes uncertain. “Link?” Naturally, she’s careful with her volume. With no answer, she’s louder than before, “Link.”

Her persistence causes him to stir, shoulders twitching and eyelids fluttering. “Mm?” Link croaks painfully, “Zel’a?” His ocean orbs are hardly revealed for a fleeting moment, before fully disappearing as he hisses at the dim candle light.

“Yeah. I’m going to move you okay? Against the wall-” She’s informing, but it seems he’s already gone again, his chin to his chest. Briefly, Zelda stretches her legs, her grip on him tight, but not harmful. She tucks her hands underneath his armpits and hoists him upward, urgently pulling his limp body forward and to the tiled walls. After easing Link down, his back against the wall, Zelda straightens her body. “ That wasn’t so hard ,” She groans, straightening her back, “Maybe I’ve gotten stronger.” Another thought occurs to her, “Or maybe he’s just gotten lighter.” She desperately shakes it from her head.

“There’s more important things to worry about,” She reminds herself. “So, the maid, how should I get to her, and- Zelda, what could be more important?” Her mind cries, tears of frustration stinging her eyes, “Focus, Zelda. If you do this, that can be helped too.” With a laborious breath, she begins to pace the small room, her bare feet slapping against the ground as a plan comes to inception.

Before anything, the princess lugs one of the massive extra blankets from the bed over to her sleeping night, draping it over his shivering body. With one last check of his temperature ( “It’s getting worse.” ) she whispers, “I’ll be back soon, Link.” As expected, he doesn’t respond outside of shallow, quivering breaths.

With a borrowed cloak, belonging to none other than her restless champion, and a flickering candle, Zelda sneaks from the chambers, cautiously slipping through the grand, hand engraved doors. Her face illuminated by the small light, the princess deftly avoids the knights on patrol, their tight schedules burned into her memory. A small smile paints her face as she navigates the halls, reminded of times from Before.

(A calloused, warm hand pulling on her own too well protected hand. Her incessant giggles echoing off the imposingly glorious walls as his gentle voice tries and fails to hush her.)

Zelda clips a right, eyes shifting to each side. Despite the nervousness racing through her heart, she recalls her memories with fondness.

(She looks up at the lanterns, strewn from building to building, mouth agape and eyes bright. She turns to face him, and her smile only growing wider as she watches his stoic facade melt away under the glow of the stars, moon, and festivities.)

Zelda’s almost there, just past the kitchen and dining hall, then down a short staircase. She gulps, small goosebumps littering her flesh -- the castle is colder at night, especially towards the west wing.

(It’s her first festival held by the townsfolk. Her father hadn’t orchestrated this; it was all of these people before her. If she were honest with herself, she wouldn’t hesitate to say that she preferred the lively, but yet homely, atmosphere over the chaos of the royal events. The smells of home-baked goods and flower petals sprinkled on the ground were more appealing than the smells of gunpowder and sweaty men.)

Steeling herself, the princess takes her first step down the tight corridor, towards the maids’ quarters. She waves the candle around, hoping to brighten the black hallway.

(She asks him the day before -- “Could you take me there? To the festival?” She had heard word of it floating about the women that always tended to her bedroom. At first, he looks awestruck, but then his expression hardens. Before he can voice his opposition, she blurts, “Listen, I know it breaks protocol and code, but I’ve never been to one… Nothing like this. I just want to feel what it’s like to be… part of my people. To be normal, I suppose.” He can’t say no to her pleading eyes, or the genuinity to her words. Later that day, he’s sure to purchase her some ordinary clothing.)

Zelda considers herself fortunate for the roster tacked to the wall. It has every name and every corresponding shift. And room. Racking her brain for the maid’s name, Zelda frantically scans the list.

(The night of the festival -- The People’s Festival was its name -- Zelda waits anxiously for his signal, clad in her common garb and the braid he had hastily done for her earlier. As the time teeters towards 1:00, his knuckles rap on her bedroom door. She launches for the door, but waits for the seventh knock, following a pattern they had designed. He cracks the door open for her, and she slips into the darkness with him, creeping down the castle hallways.)

After finding the girl’s name, thank Hylia, Zelda tiptoes towards her room, Link’s cloak billowing behind her. Standing outside the door, she bites her lip. “Is this the right choice? ”

(She’s not surprised when the first thing he pulls her to is a food stand. Apple pie -- his favorite. She smiles warmly, the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting towards her. Only after he’s leading them somewhere else does she realize that he paid, and that there is only one. But he offers her a fork, anyway. As she takes the first bite, followed by him, and then her again, she momentarily wonders if he’s bothered by this. She lightly huffs, feeling funny in the face -- but she notices the small pink to his freckled cheeks. She takes another bite of the delicious, home-baked dessert, and subconsciously knows that it’ll forever be a reminder of him. No wonder it’s his favorite, she muses to herself. Suddenly, he holds up his finger, handing her the treat and disappearing into the crowd. She’s stranded, but feels no alarm, only a peculiar sense of nostalgia and magical excitement washing over her.)

Creaking the door open, Zelda glares into the room. It’s chock full of women and girls, extra futons placed on the ground, even one or two sleeping on the floor. The princess shuffles in, keeping the door cracked. She makes her way around the room, hoping to find the one she’s searching for.

(He emerges from a flock of people, expertly dodging the streams of festival-goers to reach her. She smiles at him, and he grins back, like a little kid -- she stamps the butterflies in her stomach and grounds the soaring of her heart. He thrusts a dish towards her. It’s her favorite. Fruit cake. The exquisitely decorated slice is topped with fresh fruit, maybe from a personal garden, and encircled by a variety of flowers. In the middle sits a fully blossomed silent princess. She doesn’t think about how the plant is rare or endangered, only left to admire the beauty of the arrangement. Unbeknownst to her, tears begin to collect in the corners of her emerald eyes. He fumbles, frantically trying to make things better. He wonders if he overstepped his boundaries. After a moment, she smiles at him, softly reassuring that he did nothing wrong. “It reminds me of my mother.”)

At last, Zelda stumbles upon her, sprawled out on a futon, tangled in a threadbare blanket. She makes a note: better staff housing. She allows the candle to soak the girl’s young face in light. Her eyelids twitch, and hesitantly Zelda breathes her name.

(The sun is peeking over the horizon when they are entering the castle gardens. She laughs jovially, and she prides herself at his small, unsure chuckles. It’s something. Her braid sways in the morning breeze, the flowers from the cake -- and from a small bouquet he insists he didn’t buy -- woven remarkably into her sunflower hair. She tells him that he should do her hair everyday. “Why are you so good at it anyway? I mean, you don’t even do your hair up this nice. Sometimes you look like a dirty toddler who’s been running around on the streets, no offense.”

He giggles lightly, before a soft smile highlights his features -- the single dimple she hadn’t noticed before. He tells her it’s because he has to do his younger sister’s hair. Or, he used to have to, before he became her personal guard. She can’t help but feel guilty as he continues. “I don’t see her often, but she always asks me to do her hair when I do. So, I want to be better every time.”)

