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whump-me · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 6: Recording

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: team whump, forced to watch, self-sacrifice

Words: 2400

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The email came in sometime after midnight. None of them were asleep, of course. They were all crammed into the small kitchen, vibrating from too much coffee, strategizing about what to do next.

Strategizing was a kind word for it. Arguing was more like it.

Anna wanted to rush in with guns blazing, because that was what she did. But they didn’t even know where Colman was being held, so there was nowhere to rush to, so Anna had nothing to do but pace back and forth in the crowded space and shoot down everyone else’s ideas with a scowl. Eli wanted to reach out to his contacts inside PERI. Hazel thought that was too dangerous, because those contacts hadn’t been vetted yet and might not be trustworthy—and anyway, his contacts were in the research division, and Colman hadn’t been sent to the labs. Or so they all hoped.

Marcus was the de facto leader here, with Colman gone. Lark wasn’t sure why they had all lined up behind him like it was inevitable. Maybe it was his calm, steady demeanor when the rest of them were about ready to vibrate themselves into pieces. Maybe it was just that he had that action-hero look to him. Either way, he was doing a decent job of it for now. Spending most of his time calming the others down, promising to take all their ideas into consideration—yes, even Anna’s.

He was the only one who hadn’t erupted yet, either in anger or in sadness. Even lark had cried, although she was pretty sure none of the others had noticed. She was doing what she did best—staying out of the way, perched on a stool in the corner, making herself as small as possible.

Lark was better at noticing than the others were. For example, she didn’t think any of them had noticed the way Marcus’s fists kept clenching and unclenching as he spoke in his calm and measured tones. She didn’t think any of them could tell just how close he was to erupting.

“We’re wasting time,” Anna snapped, slamming her mug down on the counter so hard Lark feared it would crack. “The more time we spend standing around talking, the more time they have with him. You know what they’re probably doing right now, don’t you?”

Lark tensed more with every angry word. Her face writhed against her will, the muscles moving against the bone like some thick liquid. She pressed a hand to her cheek, and felt her face transform into Anna’s with its high cheekbones, then Hazel’s with their small upturned nose.

She took a deep breath and tried to shut out the yelling until her face took on its natural shape again. She was a lot better at controlling her shapeshifting than she used to be, but high enough stress could still shatter her control.

Marcus raised his hands and opened his mouth to say something empty but reassuring. Anna’s scowl deepened.

That was when the message came in.

Marcus’s laptop let out a soft but insistent ping. The room went silent. Lark wasn’t entirely sure why—the email could have been from anyone. But somehow, they all sensed it was important.

Or maybe they just hoped.

Anna moved first, hurrying to the table. Marcus shot her a look—it was his computer, after all—and slid into the chair before she could. As they all waited for him to open the message, the only sound in the room was the tinkle of a fresh pot of coffee brewing.

“There’s no text,” Marcus said. “It’s a link to a video.” His tone was grim.

“Who’s it from?” Eli asked.

“It doesn’t say.” Marcus hovered his cursor over the link, hesitating. Lark couldn’t blame him.

Only when Anna lunged as if to click it for him did Marcus open it.

The video filled the screen. Colman was tied to a chair in an otherwise empty room. Bare concrete walls, blood-spattered concrete floor, a bright light above that threw the bruises and smears of blood on his skin into high relief.

An indicator in the bottom right corner said the video was live.

He stared directly into the camera. His face was as calm as ever.

“Don’t give them what they want,” he said, his voice rough but steady. He stared into the camera like he was looking into each of their eyes in turn. “No matter what they—”

From out of the frame, a cattle prod jolted forward and pressed against his neck. His words cut off into a strangled scream. His body shook as the prongs sparked white against his skin.

Anna let out a string of curses. Hazel wiped their eyes. Eli turned away and gripped the counter until his fingers were white.

Marcus sat stock still in his chair. His fists clenched, opened, clenched again.

Lark’s entire body itched as her flesh shifted on her bones. The waistband of her pants pressed tightly into her skin as her body briefly took on Colman’s taller, broader proportions. She stared down at her hands, which were Colman’s hands now. She breathed until her hands shrank again, and her waistband was loose enough for her to breathe.

The sound of footsteps drew her eyes up to the video again. A person walked on screen, still holding the cattle prod. They wore a gray PERI uniform, with a black mask covering all but their eyes. It was impossible to tell whether anything about them—age, race, gender—beyond the fact that they worked for PERI.

“If PERI has him,” said Eli, “why are they sending us this? They should be trying to brainwash him into using his abilities for them and their black ops projects, or else cutting him open in their labs to figure out how to breed a stronger Enhanced. That’s what they do.”

“Or interrogating him to find out where the rest of us are,” said Anna.

“They know where the rest of us are,” Eli pointed out. “They know something about us, at least. Otherwise, they couldn’t have sent us this.”

“So then why—” Anna began.

“Shut up,” Hazel hissed, wiping their eyes again. “They’re talking.”

“As you can see,” the figure said, staring directly into the camera, “we have your leader. The thing is, he’s not actually all that valuable to us. He’s a garden-variety telepath—not even a particularly powerful one. Our researchers don’t need another like him, and as an operative, he wouldn’t make a strong asset.”

“Fuck you,” Anna muttered under her breath. Lark said nothing—Lark rarely said anything, unless it was absolutely necessary—but in her mind, she echoed Anna’s sentiment. Colman had rescued her from the small-time criminals that had forced her to use her ability to run cons for them. He had saved all of them from similarly bad situations—he had even pulled Anna out of a PERI lab. He had tied this small collection of disparate personalities together, forming them into a cohesive team when it shouldn’t have been possible. He had given them purpose. And together, they had even gotten a few real victories against PERI.

Not a strong asset? PERI didn’t appreciate what they had.

“No, this is good,” said Hazel under their breath, like they were trying to convince themselves along with everyone else. “We don’t want them to see him as valuable. If they don’t want him, they’ll let him go.”

“PERI doesn’t just let people go,” said Anna. “If they can’t use him, they’ll shoot him in the head.”

Lark drew in a quiet breath. Her flesh moved on her bones again.

“But he is valuable to you,” the figure onscreen continued. “I’m sure you want him back. And as it happens, you have someone we want back.”

Marcus, who hadn’t said a word since the video had opened, clenched his jaw. He didn’t speak. Lark wasn’t sure he was breathing.

“Marcus Miller,” said the figure. “His power of altering blood flow in the human body made him a very effective assassin during the five years he worked for us.”

Lark jerked to attention, briefly forgetting to keep herself as small as possible. She hadn’t known Marcus had been a PERI operative.

From the looks on everyone else’s faces, they hadn’t known either.

Marcus stood up so fast his chair toppled to the floor behind him. His hands clenched into fists again. This time, they didn’t release.

Lark braced herself for his yell. Instead, he spoke in a whisper so soft she could barely hear it. “My fault,” he said, his rough voice full of tight fury. “This is my fault.”

“We’re willing to make a trade,” said the figure onscreen. “If Marcus Miller returns to us, and gives us his solemn promise to remain loyal to PERI this time around, we will return Colman Green to you.”

Behind the figure, Colman was shaking his head. “Don’t do it,” he mouthed.

“Fuck you,” Anna spat again, louder this time. “Fuck you and your trade.”

“We don’t hand over our own people,” said Eli. He glared at the screen as if the figure on the other end could see and hear him. “No deal.”

Hazel shook their head. “Did they really think we’d even consider it?”

Lark noticed before everyone else did that Marcus hadn’t said anything.

The rest of them didn’t seem to see it until a few long seconds of silence stretched by. Then they all turned to him at once. His face was pale. His fists grew tighter and tighter, his knuckles white.

Lark had been wrong about what it would look like when Marcus erupted. He still didn’t yell. His voice was strangely soft, unnaturally even, when he said, “We’re doing it.”

Everyone spoke at once—everyone but Lark.

“Absolutely not—”

“Don’t you dare—”

“How can you even think—”

“No.” Marcus still didn’t raise his voice. But that single soft word was enough to silence the kitchen. All except the drip-grip-grip of the coffee maker.

“No,” Marcus repeated. “We need Colman back, and we all know it. He’s what made us what we are. We’re not a team without him. We’re nothing.”

“You can lead—” Hazel began.

“Not like him,” Marcus interrupted. “I’m no substitute for him. I can see that, even if the rest of you can’t. I’m no leader. I’m a killer. It’s what they trained me for. It’s what I’m good for. It’s all I’m good for.”

“That’s not—” Hazel started again.

Marcus spoke over them. “I’m a weapon. A weapon they made. Colman knew how to use me, that’s all. And he gave me something worth fighting for.” He looked around at all of them, one by one. Even Lark, until she dropped her gaze to her lap.