The girl jolts awake, launching upwards. “Who’s there?!” She screeches, and Zelda is quick to clamp her palm over the maid’s mouth. After recognition flashes in her eyes, Zelda lowers her hand. “Princess?” She gawks, mouth agape.

“I need you to help me,” Zelda hisses, tone urgent. This needs to be quick.

“Wha-What would you need my help with-” Panic flashes on her face, and she abruptly changes her statement’s direction, “I mean, how can I be of service, Your Majesty?”

“Come outside,” Zelda says, standing. She slips from the room, leaving the girl to clamber out of bed.

(As they approach the edge of the garden, and the entrance to the castle itself, a figure stands imposingly before them. He’s a distance away, but his anger is clear. They get closer and her laughter dies and his face turns white as a sheet. It’s the king. It’s her father. “Oh Hylia,” Her knight breathes, sick to his stomach.

She murmurs something, a nervous rambling, as they stop in their tracks. Clenching her fists, she turns to him, eyes set with determination. “Whatever happens,” She exclaims, “Thank you for this! I will never forget it. Thank you, Link.”

He swallows, soft cheeks those mysterious shade of pink again -- are his ears pink too? -- and gives her a shaky smile. “Anytime, Zelda. ”)

Zelda wishes the cherished memory could last longer, take her away from reality, but as she and the maid drag heavy buckets of frigid water through the corridor, the situation washes over her. Emotions come in waves, crests of anxiety — “Is he okay? Goddess, please let him be okay.” — followed by troughs of frantic reassurance — “He’ll be okay. He is okay.”

The princess if fully aware of how she’s leaving a sopping trail behind her, the water sloshing over the edge in her frenzy to return to him. She can hear the maid’s sharp footsteps falling behind, but she heads no mind as she rushes forward, ignoring the pulling of her muscles at the heavy weight. She wills her body to move, despite the exhaustion seeping into her bones.

As the grand doors of her bedroom become visible, her heart thuds erratically, and she nearly ceases to breath as she surges forward, a deep coil of anxiety springing from her gut. The blood pumping in her ears becomes overwhelming as she draws nearer. Clumsily, she slams her hip into the door, launching it open. It collides with the wall, a clatter resulting throughout the corridor. At this point, Zelda doesn’t care if the entire castle is awakened, or if the guards come rushing to her quarters wielding brandished blades. Just as long as she gets to see him.

She drags the buckets of water along with her, almost half of their contents already soaking her overly ornate sleeping slip. She swallows thickly, tripping on her own breath as she crosses the threshold into the washroom. Her bare feet touch the ice-cold stone and her lungs suddenly feel desperate for oxygen. With little grace -- unfit for a princess -- Zelda lets the handles of the water buckets slip from her hands.

She drops to her knees, shuffling towards Link, snatching a withering candlestick. She finds herself stumbling over a thick blanket, and as she uses the light’s flickering glow, Zelda finds Link tangled up in the bulky comforter, slumped against the wall. Carefully, she sets the light on the ground and crawls forward to grab his arm and begin rousing him awake. For a moment, she is frozen staring at him, and the way his eyebrows are pressed together and how the dying light casts strange shadows on his face.

“Princess?” The maid enters the room, her meak voice breaking Zelda from her daze. For a reason Zelda can’t place, she finds herself gripping Link’s arm more firmly -- almost protectively -- as she glances over her shoulder. The girl has placed her own pails on the ground, and she uncomfortably wrings her hands, eyes flitting about the dim room. They land on Zelda, and past her, Link. Her expression draws together in an emotion akin to pity, and she can’t help the comment that slips, “He looks quite ill.” It’s shortly followed by a gasp and rushed apologies, but Zelda doesn’t think much about it as she looks back at him.

She purses her lips, heart constricting painfully, as she responds quietly, “Yes.” She runs her hand across her haggard face, releasing a sigh deep from her chest. Tenderly, she adjusts the blanket around her knight, before nimbly rising and facing the maid. “Let’s get started.”

Together, Zelda and the maid manage to successfully heat the water and empty the buckets into the linen-lined washbasin. Quickly, the princess tosses in various herbal salts, followed by a thick liquid with a rich scent. The maid watches as it swirls in the water, creating small suds. She glances upwards, only to find Zelda staring intently at her. The girl stammers, body tensing with nervousness.

“Thank you,” Zelda ducks her head, expression worn but grateful. “I couldn’t have done this by myself.” Her piercing emerald eyes meet the maid’s, and the dark rings underneath them become increasingly apparent. “I’ll insure that you’re rewarded.”

“Oh--! That’s unnecessary, your highne--” She begins, only to find that the princess has already turned away, looking towards her knight. The girl smiles dismally, before softly closing the chamber’s doors and disappearing down the dark hallway.

“Link?” Zelda tries, to no avail. “Link, please wake up.” Gently, she grasps his shoulder, causing him to stir. She inches closer, studying his face as it scrunches up. “Are you--?” His hand comes up to unsteadily rub at his eye.

“Hey.” She catches a glimpse of cobalt blue, flashing from between thick eyelashes. With a small shiver, shimming deeper into the blanket, he looks up at her, wearing a small grin.

Zelda heaves a sigh of relief, her shoulders falling as she rests her face on her palm. “How do you always manage to scare me?” He chuckles softly, weakly, before his hand moves to rest on her side. He rests his head against the wall, eyes falling closed. “Hey now,” Zelda speaks lowly, fingers tapping his warm cheek, “I drew you a bath, and then we can go back to bed.”

He hums drowsily, “That was nice of you, Zel.”

Tucking her hands underneath his arms, she laughs, “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not. And…,” She hoists him onto his feet, “Up we go.” He giggles lightly as she guides him over to the beautifully carved washbasin and begins peeling off his soaked nightclothes. Bracing him, she helps him climb into the tub, watching as he sinks into the warm water, tension evaporating.

“Mm,” He exhales, soothed by the feeling of Zelda running her fingers through his hair. She smiles tenderly, pouring water over his head.

“Your hair is so unbelievably tangled,” She states matter-of-factly, combing soap through the honey tendrils. She purses her lips, carefully working on a particularly stubborn knot. After finding success in her task, Zelda cups water into her hands and rinses Link’s hair of the suds. He gasps, and she looks at him curiously. Narrowing her eyes, a sly smile on her face, she sniggers, “You were falling asleep, weren’t you?”

He looks up at her, embarrassed, a small cough exhibiting his surprise, “P-possibly.” Zelda laughs softly, her soapy hand concealing her mouth, only for her to chuckle loudly moments later. Link pouts at her indignantly, cocking an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Traces of amusement still accentuate her speech, but Link sighs, letting it go as their usual playful banter. “All done,” She pats his head, retrieving a towel from next to her. She gingerly dries his hair, then hands it off to him. “I’m going to fetch you some clean clothing. Will you be fine alone for a moment?” He nods, and she disappears from the washroom.