“He did that for all of us,” he said. “He got each of us out of a bad situation, and gave us all something worth fighting for. Something worth living for. And now you’re all willing to throw him away for me?” He shook his head. “Don’t you dare cheapen his life like that.”

If anyone was cheapening anyone’s life here, it was Marcus cheapening his own. At least that was how it seemed to Lark. But she didn’t speak.

The figure on the screen spoke again, giving the time and place to meet. Anna lunged for the laptop. Maybe she was trying to shut it off. Marcus stood between her and the computer, turning himself into a solid wall blocking her path.

“If I don’t see Marcus Miller at the meeting point after an hour,” the figure said, “Colman Green will die. After all, he’s not valuable to us.”

“Don’t—” Colman managed to get out before the video shut off.

“You heard him,” said Anna. “We’re not doing this.”

Marcus drew himself up to his full height. “You really think you can stop me?”

As the kitchen erected into a fresh round of arguments, Lark made herself as small as she could again.

No one else seemed to see the obvious solution. They weren’t as good at noticing as Lark was, after all. Or maybe they just weren’t used to seeing her. Colman was the only one never forgot about her, who always saw what she and her ability could contribute to a mission.

While Marcus spoke in his horribly reasonable tone, and Anna and Eli raised their voices, and Hazel offered faint objections and wiped fresh tears from their eyes, Lark silently slipped out of the room. No one watched her as she went.

She crept upstairs to Marcus’s room. She slipped off her clothes, folded them, and slid them neatly under the bed, where hopefully they wouldn’t be noticed for a while. She stared at herself in the mirror until her body changed.

She grew taller, broader, hairier. Her face lost its delicacy. Her eyes darkened from warm amber to deep chocolate brown.

Her eyes looked calmer than she felt. Of course they did, because they were Marcus’s eyes. She could almost imagine she heard that steady voice of his, telling her everything was going to be all right.

And it would be. For Colman, and for Marcus.

The team needed Colman—Marcus was right about that. And they needed Marcus, whether Marcus could admit it or not. But Lark? To everyone but Colman, she was an afterthought. They would be sad to lose her, but her loss wouldn’t diminish the team. Not like losing Colman or Marcus would.

Her power was the most useful thing about her. And it would weaken the team to lose what she could do. But they would manage. Colman would make sure of it.

She pulled an old, soft pair of jeans and a blue button-down from his drawer. She slipped them on quickly. She even left the top two buttons unbuttoned, the way Marcus always did.

Lark always noticed that kind of thing.

She wouldn’t be able to fake being Marcus for very long. She could look like him, but she couldn’t be him. She didn’t have his calm, quiet force of will. She was no leader.

But she didn’t have to fake it for long. Only until Colman was safely back home.

When she tiptoed back down the stairs, the others were still arguing. She bypassed the kitchen and slipped out the back door.

With any luck, by the time anyone noticed she was gone, it would be too late.

Lucky for her, the others hardly ever noticed her.

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Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

#whumptober2023 #no.6 #recording #oc #fic #team whump #self-sacrifice #forced to watch #my writing #my writing: whumptober 2023 #my writing: Mind Games

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sainadazai · 2 years

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Killing Me Softly - preview

Kirishima Ejiro x reader. A story of intimacy, hatred, and sex. So much sex.

Notice <3 “Race” is usually associated with biology and linked with physical characteristics such as skin color or hair texture. “Ethnicity” is linked with cultural expression and identification. However, both are social constructs used to categorize and characterize seemingly distinct populations.

Reader is Italian in ethnicity but completely neutral to race, please feel welcomed to all of my stories I will probably never specify race unless it's an ask and in those there will be due warning.

She was perfect. Bright red suit clinging tightly to every curve of her body, as she kicked and flipped. She sprung around the battlefield with elegance, fearlessness. Why had he never seen her before? He was Pro Hero Red Riot, but right now he was just a simple man. Whipped.

"Who is that?" Kirishima questioned his friend, who was knocking out several villains at his side.

Ground Zero's face scrunched up in question before he took a peak upwards, the h/c woman soaring over them with metal spikes shoving through the corpse of a villain. This was wrong. So wrong and yet Kirishima found it so hot.

"Thats Pro Hero Red Mage, she's an Italian Hero sent undercover by the hero commission, went to school with us, a couple years younger though." He rasped out as the men dropped to the floor.

"Woah," was all Kirishima could let out as he raised one arm to knock over a man running towards him. His face was dazed and he was hardly focusing on this battle at all. How could he when this woman was flipping around him stabbing villains left and right, all while covered head to toe in red latex?

"Watch out!" He heard a feminine voice calling down at him. Her arm swung down at him from above while it became encased in a hard metal substance.

He looked above him to see the villain behind him with a knife, and just in time to watch her punch them straight in the face, blood pouring from either side of their now broken nose as they fell to the ground.

He was speechless, awestruck, in lov- "Be more careful next time, don't want japan losing its greatest hero."

Her words rang in his ears. Voice deep and breathless. Japan's greatest hero. Was she even really speaking to him? Was she just confusing her words? She must be. However, she smiled right at him e/c eyes shining softly in the disheveled streets of Musutafu.

"Eijirou! Hey!?"

"Huh oh, right uhm…"

"Red Mage is at the front office...you have a meeting…" and when his assistant says this he finally snaps out of his daze, or so he would like to believe.

“Bring her right in then.” His voice is weaker and more gravely, it's not like he didn't know she was coming. He was so ready. His chest adorning his special cologne, muscles pumped from training just prior to the meeting time. Yet with the memory of her sultry red lips speaking silent words of honey at him in his dreams, he found himself much less prepared than he thought.

He could practically feel the nerves at seeing her body clad in skin sight red, flexible as she was herself but still ever so slightly suffocating the more well endowed parts of her. Eijirou couldn't quite understand the effect she had been having on him, it's not as though he wasn’t used to being surrounded by beautiful women. No more, beautiful female heroes. He’d been in bed with some of the most attractive models in their industry, the most powerful heroes in Japan, the man made his way around. Yet something different happened to him at the thought of Red Mage.

The danger she presented was more exciting than other women. He may never understand it, but he was just the smallest bit terrified of her. Her movements in battle were fast, smooth, unpredictable, and most importantly; powerful. She always wore an eerily evil gaze in her eyes. Like one look in them and you would never breathe again. She was cool, collected, sexy, and Kirishima needed to know more.

“Hey there big guy,” a deep, sultry voice sounded across his large office causing his eyes to shoot over to the doorway.

His eyes scanned over the woman stood there, long black suit pants running a bit too long, so that they pooled around her heels, that he would later learn were red bottoms. A tight red top showing through the small partition of her suit jacket. It shoved her breasts up so that her cleavage was well in view, and her chest caught his eye. He shouldn’t look so long, he shouldn’t let his eyes linger on her lips painted in red, wishing he could see what it looks like smeared all around her-

“Ah, Red Mage, thank you so much for coming. I understand that you were planning on leaving for Italy now, as your mission has ended.” He coughs out, hoping to sound more sure of himself than he feels.

A clacking could be heard over the marble floors as she began to near him, rolling her lips against each other as if to hold back her words. Kirishima felt an urge in him grow as she stared up at him through her eyelids, like she knew, like she was begging.

Ring adoring fingers clacked against his desk when she leaned over to come eye to eye with the giant man.

“I thought I was owed a nice thank you for saving some well built redheads life, but yes, after I tracked him down I was planning to head home.”

Kirishima knew she was talking about him, but he still took a second to process her words. Once he’d acknowledged them he imagined many ways that would be appropriate levels of thanks in his terms. Several of which could start right that very second. Unless that's not what she wanted, if the daring look in her eyes was some sort of custom, and her comfortability approaching him so closely was just normal in her country. He wouldn’t want to misinterpret the tension that hung heavy in the air.

Eyes focused on the slight gap between her lips Kirishima mustered up a whisper, “Well that must have been noble of you, I really hope you can find him before your plane leaves.” A small smirk drew on his lips, seeing the sparkle in Mage’s eyes at his obvious intrigue.

Their faces were dangerously close, bordering on inappropriate, but to be honest, Mage was praying to get a taste of unprofessionality in this office.

“Mage-”

“Call me y/n.”

“Y/n… how do you plan on receiving this thank you?” He took a risk, leaning into his words, and down towards her face.

“Eager boy, aren’t you? That's for me to know, and him to find out. After all, I was quite sad not hearing from him for three days.”

“Shame, he must not be all that grateful..” Kirishima was testing the waters, trying to gauge the situation, he wanted to know if he could bring out that look. The piercing, breathtaking look of intensity that made him ever so intrigued by the woman.

One hand lifted from the glass desk between their bodies to grip aggressively at his slightly stubbled jaw. “Now who wouldn’t be grateful to be saved in battle?”

His eyes flickered between the fingers gripping his jaw and the eyes dominating every ounce of restraint in his body. There it was. Mage’s intensity, her terrifying and dangerous aura, unpredictable. There was no telling what would happen next and a twinge of fear shook Eijirou's whole body, and he loved it. Couldn’t get enough, needed more.

“I mean there must have been a reason he was so distracted…” he moved to walk around the desk, sighing as her hand fell from his face and she turned to face him, eyebrow raising in curiosity and challenge.

“Maybe,” he lifted a hand to grasp the hem of her jacket. “Something red, tight, smooth, caught his eye.” he tugged at it a bit before turning his back to the desk and leaning back against it, crossing his hands in front of himself.

Mage had taken a step to approach his front and continued her intoxicating eye contact. “Ah, so you suppose he thinks that I owed him as much, for, you know, providing such an entrancing distraction.” Her hands were sinking down his chest towards his slowly firming bulge, as he slowly became red in the face.

"Fuck, just kiss me already," kirishima groans.

And she bit her lip into a smile, "Make me."

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airplanned · 3 years

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All the Trashy Novels Part 25

Part 1...Part 24

It smut.

***

Link waited outside the dining room as the princess had a private lunch with her father. "He's just going to chide me for my lack of spiritual progress," she'd said, waving a dismissive hand. "But who knows, maybe he'll be pleased at how well we're getting along." She'd flashed him a grin that made his stomach drop. "How terrible could it be?"

Link wasn't sure if she'd been trying to convince him or herself.

When she walked out of the room forty-five minutes later, her back was ram-rod straight and her jaw clenched just as tight. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale, and she walked straight past him as if in a silent, secret panic. It had apparently gone very badly.

He followed her all the way out to the gardens, where she let her stiff posture drop in favor of freaking the fuck out. Her fingers dug into her hair as she paced. "He took it. He took it. What am I going to do? He took it."

"What did he take?"

"The slate! He says I'm wasting my time with it, and then he took it!"

He frowned. Slowly, he said, "The Sheikah said that they were close to building a new--"

"No. No. You don't understand."

"I understand it will make your research har--"

"I took another picture."

He froze. "You what?"

Her hands pressed tight over her mouth as she stared at him with begging eyes. She looked like she might cry from frustration and embarrassment.

Oh no.

Link's mind raced. "He doesn't know how to work the slate," he assured.

"Right. Right. Yes."

"He probably wouldn't even try to use it."

"Of course."

They stared at each other.

"I'm going to go get it," he said, and turned on his heel. He shouted over his shoulder, "Stay out of trouble."

He had a few options. First, he could sneak in and steal it. The problem with that was that getting caught would be disastrous, and even if he wasn't caught, the king would immediately suspect the princess, and in a way, he would be right. Secondly, he could ask for it. Of course, there was no reason at all that Link should have the Sheikah slate. He wasn't a researcher.

He needed a researcher.

He headed straight for the guest rooms where the Sheikah were staying. Purah glared at him when she opened the door.

"I thought you got the hint that I'm mad at you."

Link ignored her. "The king confiscated the Sheikah Slate. If you asked him to give it to you for your research, he'll give it to you to get it out of the castle. Then you can sneak it back to Her Highness."

Purah was already grabbing her jacket, shouldering into it as she walked and straightening it at the shoulders. "Is he in his study?"

Link didn't know.

They headed for his study. Link made himself scare in the library stacks and waited as Purah was allowed to speak to the king. She was gone for ten minutes. When she reappeared, she walked straight past him and he hurried to follow her.

"For the Goddess' sake, tell her to keep this hidden," she snapped, passing it back over her shoulder. Link had to rush forward to grab it.

"Don't talk to me any more this trip," she called.

Link stopped and took a deep breath. Then he changed direction toward the princess' study.

She was pacing, one hand on her hip, a fingernail in her mouth, and she hurried to him when she saw him. He held out the slate, and she sagged as she took it, closing her eyes as if offering a prayer of thanks.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"He thinks Purah has it. You need to keep it hidden."

She nodded and sunk into her chair.

He shifted some papers and dropped onto the bench. He gave her a minute before asking, "You took another picture?"

She frowned at him, then narrowed her eyes. "Maybe."

"Was it better than the last one?"

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed the space between them and plopped down on the bench beside him. She flipped through the slate and then thrust it into his hands.

It was a bit like being slapped. He didn't know what to focus on. The way her robe slipped down her shoulder. The way that exposed a thin, off-center slice of skin from her shoulder to her chest wrappings, then down her belly to her panties, and down her thigh to where she stood on her knees on her bed. He was distracted by the small bit of lace panties, by the small divot just above along the side of her abdomen. He would lick both of those. He would take her robe by its draping sleeves and hold them tight at the small of her back, pulling it off her shoulders, holding back her hands. He was distracted by how she held her hair out of the way to show off her neck. He was distracted by how she bit into the flesh of her lip, holding a blue hair tie in her mouth as if she were about to use it. It looked like one of his hair ties. The though made his mouth dry. Then his vision drew back down to her body.

He crossed his leg to rest his ankle on his knee.

"Well?" she mocked. "Better than the last one?"

He should really hand it back. Just...just stop looking at it and give it back.

Instead he pulled his eyes from the slate to give her a look. "Are you goading me?"

"What if I am?"

"What if it worked?"

She lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

He pressed a hand to the front of his pants, the relief nearly as strong as the pull to continue. But he stared at her and narrowed his eyes.

For a split second, she showed surprise, but then her eyes narrowed dangerously, and then she was on him, throwing a leg over his lap and shoving him back and sideways on the bench until she was in the same pose as the picture, giving him a far hungrier look than she'd given her own image. He gripped tight to her thigh and rubbed the butt of his hand harder against his cock, the heat building in his stomach as the heat grew in her cheeks, his breath coming faster as her chest heaved. Then she was yanking at his shirt, and he was sitting up to help and somehow they tossed the Master Sword aside and got his shirt out of the way, and then she was tugging at his pants, and he was lifting his hips, and she was yanking them down enough for his cock to spring loose, and she was shoving him back, her hands running over his chest, and he groaned as he was finally able to take himself in hand and pump. Her eyes on him were both embarrassing and hot as fuck, especially the way she bit her lip and moaned. Especially when one of her hands started dragging up her body. Her sides, her breast, her throat, absently, as if she were too distracted to notice, as if she were too turned on to care. It ratcheted him higher, tighter, closer. Then her furious eyes darted up to his in challenge, and it ended him. His release came in two ropey bursts that seemed to drag up from so deep it might have been from the souls of heroes past.

He blinked stars from his eyes and panted. As he came back into his body, back into his senses, he came back to the most bitter tasting embarrassment.

The princess' eyes were wide, as she stared down at him, and Link wanted nothing more than for lightning to strike him dead. She stood as if he'd burned her, and he moved to tuck his cock away, but then she was back, pushing him back down and wiping his abs ineffectively with one of the rags she used to clean guardian parts.

"I've got it," he panted. "Don't get messy."

She let him, and when he was done he looked up to stare at her.

She pressed two fingers to the fading mark on his shoulder. Then she handed him his shirt.

"Better than the last picture," he said.

She hummed. "I think there's room for improvement."

***

Part 26

#my fic #Zelda #All the Trashy Novels

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stealingpotatoes · 3 years

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The Thorns of the Crown

ao3 link

summary: After everything Corvo’s family has been through in the past six months, he’s not so sure the throne is worth it all. (Emily doesn’t take the throne back au)

The Loyalists had been fools to think they could kill him and take his daughter, and still get away with it.

Corvo had silently fought his way through the Lighthouse, putting guards to sleep as he forced his way to the very top, where he knew his would-be murderers were. Where he knew Emily’s now-captors were.

He entered the foyer of the highest part of the Lighthouse as quietly as a ghost, and was immediately met with the grotesque sight of a golden statue of Hiram Burrows, standing proudly in the middle of the golden-gilded room. It was ironic to lay eyes on the false sight of the traitor Corvo had defeated, while on his way to deal with the very traitors that had ordered him to do it. The Loyalists had not learnt from the mistakes of those before them, it seemed.

A grand staircase wound around the circular walls that surrounded the beastly statue, leading to a room above. That was where they had to be.

I’m coming Em.

Corvo lifted his mask off as he quietly ascended the winding stairs. There was no point of hiding behind the face of Death; the Loyalists knew who he was. Or, at least they thought they did.