She returns moments later with a fresh set of night linens, which he promptly changes into to ward off the cold pricking at his skin. As he finishes dressing, Link watches Zelda tug the cumbersome comforter back into the bedroom. He shuffles out to the quarters, approaching Zelda quietly from behind. Raising his hands, he reaches out to scare her, only for her to whip around violently.

“Oh!” Both of their eyes widen, before he chuckles, his arms dropping back to his sides. Zelda quirks a brow, smiling inquisitively, “Now, what were you doing?”

“Hmm,” He hums, cupping his chin, lips puckered in mock-pondering, “What a very good question.”

“Mmmhmm,” She answers, doubt at his beguilement. Zelda rolls her eyes, flicking his arm. Link yawns, prompting Zelda to latch onto his hand, pulling him towards the newly blanketed bed. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” They slink underneath the covers, and she pulls him close.

Tenderly brushing her fingers through his damp hair, she whispers quietly, “Are you feeling any better?” He nods into her shoulder, soft breath sweeping across her skin. “Mm, that’s good.” Swaddled in the snug covers and his comforting (albeit unhealthy) warmth, all of Zelda’s forgotten fatigue washes in like a tidal wave.

And as she senses her protector, now the protected, drift off, she couldn't be more thankful for the moment. Softly kissing the top of his head, she sighs serenely, “Thank you, Link.” He doesn’t answer, already asleep, but she knows that he receives and understands her sentiment. “Thank you for trusting me. I love you, so very much.”

tysm for reading!! pls lemme know what u guys thought or what u would recommend for this story! sorry that the ending is so rushed haha, but i wanted to get it finished,,, ohh, i don't think that i'll make another update for this fic, since i think it's wrapped up pretty nicely, but i do have lots of projects underway! there's something big coming and i can't wait to share it with you all!

anyway, hope u guys all had a merry christmas and happy holidays! feel free to tell me about it in the comments! <333 ilysm

masterlist

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

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Fanfiction Writer Asks

Most of the writer ask posts I come across are only like ten or so questions long so I thought I’d try to make a longer one because we like talking about our writing! Feel free to reblog!

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction?

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

4) What is your favourite genre to write for?

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

7) When is your preferred time to write?

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote?

10) In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind?

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why?

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why?

14) How did you come up with the title for the xxx? - You can ask about multiple stories.

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names?

16) How did you come up with the idea for xxx?

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

26) Which part of your xxx fic was the hardest to write?

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the rec not the answerer)

32) Are any of your characters based on real people?

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s?

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written?

38) If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person?

40) Do people know you write fanfiction?

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written?

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song xxx for xxx.

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

44) What is the last line you wrote?

45) What spurs you on during the writing process?

46) I really loved your xxx fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it?

47) Here’s a fic title - insert a made up title. What would this story be about?

48) What’s your favourite trope to write?

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

#ask game #random #reblog #send me asks #ask the author #i’m curious #!#im like all writers and want answer questions about my fics

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

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i love doing these! thanks for the tag @vx3art! <333

i’m tagging these lovelies: @savetheirhearts-midoriya @singingcookie @pkbackwardsthrow @green-tea-is-love @thankyourluckystars13 @tinytaleheart @catllie-cal

I’m starting a reblog-and-tag game

Make yourself with this picrew (made by the awesome @sangled) and tag up to 8 people! I’ll start

@yume-fanfare @apocalypse–enthusiast @eva-arikuri @zayria @transboyklug @caoomi @arya-art + anyone who is in the mood!

#random

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

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fixed

#ganondorf #calamity ganon #botw 2 #botw #raisin ganon #he is raisin #raiSIN

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

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Storms

“You have water on your nose,” Zelda grinned teasingly, tapping the droplet on the tip of Link’s freckled nose. He scrunched his nose up in return, much to her amusement.

“Well you have some in you hair,” he mumbled, with a poor imitation of a frown, leaning forward to ruffle her sunlight tresses. She giggled gleefully, briefly tugging her fingers through the damp mess of her hair.

Looking up through the trees, the princess took notice of the dark, foreboding clouds formulating in the gray sky, a pleasant curve, however, still on her pink lips. “I think it’s going to rain!” She sang, excitedly looking at her knight.

He pursed his lips, glancing into the basket of items they had been gathering within the forest near Hateno Village. “We should probably head back.” He gently set his herbs and mushrooms into the basket as Zelda tossed her own collection in, before she launched up, rolling her pants up to avoid the mud. Link rose, and they began their short walk back to the cottage.

As the duo emerged from the dense trees, the rain began to flow faster, but Zelda enjoyed it just the same — nearly every sensation was wonderful after 100 years without feeling. She spun in wide circles, her arms flung out as she twirled, loose shirt billowing, her giggles tremendous with every drop of water that touched her tongue. Her laughs were contagious, as always, and Link couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him and the way a smile painted his own plump lips.

He watched her, mesmerized, as she stopped for a moment, her chest heaving, but smile still a shining beacon. Quickly, the basket still safely hooked in the bend of his arm, he rushed forward, and clasped on to Zelda’s slender hand, tugging her forward. “Woah, Link!” She laughed, but began to run alongside him, fingers curling around his.

They tumbled up and down the hills of Hateno, sloshing through the mud and squinting — not because of the rain or wind, but because of their brilliant grins and excited giggles — hand in hand. Their shirts dripped water, hair clumping together and plastering to their flushed faces, and the rain grew heavier until it was pouring, pelting on their skin. But they ran, and laughed, and squealed, ignoring the cold and dreary, to instead find the wonder and joy. And for a moment, they were just children, free and wild.

But then came the time where the merriment had to pause. They rushed through the homely, but empty, village, and weaved their way through blocky houses, until traversing the wooden bridge leading to their home. He hovered behind her, just slightly, to protect her from the rain that seemed to leave welts on chilled skin. A boom of thunder rolled across the gloomy sky, shaking the very earth Zelda and Link stepped upon. The latter cringed, urging his princess inside the safety of the dim cottage.

“Phew! It sure is chilly!” Zelda laughed, ringing her dripping hair. “Let’s get some candles lit — it’s so dark!” She enthusiastically searched amongst the cluttered surfaces, eventually finding a small piece of flint and a strip of metal. She strolled around the room, lighting the flambeaux on the small wooden dining table last.

“Right, I’ll get started on making dinner.” Link pulled out the Hylian Shrooms and Hyrulian Herb that the two had gathered earlier. As he rummaged through their assorted wares, hoping to find some meat, he felt two arms tenderly snaking around his midsection. “Hey, Zel.”

She giggled softly at the affectionate nickname, placing her head on his toned shoulder. “You’re shivering, you know,” the blonde teased, smiling devilishly, before pecking him on his neck.

“Yeah? Well so are you, princess.” He returned, rubbing her arms littered with goose bumps. “And I’m trying to cook us some dinner, you know.” He tried to turn around in order to retrieve the flint needed to start the fire, but Zelda held firmly in place.