Corvo finally drew up to the entrance to the war room, and put his back to the wall beside a bust of Burrows. With a deep breath in, he channeled the Void through his hand, and watched the world shift into muted reds.

He looked over his shoulder, through the wall.

There were only two yellow shapes -- two men -- in the room ahead. Not guarding, but sitting at a table. No, slumped against the table. Are they sleeping? Or something else?

Corvo checked his crossbow, making sure it was loaded with sleep darts, and rounded the corner fast.

A dead man’s silence lay over the room like a heavy shroud, interrupted only by the harsh patter of rain.

The top of the Lighthouse was a purpose-built war room. It was finely wood-panelled like the rest of the building, but the left wall was covered with a huge map, places circled and labelled with smaller papers. There was a lit fireplace at the far end, with chairs surrounding it.

At the room’s main centre was a large war table -- where Burrows had no doubt spearheaded his campaigns and his war on the common people of Dunwall.

But it was not being used to plan any wars now; at the end of the table, fine foods had been served with expensive-looking wine. The food had not been eaten -- but the drink had been poured.

Martin’s body was slumped in place, and Pendleton had fallen half-off his chair. Neither of them were moving in the slightest.

Corvo slowly began to lower his crossbow, keeping a firm grip on it, and skulked towards Pendleton.

He put two fingers to the pulse on Pendleton’s neck, and heard the crunch of boots on glass. Corvo stepped back.

Shards of glass were shattered about by Pendleton’s limp hand, with drops of blood-- no, wine spilt around them.

Corvo glanced back up across the table; Martin had a glass in his hand too, and Corvo was willing to bet he had no pulse either.

Corvo stood up straight. From the glasses and past experience, he did not have to guess what had happened to them. Poisoned -- but with no boatman to save them.

But where was the man that had done this?

Corvo activated his dark vision again, scanning for any more yellow shapes that might have been out of range before.

His dark vision melted back away, unsuccessful -- but as it did, Corvo’s eyes halted on a purple shape on the floor behind Martin.

He moved over to it, a new sense of dread filling him, and crouched to pick it up. He inspected it for barely a moment; he didn’t need any longer to recognise it. It was Mrs. Pilsen, Emily’s favourite doll, the one Corvo had given her back upon his return to the Tower.

Corvo ran a thumb over a new, small crack in the doll’s painted porcelain face -- Emily must’ve dropped her. But she had been here. She had to have been. So where is Emily now? And where is Havelock?

A little girl’s scream was Corvo’s first answer.

Corvo’s eyes widened. Emily.

The voice had come from above, and-- outside? Corvo looked around the room again, and he zeroed in on the second set of stairs, behind the wall. She had to be up there. She had to.

As he rushed up the stairs, he noticed the small splashes of blood on the wood of the stairs and floor. If so much as a speck the blood is Emily’s, Corvo thought, running, then I am going to make damn sure Havelock wishes he had never been born.

The trail of blood continued into the office at the top of the stairs, out onto the metal balcony that began out of a door in the glass-roof and wall. Corvo continued his pace, unfolding his sword as he burst into the pouring storm once again.

There was no sign of her there. Corvo raced to his left, up another set of stairs. He paused on a landing -- the trail stopped there, on a maid, dead, surrounded by her own blood. It was no relief.

“NO! Let me go!”

Corvo’s eyes darted up.

On the walkway far above, two people were moving-- struggling, silhouetted against the sky. One far larger, one far smaller.

“Quiet now! And move already, child!”

Havelock.

A hundred words of vengeance filled Corvo’s head, but he said none of them. He only darted to his left again, bounding up the rest of the staircase to the entrance of a sheltered stairwell. The voices were audible again as he entered.

“Hold still you stupid girl!” Havelock’s voice boomed through the rain.

“Let me go! I am the Empress!”

Corvo kept running up the twisting stairs.

“Didn't you learn anything in your short life?” Havelock yelled seethingly. “Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die--”

Corvo stepped out of the shelter and onto the walkway. He didn’t need to announce his presence -- Havelock looked up the second Corvo laid more than two steps on the metal.

Another bout of thunder and lightning struck somewhere in the storm.

“No! Stay where you are Corvo, or I jump,” the Admiral yelled over the rain.

“Corvo! Save me!” Emily screamed.

Corvo stopped walking.

“That’s right,” Havelock said, a maniacally grim satisfaction rising in his voice at Corvo following his orders. “If you take one step closer, we’re both off the edge.”

I don’t need to take a step to get to you, Corvo thought.

He made a show of folding his blade back up and sheathing it, before holding his hands up slowly in a surrender. The rain was beating down on him.

Corvo let himself lock eyes with Emily -- but only for a moment. Then he fixed his blazing-ice gaze on Havelock, who wore the grin of a man that thought himself entirely in control.

Havelock opened his mouth to begin some taunting speech. Lightning struck beyond the edge of the walkway.

Corvo curled his raised left hand into a fist, feeling that sharp pins-and-needles sensation on the Mark and called the Void forth. It heeded his demand with a sharp whisper. Time ground to a complete halt around him.

The lightning behind Havelock and Emily stopped its descent half way down, looking like a harsh rift of pure light in the sky. Water droplets stood in place, small gems floating against the dark storm clouds.

Everything was still.

Corvo didn’t waste a second; he ran forward and at once pulled Emily out of Havelock’s unknowing grip, shoving the Admiral hard as he did it

Corvo took a short, undeserved moment to take in the frozen sight of Emily, half in his arms, before releasing his taxing hold on time.

The grey scream of the dragged-out present disappeared. and the world resumed its pace. Emily almost tripped onto the metal floor with the force of time’s discharge, but Corvo held her safe.

Havelock hung for a moment, as if time wasn’t yet properly flowing, his footing just lost and surprise written all over him. He had expected one last piece of control -- control over his own death. But he had fallen into the same trap as all those before. He had become too comfortable in his position, and he had forgotten that Death belonged to no man, and followed no man’s orders. No matter their station.

Havelock fell.

Corvo, still holding tight to Emily, peered ever so slightly over the edge. He watched the Admiral’s screaming descent until he hit the jaws of the rocks below.

After what felt like a moment too many, Corvo turned to his daughter, still holding onto him for dear life. He held her back, and tucked a drenched strand of messy hair from her face. The rain still beat down on them, ceaseless, soaking their already-soaked clothes and hair.

“Are you okay?” Corvo asked hurriedly.

Emily gave him a shaky nod, eyes still wide with fear. “I-- I think so.”

Corvo nodded in return. “We need to get out of the storm.” Logic was slowly returning, replacing the blood haze seeing Emily in such danger put him in.

Corvo made himself let Emily go for the moment, and she ran ahead onto the covered metal stairwell he had just come from. Corvo followed just as swiftly. They both traversed down the small stairs, the sound of Emily’s little shoes on metal filling Corvo with more and more relief.

He had only paused by the bottom doorway for a second when Emily barrelled right into him for a hug. “I knew you’d save me! You’re my hero, Corvo,” she said, voice half-muffled by his wet coat but slowly coming back to herself.

When she pulled away briefly, Corvo knelt down to just below her eye level and pulled her into a proper hug. He knew was probably hugging her too tight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the feeling of his daughter in his arms. She was shaking and freezing-wet, but still warm enough. But still alive.

The storm raged on on the walkways outside of their small shelter.

Eventually, they both pulled back, and Corvo took Emily’s tiny hands in his. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“You-- you already asked me that,” Emily said, still shivering from the cold and the fear. When Corvo’s worried expression didn’t change, she told him, “I think I’m alright. I’m alright now you’re here.”

Corvo nodded, feeling some small part of the weight on his shoulders go.

“Is it going to be okay now? Will I-- will I be Empress?” Emily asked, almost eagerly.

Corvo glanced down.

He thought of Jessamine. Of her cold dead eyes in the Gazebo. Of her blood on his hands.

Empresses are pieces on the board. And Empresses can sometimes die.

The Heart was beating, an unrelenting pulse in the back of his mind. An incessant reminder that what Havelock had said was true; Empresses die. And who was Corvo to be able to stop it? He had failed once; he could fail again. Death followed no one’s orders; not orders from Empresses, nor those from Lord Protectors.

I know what it felt like to drive a blade into your Empress.

Empresses die. And for what? So men could take control of the damned city of Dunwall? This city didn’t care about them. It didn’t care about anyone. It ate everything alive. It would not let an Empress be safe, no matter how good or pure of heart she was.

The crown and throne were nothing but a curse and objects of desire for ambitious men who thought themselves the better of people. The curse of power nearly took the last of his family from him -- the family that, because of the crown and its rules and its curses, he had never been able to openly call his own.

Empresses die. And so did Burrows, and Havelock, and Pendleton, and Martin. And so did everyone else that tried to hold that kind of power.