“Exactly, we should warm up first!” She countered, before scampering off to the washroom tucked underneath the stairs . “I’ll draw a bath!” She sung, the flint still in her hand. Link shook his head knowingly, before trotting up the stairs to retrieve some sleepwear for both he and Zelda from the wardrobe.

With the changes of clothing firmly in hand, the hero made his way down the steps. Thunder clapped, and Link stumbled, nearly falling, before he tensed, quickly glancing behind his shoulders, cobalt blue eyes cold and calculating. After a moment, he rolled his shoulders, trying to brush off the feeling, sighing as he continued his descent.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Zelda called, a smile in her voice, “Or I’ll get in without you!”

Rounding the corner into the washroom, Link grabbed two towels from the hooks secured onto the room’s door. Zelda was bending over the large basin (although, it still was fairly small, much tinier than the kitchen table) — Bolson called it a bathtub, claiming it was cast iron layered with porcelain — pouring in a bucket of water that had been heated over the room’s small stone furnace. “The water’s nice and warm,” the princess cooed, scooping some into her hand.

“Right,” Link hummed, setting the towels and clean clothing onto a countertop. He began to strip from his soaking layers as Zelda discarded her own.

Climbing into the tub, the princess sank into the water, sighing deeply as the warm water met her chilled skin. Tentatively, Link joined her, sitting to face her. His shivering body was delighted by the water, and he felt his muscles lose some tension.

With a small chuckle, Zelda nudged towards Link, grabbing his arms, rubbing up and down. “You’re going to get hypothermia.” She smiled cheekily, watching as her knight stuck his bottom lip out.

“Yeah, well you are too,” He pouted, eyebrows furrowed. In the distance, thunder bellowed angrily, rattling the small home. Subconsciously, Link grew rigid, muscled arms tight underneath Zelda’s gentle grasp. He closed his eyes, breathing a heavy sigh before his body relaxed.

There was a moment where Zelda frowned, but it disappeared when mirth filled her voice again and she continued her ministrations, “You forget, silly, that I do not possess the unfortunate ability to grow sick.” She paused, grinning, “Hylia insures that her vessel stays healthy.”

Link gave a half-hearted smile in return. Zelda changed the topic, moving her hands to hover over Link’s abdomen, “These bruises are looking better,” She studied the angry, dark bruises maring his ribs, noting the yellow and green edges, “They’re healing — slowly, but surely.”

Link hissed sharply when her wandering fingertips brushed the injuries, body curling in ever-so-slightly. “Sorry!” Zelda exclaimed, retreating.

He shook his head — “No, it’s alright.” He bit his lip, eyes cast away.

“Sorry,” Zelda breathed again.

“Zelda!”

Hands met her side and pushed her down, hard. The impact against the ground hurt. Her breath was knocked from her lungs, and she would’ve been left reeling had a hulking shadow not lurched over her — a White Lynel, leaping majestically and threateningly through the air and right over her body. She pressed herself flat to the ground as it passed overhead, tears of fright pricking at the corners of her eye. It’s own beedy red orbs glared at her from above, and she nearly felt paralyzed. But it continued, its charge unaltered.

A thud. A grunt. His body rolling on the ground. The Lynel circling around for another attack.

“Link!”

This was her fault — she should’ve been paying attention, shouldn’t have been so enthralled by the flowers and insects splayed across the ground. Why didn’t she hear it approaching? It’s hooves were thunderous against the ground, how could she have missed them? She restrained the Calamity single handedly for 100 years and sealed it away to its demise — why couldn’t she face a meagre Lynel?

It was her fault that Link was now curled up on the ground, the daunting and potent beast’s foot mere inches from colliding with his skull.

She called his name again in desperation — “Run!” — and clambered to her feet, running to them on unsteady legs. Just moments, moments until the collision; she had to intervene, she had to.

“Stay back!” He cried, voice bellowing, but breaths laborious. She didn’t stop — why would she?

“Are you crazy?! Link!” She screamed, approaching. The Lynel didn’t grant her so much as a glance as it continued its assault.

There was a sudden hue of blue that reflected on his face. His eyes were hardened with determination as his arms slowly rose to cover his head. There was a flash.

The earth shook and the air trembled as the blast shot the Lynel back, the monster releasing a cry, before it could complete its deadly kick.

“You idiot!” Zelda roared, eyes wide with shock and wet with tears. He had detonated a bomb — right in front of himself.

There was no time for her to rush over to her knight, the Lynel recovering from the blast swiftly with a shake of its mane, as she unsheathed the sword on her waist. She could only hear the thud of his back hitting a tree trunk and his raspy cough of pain.

Zelda wanted to scream “idiot” over and over again, but knew that she did not have the seconds to waste. She rushed over to the Lynel, steps silent and lithe, quickly bounding into the air and settling herself on its back. With heaving breaths, and adrenaline pumping through her veins, muscles tense, she drove the sword into the beast, giving it not a moment to spare and counter her.

It disintegrated to a purple smoke, swirling and omniscient — after several moments, parts would appear in the monster’s stead. But Zelda paid no mind, to her victory or to her wobbling knees and trembling hands, as she surged towards Link.

She dropped to her knees by his limp body. “Link!” She called, dropping her blade and grasping his arms. She shook his body harshly, shrieking his name in fear, “Link?!”

“I swear, Link, you are such a dummy,” Zelda groaned, cleaning the bloodied dressings. She huffed, aggressively pushing the bandages back into the wooden water basin, “Biggest,” Dunk, “dummy,” dunk, “in all,” dunk, “of Hyrule.”

“‘Orry,” He slurred, the words muffled and pained; talking pulled the still fresh burns on his face. From the loft floor, she looked up at him as he sat in the bed, leaned against pillows and swaddled in a blanket. His freckled skin was still swollen and a furious crimson, raised and bumpy. Zelda wondered how he could even stand blinking with how puffy the sensitive skin was. His lip was cracked to oblivion, every movement making it bleed — she hoped it wouldn’t take too long to heal.

Ringing the dripping bandages, Zelda sighed, “Oh, darling, please don’t apologize.” Gracefully, she stood, reaching the bed in a few long strides. Smoothing the material of her dress underneath her, she gingerly sat down, careful to not jostle the bed. “You were protecting me — it’s my fault for not paying attention.”

“So,” She hummed, popping the cork off of an elixir, “I should be the one apologizing.” Zelda sloshed the metallic red liquid in the bottle, inspecting it briefly before making a satisfied noise. “Could you lay down for me?”

That really meant, “Let me help you lay down.” Cautiously, she set the vital elixir on the nightstand, before settling her hands on Link’s back and chest, easing him downwards. He hissed through clenched teeth, but made no further protest as he was lowered to a flat position. “Sorry, sorry!” Zelda whispered, sincerity and guilt dripping from her tone, “I know this really hurts. I’m sorry.”

She sat back, grabbing the glass from the table, and began to work, eyes ashamed. Zelda pushed the blankets back, revealing inflamed skin littered in burns and crimson bruises, still blooming across his chest and abdomen, dotted with pinpricks of blood. She held back a cringe; it had already been 4 days, and even after Pura and Symin reset and mended the broken ribs, generously offering a bottle of rare fairy tonic, the injuries hardly looked any less gruesome. His back was nearly in the same condition, and the burns covered his entire body. That Lynel kick was brutal.

As the princess began to delicately pour drops onto the burns marring his chest, rough bandages met her skin and a feather-soft clasp captured her wrist.

“Don’ blame yoursel’, Zel’a,” His voice was hoarse, breaths reduced to fragile wheezes. She gazed down at him, his ocean eyes half-lidded and glossy with fever, “S’not your faul’.”

“I—” Zelda faltered, gnawing at her bottom lip. She broke her sight from him, casting her attention to his wounds. Her heart ached as she continued to apply the elixir to the burns painfully blighting his body — she would use half externally, and have him drink the rest.

As she set to wrapping the injuries, Zelda had to finish her statement, for the guilt she felt, “I’ll try my best, Link.” She bit her tongue harshly stemming the urge to apologize again, “Thank… Thank you.” She did her best to ignore his wavering stare, only interrupted by sluggish blinks.

No more words were spoken as Zelda swathed the remainder of his body in bandages, and he clenched the sheets in an iron grip. Too exhausted and delirious, Link remained silent as she pulled the covers to his chin, her emerald eyes glimmering with tears as she sensitively covered his forehead with a moist rag, as if he was fractured glass that would shatter.

As if she would be the one to shatter him.

“Zel?” He was leaning forward, face (healed—scarred, but healed) mere inches from hers, fingertips (no longer tightly wound in bloodied bandages) brushing her arms hesitantly, but affectionately. Waves of concern flooded his ocean orbs, and he reached up, tenderly swiping the tears from her own eyes — when had she begun to cry? “Please don’t blame yourself, love.”

“R-Right,” She stammered, as Link slid his calloused hands back to her arms, settling on her biceps. She heaved a sigh, before shaking her head and repeating, “Right.” A moment passed and she gave a shaky smile.

As thunder ripped through the sky, the two suddenly grew aware of the slams of rain on the roof. The ground shook as lightning struck, the house rattling; the warm bath water around them rippled as the room seemed to tremble.

“Gah—!” Fingertips ground harshly into Zelda’s arms, strong callused hands gripping like she was a lifeline. “Link!” Her forehead crinkled in confusion, shoulders tightening as she tried to wriggle free of his grasp, “What in the world?”

After a moment of her struggling, when she had yet to receive an answer, she peered up at him, into vacant sapphire eyes. Her voice was gentle as she breathed, “Link?” There was a brief hesitation before she asked haltingly, “Are you with me?”

The fingers anchored to her arms released quickly as he took a shuddering gasp. Ocean eyes ignited momentarily, before focusing on her and sinking into a watery sorrow. His head fell, wet bangs hanging in front of his face.

“Link?” Zelda scooted forward carefully, her right hand coming to brush his hidden cheek, “Are-Are you alright?” Butterflies tumbling in her stomach, she falteringly raised his head to her. His eyes were cast to the side, eyebrows pressed and mouth tightly shut, teeth clenched. Small tears danced in his vision. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

He gulped and heaved a deep, shaky breath, “I-I’m alright, nothing is wrong.” His voice was hushed, ashamed, “I j-just — would you let me wash your hair?”

She knew what he was doing, but also knew not to rush matters, “Of course.” Her tight smile was less than reassuring.

As she made to turn around, she could feel two hands hovering over her, inching nearer, before they sharply flinched away. It was as if she were hot iron, flaming and burning — not to be made contact with. Or, perhaps more accurately, he were acting as the hot iron and she were ice, ready to crack and melt under the heat.

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” Her voice came out more tense than she intended. Glancing down at the cherry dots on her arms, Zelda momentarily wondered if they would bruise, before ultimately deciding that it didn’t matter.

Gently, oh so gently, he lifted her hair, combing his fingers through it so carefully that she could hardly notice. It was thoroughly soaked with the water, and then a shampoo smelling of honey and hyrulian herb was brought through her silken strands. Link’s touch was feather light as he worked the soap into her hair, removing knots far more compassionately than she could ever herself. Not even a spec of water slipped down her forehead, not a sud, as he rinsed her sunlight locks, only dimmed by the water. As pleasant as it was, it was all too odd. His touches were barely there, but she could tell, could feel just how strained his body was, how uneasy.

He was tediously washing out her hair when everything froze. His hands, his breathing. Her own motion halted. All words caught in her throat, and she swallowed painfully against them. It wasn’t until she felt him shyly place his forehead against her sloping shoulder that her voice’s cage was unlocked. He choked out an, “I’m sorry.”

She felt hot tears slide down her skin, and another “Zelda, I’m so—so sorry.” escaped from his quivering lips.

She refrained from abruptly turning, and bit back the burning question of “What’s wrong?” Instead, she settled for, “Love, what are you sorry for? There is nothing to apologize for.”

The words were constricted as he hardly managed to stifle the suffocating sobs, “I hurt you.”

That was it, she was turning around. Zelda pulled him to her, cradling his head against her neck, “I’m fine, Link. You didn’t mean anything—I’m not mad and there is no reason for you to be upset with yourself.” She emphasized every word with a tone of comfort, the reminder firm but sincere.

For several long minutes, the water growing cool with their prolonged soak, Zelda held him close, swaying just slightly. “It’s okay, it’s okay — I’m okay,” She reminded constantly, her voice just as divine as Hylia.

The princess was fiddling with his hair, rubbing his scalp in soothing motions when she whispered, “How about I quickly wash your hair and then we lay down?” She felt him nod into her shoulder, before he backed away, his eyes puffy and red.

She brushed the stray tears from his face, leaning in for a tender kiss, “Cheer up, darling.”

In a moment, Link’s back was to Zelda as she brushed her fingers through his sugar and honey hair. Quickly shampooing the thick locks, she commented, “It’s getting so long.” When pulling a group of several strands flat, they reached past his shoulder blades — at least while wet. She got a noncommittal grunt in response.

Zelda pursed her lips and huffed out her nose. As she methodically rubbed the soap into the roots of his hair, she spoke quietly, “Link, what’s wrong?” Her breath hit his back, “Please.” She rinsed his hair with the water that had since grown frigid, continuing in that hushed voice, “You’ve been so tense since we’ve gotten home — like something is lurking over our shoulders. I-I can tell that you’re hurting…” Her easy pace took on a frantic edge, “If it’s your ribs, or the burns, let me know and I can make some—“

“That’s not it.”

She stopped, “Huh?”

“Um… that’s… that’s not it.” She knew that had she not been holding his hair, he would’ve been rubbing his neck sheepishly. He was most likely worrying his full bottom lip, too.