Now I want nothing but to leave this wretched city, and fade from the memories of those who reside here.

Emily was just a girl. She was Corvo’s girl, his baby girl. She wasn’t meant to be a piece on a board, a piece in Dunwall’s deadly game of power. She wasn’t meant to hold an Empire in her small hands.

She wasn’t meant to die.

If they went home, if Corvo let Emily take back the throne… what fate would he be damning her too? She would be forever caught in the crossfire of power-grabs and the schemes of conniving politicians. All it took was one wrong move, and Corvo would lose her to that crossfire. That was not the life he wanted her to live. That was not the death he could ever let her die.

This was the only way he could protect Emily. He wasn’t sure if Jess would ever truly approve of it, but she had not been through what they had been through. He hoped what was left of her would understand.

Empresses die. But Emily wouldn’t. Not if Corvo could help it.

The Heart continued to beat.

Corvo pulled Emily closer and planted a kiss on her forehead, “It’s going to be okay now. I promise.”

A relief seeped into Emily’s big brown eyes, and Corvo felt something squeeze in his chest at her expression. “Are we going home then?”

Corvo swallowed. He shook his head.

Confusion knit itself between Emily’s furrowed brows. “What?”

“We can’t go home, and you won’t be Empress,” Corvo said slowly, forcing the words out. This was how it had to be. I can’t protect you from this city. Nothing can, Corvo thought. “Dunwall and Dunwall Tower-- they aren’t safe,” he said instead. “They aren’t ever going to be safe.”

Corvo had expected Emily to show more resistance, or be more upset at the idea they couldn’t return to Dunwall Tower -- but maybe he still expected Emily to be the girl she had been six-and-a-half months ago, before this all happened. But she was not that girl; Emily merely nodded, with a look she was too young to have in her eyes.

“So where are we going to go?” she asked.

Corvo tightened his grip on her hands. “We’re going to take a ship out of here--”

“Like a pirate ship?”

Corvo huffed out a half-laugh, relief at really having his daughter back hitting him hard. I love you so much, he thought. “Yes, like a pirate ship,” he said with a small smile. “We’re going to take a ship out, and-- and we’re going to make a new home, somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

“Three of us,” Emily corrected. After seeing Corvo’s confused expression, she made an obvious face. “Mrs Pilsen! I grabbed her when they took me, but I left her downstairs.”

Corvo shook his head, half-laughing again. All that had just happened, and Emily’s first concern was her favourite dolly. It filled Corvo with faith. They could do this. They could live a normal life, where Corvo could just be a father and, Emily could just be a daughter. Where she would be allowed to be a child, and not a piece to be manipulated.

He squeezed Emily’s hands. “The two of us and Mrs. Pilsen. We’ll make a new home. How does that sound?”

Emily’s eyes drifted to the floor below, and she bit her still soaking-wet lip for a moment. “I…” her gaze returned to Corvo, and she slowly gave him a small smile, “I’d like that.”

Corvo pulled her into another hug.

---

Emily woke up to the slight sway of the sea beneath her.

They had been on this boat more than a week now. It wasn’t like any boat she had been on before -- far less fancy, and far more dirty.

Emily knew a smuggler was a lot like a pirate, but this boat didn’t look like the boats from Emily’s story books. This was a big metal steam-ship, not a pirate’s sailboat with a flag of skull-and-crossbones.

And the pirates in the stories never had to check themselves for signs of the plague, or make certain no rats had come aboard, but the smugglers had had to. So had Emily and Corvo.

Emily wasn’t sure “Slackjaw” was a real name, but apparently it was the name of Corvo’s friend who set this all up. He owed Corvo one, because he had saved “Slackjaw”'s life. Which made sense -- Corvo was good at saving lives. He’d saved Emily’s life more times than she could count. He’d been saving Emily’s life since before she could even count.

But Corvo had saved Slackjaw’s life, and so Slackjaw owed him a favour. Corvo used that favour to get him and Emily on a smuggler’s ship with new clothes and made-up papers.

The papers didn’t have Corvo or Emily’s real names on them, but Corvo had said that he and Emily would need to take new names, to stay safe.

Emily hoped they could come up with something better than Slackjaw.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her cot-bed, before glancing to the other side of the tiny cabin.

The cabin -- if it could even be called that; oversized cupboard seemed more apt -- was flakily-painted metal, like the rest of the ship. The tiny room was almost empty, besides Corvo and Emily’s few belongings, and the two foldaway cots pressed against the walls.

The size of the room allowed very little space between the two cots -- and so Emily had a very good view of Corvo, sitting on the far end of his.

He was fully dressed already. It still was funny to see him in something other than a long coat, but Emily supposed the roughspun jacket and shirt he was wearing now suited him well enough. His folding sword was somewhere underneath the jacket, and that gave Emily no small amount of comfort.

She squinted in the near-dark. Corvo was looking down at his hands, clasped as if they were tenderly holding something. He mumbled something at his hands, entirely fixated on the empty space.

“Father,” Emily started, barely able to stop herself from grinning as she did every time she called him that. Corvo said she was allowed to now. “Father?”

“Mm?” Corvo hummed in an almost-startled reply, quickly looking up from the nothing in his hands.

“What time is it?”

“Early enough that you can go back to bed,” Corvo said fondly.

“Is it early early?”

“What does that mean?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Is the sun out yet?”

Corvo glanced back ahead, as if he could see through the walls of the cabin. “No,” he said, turning back, “but it will be soon. The crew’s beginning to wake up.”

Emily perked up. “Can we watch the sunrise? Please?”

She thought Corvo might say no for a second, but instead he smiled and nodded. “If you really want to.”

Emily nodded gingerly, then shuffled to the end of her cot and pushed herself onto the floor.

Corvo stood up too -- bent over slightly, unable to stand to his full height under the cabin’s short ceilings. He’d moved his hands apart now, as if he’d put the nothing he was holding back down somewhere. Emily paid no mind to it, only grabbing her coat from the back of the door and putting her shoes on, before giving her father a big smile to say she was ready.

Corvo returned the smile, and quietly opened the door, letting her pass into the cramped metal hallway.

He didn’t have to tell her to try to be quiet too. Emily knew that some of the crew would still be asleep, and they needed to be nice and courteous to the smugglers, as any guest would be towards their hosts.

Part of that meant Corvo had to help around the ship a bit, so he and Emily were more worth their while. The smugglers seemed to like him; they’d told him that if he ever wanted a solid job, he could join their crew. Corvo didn’t seem that interested.

After a short time of quiet footsteps in the hall, Corvo and Emily reached a heavy metal ship-door, which Corvo opened with ease.

The fresh not-yet-morning sea air hit Emily with a gentle breeze as they stepped onto the side deck of the boat. It had been getting warmer every day, as the ship got further from cold Gristol, and closer to sunny Serkonos.

The sea ahead was almost dark, but a peaking of the sun on the horizon drove a warm streak across the water.

Emily walked up to the ship’s metal side railing and peaked over it, but didn’t look off the edge. She had done that on the first day on the ship, and promptly regretted it, needing Corvo to calm her down and remind her that they weren’t at the top of the Lighthouse anymore. That she was safe.

“I can’t wait to be in Karnaca,” Emily said. “Will you show me everything you told me about?”

Corvo nodded with a small smile, a fond and loving look in his eyes. “I’ll show you whatever you want to see in Karnaca.”

“And can I go swimming in the bay, like you said you used to? Ooh, or climb the big trees? And-- and--”

Corvo chuckled, “You can do all of that, and more.”

Emily grinned giddily, and looked back to the sea ahead.

The sun was beginning to rise over the waters, painting the world around them hues of orange. Emily wondered if the sun was rising just the same in Dunwall. She supposed it didn’t really matter; what mattered was that it was rising, and that she had her father by her side to see it.

A new day was dawning for them both, and Emily found herself apprehensively excited. It would be a strange new future ahead, one that she did not know, but she had decided it would be a good future. She knew Corvo would make sure of that.

Emily leaned in closer to Corvo, who too was partly leant on the railing, and rested her small head on his arm. In response, he lifted his arm up and pulled her closer to his torso, before settling his arm on her shoulders in a warm half-hug.

Emily smiled, snuggling nearer and keeping her eyes on the rising sun ahead.

#dishonored #corvo attano #emily kaldwin #farley havelock #HAHA I FINISHED A FIC AFTER NOT BEING ABLE TO DO THAT SINCE MARCH #but i did not read this through so have fun #a normal life dh au #potes wrotes #dishonored fanfic

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

Text

Whumptober2021 - October 5th - Betrayal | Misunderstanding

Dragged Away 5/6

Gift fic for @liccy

Fandom: Linked Universe

Ao3

Warnings: implied human sacrifice, blood and injury

Note: THIS IS THE FIFTH CHAPTER TO A RUNNING FIC. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS ON AO3 TO UNDERSTAND THIS ONE.

---

Hyrule waits for a long time to make his move. Long enough to be completely sure that a good amount of hours have passed; though that assumption is mostly based on how his stomach has gone from a churning feeling from the close to rotten food shoved in him, to uncomfortable as it’s beginning to reach the final stages of digestion… which really isn’t something he wants to think about right now. Yes, he has been here for a few days, but it’s not like he’s eaten enough food lately to warrant anything like the final stages of digestion…

Not that that’s something he needs to fret about right now, despite how worrying it is to his health that he’s been too hungry and dehydrated the past alleged three days in captivity for his body to feel the need to get rid of any waste. What he needs to fret about is the key in his pocket now, and his incoming escape.

His nerves feel so fried that he barely feels anything anymore. So anxious that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll go insane. The other’s aren’t coming for him, and he can’t just sit around and hope his captors change their minds. He’s a hero, and a shitty one at that, but a hero nonetheless; and heroes don’t wallow in self pity and doubt when there’s work to be done. He can do that later, when the threat that is Ganon is no longer something to worry about.

Besides, he should be fine. The Triforce may not have shown itself to him, but he’s positive he’s felt it. Sensed it’s presence within him, like a whisper.

The key fits in both of the locks of his shackles like he knew—hoped—they would. His shoulders ache as he brings his hands to the front of his body. The skin around both of his wrists are red, but the left one is irritated and seems just a couple more hours away from finally breaking skin. The back of the hand is still bare, but when he cups his right hand over it, he feels comfort. Courage.

He doesn’t need to see the Triforce. He knows it’s there.

He brings his hands up to his face, slowly to not strain his shoulders, and undoes the knot keeping the gag in. Once he spits out the gag and the lingering taste of the cloth and “food”, he gets to his feet and stands fully for the first time in what feels like years. His back pops as he straightens, and when he takes his first step, his hip feels like it’s going to snap out thanks to an irritated old injury he has there. But he persists, because he has to.

He goes to try the key in the door lock—assuming that most locks in this place will be the same, considering these people are enemies to the kingdom, and probably don’t have enough resources or money to take the time to make separate locks—but he’s quickly surprised to find the door not locked at all. Something that feels close to a smile twitches on his lips. He made the leader so upset that not only did he forget to lock the door, but the two lackeys must have been too flustered to think to lock it either.

Before actually opening the door, however, Hyrule goes to his tip-toes and tries to get a look through the barred window in the door. All he sees is a long, skinny corridor lined with flickering torches on the bricked, mossy walls. He doesn’t see any guards; perhaps because he’s humiliated himself enough times during his stay so far that they don’t see him as something threatening enough to be guarded. It would be wiser for them to put their efforts outside of this place and look out for anything that’s much more likely to break in compared to Hyrule breaking out.

That’s good and bad. Good, because leaving this cell will be the easy part. The hard part is getting away from this place and finding safety without being noticed.

He takes a steady breath, reminding himself that he’s defeated Ganon for crying out loud. He can handle a few cultists.

He can.

He opens the door slowly, careful to not let it creak too badly. Once he’s out in the hallway, he chooses to go to his left. Not because he knows that’s the way out, but because that’s the way his gut is telling him to go—and Hyrule’s learned long ago that his gut is right far more often than his overthinking mind.

-o-o-o-o-

Hyrule doesn’t believe in luck. Life isn’t dictated by the universe suddenly deciding if it likes you or not; and things like Goddesses don’t involve themselves in fate, they just give you the tools to use to challenge fate. It’s up to you to take those tools and survive.

Yet, it sure does seem lucky that he doesn’t run into a single enemy while going through the long tunnel-like hallway away from his cell. There’s no one to stop him, and not a single eye watches as he eventually makes it to a water-damaged ladder leading up to a closed trap-door. He takes a deep breath and climbs onto the ladder. It creeks, but holds as he moves up.

The trapdoor is damp and heavy as he pushes it up. He struggles against its weight for a moment, stopping it at just a crack so he can get a look before fully opening it. He resists cursing, as whatever luck he had almost began to believe in disappears. He can see the outside world, as it seems the trap-door rests in the middle of a long ruined home, its walls and ceiling torn apart by time and it’s floors broken away by dirt and budding grass. Through the long blades of grass, however, he can see two figures sitting at a camp-fire, dressed in familiar red garb and white masks.

They haven’t noticed the trap-door opening… clearly more focused on the card-game they’re playing between each other on a fallen over and weathered plank of wood that must have once belonged to the house. Somewhere behind him, Hyrule can smell the strong smell of fresh-water fish, and can hear the soft laps of a gentle lake. To the left, he can’t see anything but disappearing land over a massive cliff. He can’t see anything to his right, as his vision is blocked by the one wall that’s still standing. As far as from what he can tell, the only reliable way out of here would be straight ahead where grasslands stretch into mounding hills, where he thinks he can see a windmill in the distance.

He takes a deep breath. He can do this.

Quietly, he opens the trap-door the rest of the way, pleased to see neither of the soldiers have noticed. He lifts his body out of the hole and crouches in the long grass, moving towards the walls to avoid being seen. He’s not sure how he’s going to go about this… especially now that he’s above the ground fully now, and he can see through a hole in the wall right of him is nothing but rocky cliffs that look too cold for his bare chest. He can try to sneak his way towards freedom, but the only way he can go is nothing but grass and he’ll most definitely be spotted.

He has one option, and that’s to attack the guards and hope that he can come out on top.

Steeling his nerves, he approaches the guards as quietly as he can, keeping to the wall and then keeping low in the grass. He can hear the two soldiers bantering about what they’re going to do once they have won whatever game they're playing… it seems they’re gambling with bananas, and both have different dishes in mind to make with them. He’s beyond thankful that they don’t expect any trouble from his direction, their backs facing towards him, the ruined building, and towering cliffs. They’re looking out towards the grasslands, and they don’t know he’s upon them until he grabs the closest one to him around the shoulders and shoves them into the open campfire before they could realize he's there.

The soldier howls as they stumble into the flames. Hyrule forces himself to not think about it too much, knowing that if he wants to get out of here, he can’t treat these people like… people. He will have to fight like they’re the monsters they act like… and kill if he needs to.

The Triforce of Power feels warm by his middle-finger’s knuckle.

Before the other soldier can react, Hyrule snatches at the first discarded weapon he can find; a miniature curved blade, one that can fit around a neck. His neck, he remembers bitterly. He doesn’t know how to fight with this weapon, but he also has the element of surprise. He charges at the other soldier and swipes, getting them across their chest. They swear as their red armor begins to soak, reaching to their back to pull out a bow with one hand… which seems to be their only weapon. Hyrule full-body tackles into them, wrapping his arms around their middle and bringing them to the ground. They choke on a yelp as their wound is jostled, and then they go silent as Hyrule uses the feathered-butt of the blade’s handle to deal a blow against their skull.

Hyrule jumps up from his defeated opponent and spins around, bringing the scythe up to be level with his chest… but pauses when he sees no one there.

The one he pushed into the fire… they’re gone.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

-o-o-o-o-

After tying up the unconscious soldier with some rope they had on them, he makes his way up the grasslands ahead of him while keeping the dropout of a massive cliff to his left. There’s nothing else he can do. The injured soldier must have run off while he was fighting his buddy, and there’s no telling how much time he has before reinforcements come. His only option is to go as quickly as he can away from here. Safety has to be close; he can see more windmills and a bridge up in the cliffs next to some sort of shrine that’s glowing blue in the shadows of the night.

After only having made a small distance up the steady incline of the grasslands, he’s already out of breath. He’s starving and terribly thirsty, and the adrenaline of the fight with the guards had him only remember to pick up any weapons he could find and not the bananas nor a drink of water from the lake.

He doesn’t stop running, however, because if he stops then that means he might as well give up now after he’s come so much further than he thought he would.

He’s so close. He can feel it. For the first time in days, his chest feels light with determination.

Then, he’s suddenly stopped in his tracks by a massive, skeletal hand shooting up from the ground. He stumbles over his feet in the slick grass, yelping as the hand is followed by an arm, and then a shoulder, and soon Hyrule is gaping at what can only be a stalfos… but this stalfos has three times his height and holds a wicked looking spear.

He doesn’t know what to do. The monster is already howling and aiming it’s weapon at him. He can’t fight this thing with his little, stolen scythe. He needs an actual sword. A shield. He scrambles to his feet, just barely jumping out of the way of a spear heading for hit gut, but the monster swings the spear like a club and catches him in the side with the long shaft of the weapon.