“Oh…” Her voice lurched as she broke off. She jogged her mind for elaboration, but turned up empty handed. Instead, she found herself fiddling nervously with his hair, under the pretense of rinsing it further.

Answering the question she couldn’t form herself, Link began hesitantly, tone quavering and insecure, “I, um... I don’t like storms very much… you know?” The thought tacked onto the end spoke at length, “Please, don’t judge me.”

She was given hardly a second to gather her bearings (his statement puzzled her, if just slightly — how could someone who’s lived nearly half of the past year in awful weather be… scared of rain?) before small words filled the momentary silence, “It’s not like I’m… frightened of them, though.” She would never tell him how defense he sounded, “It’s just that, well, it’s just that…”

She made a reassuring interruption, rubbing his shoulders endearingly, “Link, it’s alright. You can tell me.”

“Um,” He swallowed harshly and bit the inside of his cheek, “When it’s storming, everything, every noise, is covered up by the sound. It’s the perfect chance to strike — for you, and the enemies. If you’re not constantly on guard, tense with every strike of lightning and boom of thunder, there’s no doubt that you’ll be attacked from behind.”

That was a lie, Zelda knew. (Well, maybe not entirely.) She didn’t quite want to believe that it was too eloquent, or too long-winded, but it was not the root of the problem. He was not upset over some moblin skirmish in the rain. Sure, it could explain the flash of fear in his eyes, and his apprehensive body language. But everything else? No. “Link,” she pleaded, pressing herself against him, “Tell me the truth.”

He shrunk in on himself, “It was like this that day. The day I failed. I failed the king, the country, the people, my family.” The tears began again as his voice cracked, “I failed you.”

“Link, please, don’t say that,” Mist gathered in her eyes, clouding her vision, “It’s not true.” She pressed a delicate kiss to his skin, softly wrapping her arms around his aching midriff. “It’s just as much my failure as yours.”

“It is! I should’ve been stronger, should’ve trained harder, should’ve been more prepared,” Words fell from his lips faster than she could stop them, “I needed to do my job — protect you and the kingdom. And I failed at both miserably.” His words sputterted to an end, defeated.

Sniffling, and locking her own tears away (this was a never-healing wound for both of them), she spoke thoughtfully, “Link, as much as we do anyway, we can’t blame ourselves for what happened — we did all that we could.” She nestled her face into his neck, “We’re here now, and even though it’s been a tragic, arduous fight, we’ve won. We’re here.”

Zelda felt his body stiffen, and chest shakily rise with a shuddering breath. “I know,” He resigned mutedly, hands rising to grasp at her own. “Let’s— Can we go to bed?”

She planted her lips on his chilled cheek (the water grew bitter still, stinging at her skin), “Of course, love.”

Zelda’s hair (particularly dry, excluding the tips) was quickly woven into a flowing braid, tied off with a silk ribbon, the regal color of the Champions. She gently towel-tried his own honey blonde hair, and it was left to cascade over his shoulders (while tangle-free and wonderfully clean, it remained an unruly mop). They clambered out of the washroom, leaving it a disaster for them to worry about in the morning, the princess clad in a long cotton nightgown and her knight adorned in a simple shirt and set of pants, both a forest green.

They ascended the wobbling steps to the loft, hand in hand, feet shuffling across the icy floorboards. The earth seemed to be collapsing upon them as they climbed into the small (but perfectly sized) bed. Link twirled the string of his tunic’s neckline as Zelda pulled the thick covers over them. She huddled against him, his arm coming around her waist tenderly, and his supple lips met her forehead.

The peace was shattered with another crash of terrifying thunder. Zelda wanted to cry when he receded, closing himself off from her. She advanced, breath hitched, but paused when his shoulders began to tremble, small whimpers concealed by the pillow underneath him. “Link…”

“Link, would you turn to me?” Her voice was meek as she asked, fearful of his reaction. “Maybe he thought I was asleep already…” As thunder rolled through the grim sky once again, he jolted to face her. Within a second of witnessing his teary face, she blurted, “Come here.” Even if he didn’t want it (which he clearly did), Zelda pulled him to her, cradling his head against her chest. The frozen metal of his earrings chilled her skin as he clutched at her pink sleepwear, curling up against her. She placed her head on top of his, rubbing soothing circles in his back. “I’m here.”

Their home rattled around them, the sky weeping upon the humble Hateno village. Each smack of rain on the window rang, and objects on the wall teetered. Puddles took over the rocky paths in the town, and the pond outside their cottage overflowed. The crops were uprooted and the land flooded.

But Zelda didn’t care. She held the one she loved, whispering in his ear (“You’re here. You are not to blame. You are safe. I am safe. You’ve done so much. I love you. So much.”) as she embraced him. That’s all that mattered in that moment.

And, secure and warm in his princess’s arms, Link finally felt his eyelids drift closed.

Zelda awoke to soft breathing and birds chirping. Her pleasant smile was as delicate as the rising sun as it’s rays shone through the dew covered window. Her emerald eyes peered down at Link’s soft face, blissfully relaxed in his well-earned slumber. His freckles and the flush of his cheeks and ears were all the more captivating in the soft glow of the morning light.

Her heart swelled when he shifted, still pressed against her, clinging to her clothing. “This,” she thought, “is wonderful.” She wouldn’t have trade that moment for anything — not even an earlier defeat of the Calamity. Zelda was content, happy, to lay all day, admiring her sweet, caring knight. Forever, if that’s what it took, she would wait until those ocean eyes peered up at her to say, “I love you.”

“I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll hold you until you’re no longer frightened. Until the rain no longer reminds you of our failures, but instead of how far we’ve come.”

“The storm of the last night has crowned this morning with golden peace.”

End quote by poet, Rabindranath Tagore.

Wowie! This was supposed to be a drabble, and look at it now -- 13 pages long and just short of 4.5K words! This particular one-shot has been in the works for over 2 months, so I’ve become very emotionally attached. I hope you enjoyed this very fluffy and extremely angsty zelink story. These babs just deserve to be happy, I swear. Also! First time writing anything close to action!

Please let me know what y’all think of this -- reviews are very appreciated;;;

All though this has definetley been a very enjoyable project (seriously, one of my favorites!), I’m super excited for the next Zelink one-shot -- it’s completely planned out. It’s also a pre-calamity fic! Well, catch ya later, lovelies!

Thank you for all of the support! <3

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

Text

Extra

“Where is her highness?” A brunette maid, clad in a white dress and equipped with cleaning utensils, pulls the chamber door open. Quickly, the peacefulness lying just beyond the threshold invades her senses. Hesitantly, desperate to not disturb the serenity, she peaks her head in, calling softly, “Princess?” She looks around the dim room, for her eyes to be strangely drawn to the large queen bed.

Steady breathing is her response, and when she sees a lump in the blanket stir, there is no shock, only recognition as a smile replaces her look of worry. Huddled close together, in a graceful tangle of limbs, is the princess and the captain of the royal guard. Embraced, they hardly take up a quarter of the space.