All the breath is knocked out of Hyrule’s body and he’s launched off his feet. His ears ring and his chest feels like something has shattered, and by the time he hits the ground, he finds himself just a few feet away from falling into a scar-like canyon in the land that looks deep enough to already give his stomach butterflies.

Groaning through his teeth and forcing himself to ignore the agony in his side, he pushes himself to his shaky feet, facing the stalfos.

He has to fight it. He’s too injured and weak to run away. He doesn’t know how he can win… but maybe losing won't be a horrible option either.

This Stalfos just wants him dead. It probably doesn’t know about his blood and Ganon… and judging by the words of his previous captors, for Calamity Ganon to rise again he needs to be killed during something called the Blood Moon. And… the moon doesn’t look like blood right now. If he dies here, then… then…

The monster charges at him, and instinctively he brings up his weapon to try—because Hyrule may have no faith in himself, but he’s not completely suicidal… he doesn’t want to die. Dying is just his last option after he’s fought as hard as he could.

But then, before the stalfos can meet weapons, the creature’s head flies off its shoulders. An arrow falls into the grass by its feed. Hyrule can only stand there in shock as a figure rushes into the area, piercing a sword into the fallen skull of the stalfos. Then, just like that, the monster is defeated with a fallen clack of bones.

Hyrule can only gape as he watches the newcomer pull the sword out of the skull. They begin talking. “The best way to get these guys is to go for the head,” they explain, turning to Hyrule.

Hyrule doesn’t give them a chance to finish before Hyrule is crashing into their arms. “Wild!” Hyrule gasps, clutching onto his friend.

Wild goes stiff under his embrace, but then softens to return the strong embrace. “I can’t believe I found you,” he says, relief in this tone. “I’m sorry it took so long. We first tried to look for you at the Yiga base, but you weren’t there and we didn’t know where to go-”

Hyrule shakes his head in his friend’s chest. “You came.”

Wild came. He’s here. And the reason they haven’t come for him right away was because the Yiga lied to Hyrule. Wild didn’t know where he was hidden. They were looking for him… this entire time.

He almost wants to cry. His knees feel weak enough to give out. But he’s reminded that he’s still in danger when Wild takes his shoulders in his hands and pulls out of the embrace. “The others are camped out not far from here. We should get moving. I’ll protect you.”

Hyrule takes a deep breath and nods. Wild smiles back, then takes his hand and turns up the hill, leading the way. Hyrule follows along, doing his best to not let his guard down. Once he’s with the others and safe, he can collapse and sob his thanks to Wild all he wants, but for now he must keep his giddy emotions to himself and try to keep up with Wild’s quick pace.

They follow along the cliffs for an exhausting amount of time, but the whole way Wild keeps a tight hold on Hyrule’s hand, leading the way and giving Hyrule the strength to push forward. Eventually, they find themselves between two cliffs, looking up at another mound in the landscape ahead of them that splits their trail into a fork. To the right, the path returns towards the giant, snow capped cliffs, and to the left looks like the beginnings of a forest made of mushrooms the size of trees.

“They’re waiting for us up there,” Wild says, pointing at the mound ahead of them. “It was the best place to look-out the area. It’s how I spotted you escaping by the lake.”

Hyrule frowns and reevaluates the cliff-surrounded hill. It doesn’t look like you’d be able to see the lake from here, even from its highest point. But… Hyrule doesn’t question it. He just nods and follows along when Wild tugs his hand and begins leading towards the left where the grasslands continue in a steady incline up the cliff.

By the time they make it to the top, Hyrule feels like he can’t breathe. Wild lets him lean against a shattered ledge of rock for a few minutes to regain his energy; which also gives Hyrule enough time to look ahead. It’s a peninsula of cliffs on all sides, and the entire top of the formation is covered in cracked, scale-like rocks jutting out of the ground, making a difficult path to where a small grove of mushroom trees stand near a glowing blue shrine. On top of a particularly large mushroom tree is what looks to be a small wooden structure… where the light of lamps glow.

Once he feels like his chest isn’t on fire anymore, he nods his head at Wild, and Wild takes his hand once again to lead him over the still difficult terrain. To his left, the sun begins to rise, which almost tempts Hyrule to ask Wild how long he’s been captured exactly, as it's been very much just guess-work for Hyrule so far, but he doesn’t ask.

Not yet. He’s almost safe. With the others. Home. This whole thing is within his grasp at being over.

They enter the edge of the grove of mushroom trees, allowing Hyrule to notice a large, circular slab of something not quite rock, but not quite metallic popping out from the earth at the base of the largest of the trees. There’s glowing blue runes in the slab. Something in his stomach churns as he studies the slab, to the point he hardly notices himself letting go of Wild’s hand to stop and stare at it.

Something isn’t right here. It’s too quiet. Still. There’s no calling voices of the others, and when he tears his eyes away from the slab and looks to his right, he doesn’t see the lake or anywhere near it, just more cliffs blocking the view.

And just like that, something in his gut screams at him to run. He almost does, too, before his skull is practically exploding in pain. Something blunt and heavy hits the back of his head, throwing off his balance and knocking him to the floor groaning and clutching at his head. His fingers come away from his skull with red on his pads.

Then, a shoe slams into his stomach, reminding him of his injured ribs and rolling him onto his back, gasping. Above him stands Wild, smirking in a way that’s very much not Wild.

Sinister. Sadistic. None of his boundless empathy to be found.

“The Blood Moon rises soon,” Wild says, stepping forward and planting his foot on Hyrule’s stomach and pressing down, causing Hyrule to weakly squirm. As he talks more, his voice begins to change, into a voice that’s familiar in a whole new way. “You’re little attempt at escape only made it so we don’t have to drag you up here tomorrow. Just one more night now… then our master will return.”

With a cloud of talismans, the form of Wild disappears and is replaced by who can only be the one Yiga soldier that Hyrule hates the most.

A whole slew of emotions rushes into Hyrule. Anger, fear, betrayal, humiliation…

He hasn’t saved himself at all. Only made it easier for the enemy. He can do nothing but try to keep conscious through the pain of his injuries and the pressure in his gut as the soldier begins to wheeze in laughter. From above, where the wooden structure stands, drops more Yiga soldiers. The leader steps off from him, and Hyrule is quickly grabbed. His hands are forced behind his back and rope with the texture of sand-paper wraps around his wrists. Then, the same is done to his ankles. They drag him over to the nearest trunk, near the mysterious looking slab, and wrap the rope around his chest to pin his back against the base of the mushroom-tree. He bites back a cry as the ropes tighten around his injured ribs.

They handle him roughly, and kick his legs as they finish their knots and walk away, laughing.

“You see the way he held Sohgi’s hand the entire time?”

More laughter.

“Pathetic, little mouse.”

Hyrule closes his eyes, fighting pressure at the back of his eyes. He was never a threat to them… just a plaything. A weak little plaything to give them amusement until their Blood Moon arrives. They were right to not bother to watch their backs, nor keep an army of guards watching for his idiotic attempts at escape.

The only thing he can be sure of now is that his only chance at living through this is back to relying on the others, but even if they really are looking for him, judging by the lead Yiga’s words… Sohgi’s words… the words of a human with a human name… they would be looking at the wrong place. Wasting their efforts to find him in a hideout he’s not even at.

He’s doomed.

It’s all over now.

The tears escape his eyes and begin to stream down his cheeks.

He’s a failure, once again.

He’s… he’s so sorry… everyone.

#linked universe #hyrule linked universe #whumptober2021 #no.5 #betryal #misunderstanding #injury tw #fanfiction #jin writes

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sidespromptblog · 3 years

Text

A Close Friend: (1/2)

Two

Warnings: Suicidal Ideal (Logan), Hurt/ Comfort, Angst, Logan is not okay, Roman is trying his best, and Crying (Logan mostly).

Summary: Roman goes to Logan in order to vent and ramble about everything that had happened about Thomas, Patton, and Janus. But in the process finds Logan dealing with his own bottled emotions, as well as an uncomfortable thought that Logan has been dealing with as of late that leaves Roman scared for Logan’s own safety. So he decided to help, in whatever way that he can.

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 2,783

With an angry buried snarl of outrage Roman rose up into the mind space, and away from Thomas, Patton, and the lying side that caused this ruckus of emotions to take over inside of him. The outrage he felt right now was all consuming, to the point where he felt like putting his fist through any number of walls right this very second. His very fists shook with the idea of it and the pain that it would cause him to do such a thing, he contemplated it, it would be an outlet for all of his complicated emotions… even if it wasn’t necessarily a healthy one at that. Although he could pretend that it was Deceit’s face the entire time, just to sooth a little bit of the pain in his body and heart.