Silently, the maid closes the door, allowing the room to remain placid and soft. With no inner objections, she decides that she’ll just have to dust another day.

As she retreats down the hallway, the maid realizes that the knights’ mystery has been solved. But she will let the men find the answer on their own, if there comes an appropriate time. “Sleep well, dear princess and knight.”

Tranquility

Zelda’s heels clack against the marble ground as she makes her way down the hallway, sunflower hair whipping behind her. She worries her bottom lip as she pushes forward, fighting the urge to rub her hands together nervously.

As she rounds a corner, she overhears three posted knights chatting absently. She thinks nothing of it, until one makes a frightening inquiry, “Have you fellows noticed that the captain doesn’t have any chambers in the barracks?” At that, Zelda slows down just a pace, her curiosity piqued.

A second guard, a hand on his chin, continues the thought, “Yeah, actually.” He thinks for a moment, “And we know for a fact that he doesn’t have a bedroom in the castle – we’ve been on cleaning duty enough to know.” The men burst out into hardy laughter, the sounds filling the hallway.

In the midst of the enjoyment, the third man exclaims, “But he has to sleep somewhere, don’t he?!”

Releasing a sigh, smile still on his lips, the second knight speaks, “Right. And surely it can’t be that he owns a house in castle town. He’s here too early in the morning and too late at night for that. And besides, I don’t think he’s the type to leave the castle unattended.” He waves his hands around, emphasizing his points.

The men hum in thought, before taking notice of their princess as she continues down he hall. The first guard murmurs in a hushed voice, “I wonder if the princess knows.”

Her eyes go wide, breath catching in her throat, and her face flushes, but she musters an awkward wave anyway. She quickly scurries down the hallway, leaving the men behind.

“Oh no! What if they find out!” Zelda’s heart is racing as she pushes her legs forward, brow furrowed. She’s careful not to appear too rushed as she passes by several maids on her way. They all greet her and remind her that they’ll be cleaning her chambers today – her determination is doubled by the reminders.

Finally, she reaches the long awaited destination; her bedroom. Zelda’s look of conviction is replaced by one of the slightest hesitance. She slowly creaks the door open, slithering into the dark room. She walks further in, treading lightly, breath bated.

Approaching the bed, she coos, voice smooth and lulling, “Link, darling, you have to wake up.” She reaches down to brush the unkept bangs from his warm forehead.

“Hmm?” He groans softly, rolling slightly. He smacks his plump lips several times, but says nothing more.

“Sorry,” Zelda sighs, “I forgot the maids are cleaning the room today.” She lightly pokes his cheek, the freckled skin soft and warm.

He peaks open an eye, ocean orbs clouded by sleep. A small smile plays at his full lips, and wordlessly his hand haltingly inches up to latch onto her’s, still pressed to his cheek. His expression, while tired, shows a delicate and warm love. However, in it she detects a hint of boyish mischief. Gently, he pulls her down to him.

“Wha-What are you doing?” Zelda narrows her eyes slightly as she resists, question coloring her voice.

In a voice husky with sleep, he whispers tantalizingly, “Lay with me.”

“But-!” Abashed, face a wonderful tint of pink, Zelda rapidly glances over both shoulders. Turning back to him, she leans over, hissing in desperate protest, “The maids will be here soon! And besides, your lunch break is almost over!” His request makes her awfully jittery, and she despises it.

“Mm,” Link hums, closing his eyes again, “Who cares?” His loose hair, splayed out on the pillow, shifts (in a way that is both messy and elegant) as he moves over slightly. “I just wanna snuggle with you.”

It’s that slight pout. She can’t deny him, or herself. With a knowing sigh, and an undeniably present smile, Zelda resigns. She gives way to his benign tugs on her hand, slipping off her shoes and shimmying underneath the heavy covers. She hopes no one will mind the wrinkles in her dress after this – she sure won’t.

As his breaths even back out, much needed sleep yanking on his consciousness, she pulls him into her. She feels the tickle of his soft exhales against her collarbone, and his lips brush her skin as he murmurs, “I love you, Zelda.”

And the princess swears that her heart will seize as she continues to sift her fingers through his honey locks, answering with, “And I love you more than words, Link.” She plants a tender kiss on his head, enveloping him in her arms and allowing her own eyelids to slip closed.

With birds chirping merrily just outside of the window, and mid-afternoon sunlight filtering into the room, a couple is allowed a moment of tranquility.

~•~•~•~

Sleepy babs <3

Howdy! Last night this little idea came to my mind, and I just had to write the drabble up~

Also,,, bit of an experiment with the present tense – let me know what y’all think! I’ve got more content coming your way, so stay tuned!

also, let me know if you guys caught the “what’s up with Link?” clues

#zelink #reblog #extra #bonus #writing #fanfiction #botw #loz #pls accept this

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

Text

Tranquility

masterlist

A second guard, a hand on his chin, continues the thought, “Yeah, actually.” He thinks for a moment, “And we know for a fact that he doesn’t have a bedroom in the castle -- we’ve been on cleaning duty enough to know.” The men burst out into hardy laughter, the sounds filling the hallway.

In the midst of the enjoyment, the third man exclaims, “But he has to sleep somewhere, don’t he?!”

The men hum in thought, before taking notice of their princess as she continues down the hall. The first guard murmurs in a hushed voice, “I wonder if the princess knows.”

Her eyes go wide, breath catching in her throat, and her face flushes, but she musters an awkward wave anyway. She quickly scurries down the hallway, leaving the men behind.

Approaching the bed, she coos, voice smooth and lulling, “Link, darling, you have to wake up.” She reaches down to brush the unkept bangs from his warm forehead.

“Hmm?” He groans softly, rolling slightly. He smacks his plump lips several times, but says nothing more.

“Sorry,” Zelda sighs, “I forgot the maids are cleaning the room today.” She lightly pokes his cheek, the freckled skin soft and warm.

“Wha-What are you doing?” Zelda narrows her eyes slightly as she resists, question coloring her voice.

In a voice husky with sleep, he whispers tantalizingly, “Lay with me.”

With birds chirping merrily just outside of the window, and mid-afternoon sunlight filtering into the room, a couple is allowed a moment of tranquility.

~•~•~•~

Sleepy babs <3

Howdy! Last night this little idea came to my mind, and I just had to write the drabble up~

Also,,, bit of an experiment with the present tense -- let me know what y’all think! I’ve got more content coming your way, so stay tuned!

also, let me know if you guys caught the “what’s up with Link?” clues

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

Text

“She’s not you.”

Masterlist

A plume of gray smoke slowly rose from the small building, sirens wailing in the background. People filtered out of the front -- villains in handcuffs and heroes directing them. The occasional civilian slipped out. To the side, Izuku crouched on the asphalt, loosening his tight boots.

He and some of the other interns were notified earlier that morning. “You have a mission,” Aizawa had stated, handing them each a sheet of paper with sparse information. “There’s a small faction of criminals that have been suspected to have association with the League of Villains. We discovered their headquarters earlier this week -- hopefully they can lead us to the League’s new location, as well as their future plans.” The tired man sighed, before continuing, “And if they aren’t connected, we’ll just have made the world a touch safer.” After a bit more debriefing, the heroes-in-training were dismissed to change into their costumes and assemble at the designated meeting spot.

Izuku launched up, his matted hair swaying in the breeze, releasing a satisfied huff of breath. They had apprehended all of the culprits, and were likely to get some information out of this afternoon. As he stretched out his muscles, popping his joints, he began to hear heeled boots clack behind him. “Deku!” A high voice, cheerful and bright, rang out, and Izuku turned to smile at the girl. “Good job out there!”

He gave a little wave, and a “You too, Uraraka,” as she settled next to him. They exchanged high-fives and grins before commencing in a light-hearted conversation about the day’s events.

“Man, he sure is weak. The fight wasn’t difficult in the slightest.”

Ochako turned to look over her shoulder, her voice dripping unnerving hostility. Izuku’s eyes grew wide, his mouth going slack as he hesitantly followed her line of vision. She was glaring directly at Kirishima -- injured in the confrontation and receiving treatment for his wounds (a gash stretching from his bicep to the bend of his elbow). From the distance, Izuku could faintly hear Kirishima’s small grunts of pain, and make out the contortions on his face.

Still taken aback by Ochako’s uncharacteristic statement, Izuku smacked his lips several times before quietly answering, voice weak with shock, “Who? Kirishima?”

Ochako turned back to him, shooting a scowl that answered his question perfectly. “Well, duh, who else?”

Izuku pursed his lips, making them grow white, as his brow furrowed in confusion, disappointment etched on his face. “What’s going on?” His mind questioned, as he caught a flash of amber in her eyes -- oh.

Realization struck. “What’d you do with Uraraka?” His voice hardened, concealing his concern for his friend and his apprehension of the situation.

The girl cocked her eyebrow, an innocent smirk tugging on her lips. “What do you mean, Deku?” She faced him fully, that unassuming expression painted on her face. The exchange shifted into a standstill, a battle of patience and a silent testament of courage and wits. From the outside, it appeared to simply be an awkward moment, but it wasn’t, because Izuku knew he was right.

“Who will give up first?” Izuku wondered, before determining, “It won’t be me, that’s for sure.” He narrowed his eyes, hissing through closed teeth, “Toga.” “I’ll force her to admit it, corner her.”

A cackle that would never in a million years fall from Ochako’s lips echoed, the cruel sound poking gaping holes in Izuku’s solid defense -- show no fear. She threw her head back for a moment, enjoying her reveal too much. After her chortles slowly teetered out, she settled to stare deep into his forest eyes. To Izuku’s dismay, she took a confident step forward.

He sucked in a breath, her arm snaking around his shoulders, as she leaned against him. Motionless, he looked down at her hand on his shoulder; sunlight gleamed off of a blade.

“Congratulations,” she breathed, voice so smooth and quiet it sent shivers down his spine. “Looks like you discovered my little secret.” She leaned towards him, face mere inches from his. He could feel her hot breath tickle his skin as she cooed, “Let’s keep this between us…that is, unless you want something bad to happen.” The small dagger pressed into his shoulder, blood welling up from the wound. “You wouldn’t want that, now, would you, Izuku?”

Izuku hated this. He could hear the lust and desire flowing from her voice, feel it in the way she flattened her body on his, the way she slid the blade across his arm, small lacerations littering the limb. This was wrong. Those words, those actions, were terribly wrong coming from her body, her voice. He shuddered, sick to his stomach. That was not Ochako, and it never would be.

“Toga, stop.” His voice sounded unwavering, but he was hardly able to choke the words out amidst his rage and disgust. “I’ll ask again: where is Uraraka?” His body wanted to jump away from her, but he knew it would be it would be a fatal mistake.

She grew closer to him -- Izuku felt claustrophobic underneath her gaze -- lips brushing against his cheek as she whispered, “Now, Izuku, darling, you’re not in much of a position to make demands.” She swiped at his arm again, the weapon digging just a little too deep. Izuku contained a flinch, his eyelids twitching at the pain.

He grit his teeth, “How do I change that?”

In a flash, he had her wrists clasped in his scarred hands, flipping her around, arms twisted behind her.

“Actually, I am,” he quipped, grip growing tighter. “Now, tell me.” He was seething, but appeared outwardly calm.

The girl in his clutches snickered, the knife in her hands clattering to the ground. “Well, well, this is quite surprising, dear Izuku!” She turned her neck and sent a deranged sneer, “I like this side of you.”

He made to speak -- demand for an answer -- before she interrupted him, “But I’m curious: why do you like this girl so much? Why not me? Hmm?” She hummed in exaggerated curiosity, continuing before he could formulate an answer, “After all, like this, I look like her, sound like her -- why can’t that be enough?” She gazed at him, her eyes cruel, a twisted amber poking through the chocolate brown. “And, besides, you bleed so beautifully.”

“Why?” Izuku grunted out, willing his acrimony down, “You ask why, Toga?” He shot daggers with his glare. “Uraraka is a hero, you’re a villain. And it’s not that simple, either. She is admirable, compassionate, selfless, courageous, has all of a hero’s essence. You are cruel, twisted, violent, self-seeking, and deplorable. How can you even begin to compare yourself to her? She is not you, and you’re not her. And you never will be.” He finished, his voice louder than intended, but he did not regret it.

Toga’s smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing. “I’m…sorry to hear that.” Quickly, a shred of her enthusiasm returned, “But I wouldn’t worry much; that will change soon.”

After Toga had been contained, the remaining heroes went on a frantic search for Ochako -- not more than thirty minutes after Izuku and Toga’s exchange, the sun had set. It took two hours before Toga finally revealed Ochako’s location, or at least where she had left her.

Izuku was the first to the alleyway. It took a moment, but he made out her pink hero costume amongst the black garbage bags concealed in a dark corner. He rushed over to her, scooping her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder.

“Uraraka,” he whispered, tears flooding his vision, his voice strained. “Please, be okay.”

“D-Deku?” She sounded meek, confused, and disoriented, but it made Izuku’s heart soar in relief. “What happened?”

“You were attacked by Toga.” That was all he said — he hoped that was all that happened.

“Oh,” was her small answer as she huddled into his chest, shivers wracking her body. After a moment, she noticed the slices in his costume and the blood dripping down his arm.

“D-Deku,” she stammered, still weak. “You’re hurt, wha-”

He interrupted her, hugging her tighter. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” He let out a shaky breath, “Thank God, you’re okay.”

~An ask from dededestroyer1000000, with the prompt “She’s not you.” I hope you like it!

~Apologies for being 2 days late with this!

~A huge thank you to the editors in the IzuOcha Discord Server!! Oh my lord, you guys are absolutely amazing -- this thing was trash without your help! <3

~See you guys soon (hopefully), thanks for reading!

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