“This is ridiculous.” Roman snorted, more to himself rather than anyone who would listen to him. “I’m not punching something just because of that.. that liar!” Roman angrily kicked his boots off, rather satisfied with how one went flying in one direction and the other thumped against the railing of the stairs narrowly avoiding their family photos that Patton had insisted they have.

Roman could only scowl at those photos now, even if most of the people in them had no idea right now just what he was so angry about.

Would they even understand if he were to tell them? Would they get it? Would they even listen to him to begin with?

Or would they just say he was being too dramatic?

Virgil certainly would, he almost never went to the emo to vent about anything to him. It was almost always the other way around. Virgil rambling about the things that worried him, and things that he was scared would happen in the future. If he were to vent about anything to Virgil, he was almost certain that he’d be stopped and told he was just making the other side’s anxiety worse by bringing the things up. Not that it was entirely Virgil’s fault, he couldn’t help it if things triggered that anxiety. But just once…

He like to have someone to vent to, and not be the constant emotional whoopie cushion for everyone to overlook unless they needed something from him.

He needed someone who was…

Less emotional than the others.

Someone who…

An idea raced across his mind in a flash, “Logan!” He shouted, tearing his way upstairs and towards the logical side’s room, his bare feet skipping the steps of the stairs in an effort to get there faster. “You are not going to believe what happened today!” The overwhelmed sensation that had been flooding his chest finally gave way to something that felt like relief, as he stood outside of the other’s door.

Logan would listen, he'd listen objectively, but he’d still listen to him.

“Logan-”

Roman stopped dead as his hands had pushed open Logan’s door, he had never bothered to knock in the past and now was no exception. But the sound that had graced his ears made his heart drop into his stomach, and fear tangle his inside.

It was…

Sobbing.

Muffled sobbing, so silent that had he just been walking by he wouldn’t have heard it at all. It was only by stepping into Logan’s room that he’d heard it all, his heart twisted at the sound. He’d never heard Logan cry, unlike the others whom he had comforted many times after their own nightmares, emotions, and turmoils… Logan had never come to him for anything like this, if anything, Logan had never come to him at all. The silence of the other’s cries spoke volumes as to why, the logical side was probably used to bottling things up and forcing himself to stay as quiet as possible to not alert everyone around him about his own turmoils that he must’ve been going through.

How many times had Logan done this, and nobody was the wiser of it?

How many times had Logan bit his tongue when they had said something cruel to him, just to cry like he was now?

“Logan?” He saw the logical side’s back stiffen almost immediately upon hearing Roman’s voice, his jaw clenching shut as he attempted to quiet the heaving of his lungs. “What’s wrong?” Almost immediately the thoughts of venting to Logan went right out the window, he had been angry and overwhelmed yet, but right now… Logan needed his help, he needed…

A hero.

Logan sniffled, inhaling and exhaling in a way that told Roman he wasn’t getting enough air in him to stop from heaving. The logical side clenched the pillow that was stained with the evidence of his tears, his knuckles were a stark white contrast against the deep blue pillowcase. But nevertheless Logan turned slightly to face Roman, the stains of already shed tears lining his cheeks, the redness of his puffy eyes made Roman wince in sympathy.

He’d certainly been there before.

“Logan-”

“I heard you,” Logan’s voice cracked with the simple three words that he muttered out almost sourly, “I was debating on whether I should answer honestly or not.” Logan licked his lips, that were red from hours of biting them in an effort to not make a single sound while he lost himself to his own sadness. “Which would you prefer? You obviously came here wanting something from me, and it wasn’t to comfort me while I wept like an overgrown baby.”

Roman winced at the unintentional sharpness that Logan wielded even in this state, although unlike before, it wasn’t wielded towards Roman with the intent to hurt the creative side… but rather to hurt Logan.

For being caught crying? Roman didn’t accurately know, but even so, he didn’t like the thought of it.

Self deprecation was Virgil’s thing, not Logan’s.

He inched forward towards Logan’s bed, his hands raised slightly in a peaceful manner that told Logan he held no ill intent towards the other side. An action that made Logan huff almost sarcastically, as if he didn’t believe the creative side for a single second. But not before smooshing his face into the pillow, a minor attempt to hide from the creative side while he still could, and still protect his emotions that were vulnerable for anyone to see.

Roman sat on the edge of Logan’s bed not touching the logical side, at least not yet.

“I’d prefer it if you were honest with me,” Roman spoke softly, his voice much quieter than usual. “I’d like to know what’s wrong, and… if I can help in any way.” He did… gods did he want to help, but for someone like Logan.. he had no idea on how to even start. The other side was far too jaded and cynical for the usual things that worked for Patton and Virgil.

Patton could be soothed by a simple hug and food, with bodily contact enough to calm down whatever he was feeling in that moment. Virgil was tougher, but even he enjoyed the occasional hug and any kind of distraction that Roman could pull out of his sleeves at the time. But for Logan…

He had no idea.

A rough raspy laugh pulled him out of his musing, “You want the truth?” Tears brimmed on the corners of Logan’s eyes, and for a second Roman felt a bolt of panic, as if somehow he had once again messed things up. But Logan only scrubbed at his eyes, as his bottom lip wobbled with another onslaught of emotions. “I’m so tired Roman, I just want to sleep.” His breathing hitched as a whimper crawled its way up his throat, the warm comforting touch of Roman’s arms around him only seemed to make his tears come faster and faster as he buried his face in the creative side’s shoulder. “I just want to sleep and never wake up, so that I won’t be treated how I am anymore! I don’t want to wake up!”

Guilt twisted Roman’s insides at the acute reminder of just how both he and Patton had treated Logan’s interjections, Logan hadn’t even been there in person and yet…

They had treated him as an after thought, Patton had even chosen to ignore him when Logan had spoken up once… giving Deceit the perfect chance to butt in and take Logan’s place when he was out of the picture.

Roman had chosen ignorance over Logan… time and time again.

Logan’s fingers helplessly clawed at the back of Roman’s shirt, his breathing just getting more and more erratic the more he sobbed and less air he was taking in. It made Roman’s stomach clench painfully at the guilt that he was once again faced with, this was… his fault. Just another thing added to the list of things he had done wrong, they were supposed to be a family and yet-

“I know that it’s not just you,” Logan rambled on, cutting his inner musings short. “It’s just everything over a long period of time, and its unfair of me to just unload everything onto you at once, you don’t deserve to be at the center of my stupid emotions, and you certainly don’t deserve to stuck here. It’s just everything, ever since the beginning… I just.. I just…” Logan thumped his head against Roman’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to get his words out, “It's not your fault that I’m like this,” Logan admitted, almost as if he could feel the very thoughts that had been going through Roman’s head. His guilt and his shame had always been so obvious, at least Logan. “I’m just so… tired… of everything.”

Thomas wasn’t listening to him, even Patton hadn’t even stopped to consider how Logan would feel when he skipped him. His points were considered optional at best, to the point where the others felt happy that they could choose to not listen to him.

If that was how they felt about him… then what was the point of even showing up? What was the point of even trying anymore? What was the point in existing as a side for Thomas to listen to?

Sleeping forever, and not having to deal with anything like this sounded heavenly. It would stop the hurting, and it would stop everything that made these tears possible.

Roman gripped Logan tighter, his fingers bunching the back of Logan’s shirt as he buried his face into the other side’s hair. He felt a little better to know that this breakdown wasn’t entirely his fault, but… that didn’t stop the guilt that wormed its way into his heart regardless. He was still responsible in some way, be it his nicknames, how he responded to Logan’s facts, or even how he treated Logan sometimes. He had still hurt Logan in some way, even if the other had done the same… Logan didn’t always know that it was in good spirits, he had taken it seriously.

He knew that too, and he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t use it to his advantage.

So he needed to fix this, before he got anywhere close to being able to just pop in on Logan and vent about his day. They weren’t friends, he had never treated Logan like a friend, even if they were both somewhat responsible for that.

But first… he needed to help Logan out of the suicidal-idealation he was spiraling into.

He’d seen it enough in Virgil, when he was in one of his really bad attacks, as well as in Thomas when he was in high school during the peak of his closested streak.

At least he could help with that.

“Logan,” Roman softly hummed into the other side’s ear, as he gently rocked the other back and forth, his hand gingerly patting the other’s back in comforting rhythms. “Do you want to sleep with me?”

A sputtering sound erupted from the side in his arms disrupting the hitching sobs that had been coming from him, and it took Roman all of two seconds to realize just how that sounded coming from him. Or rather how it would sound coming from anybody, at least without a little bit of context first.

“Not like that!” He blurted out almost immediately, a rosy hue burning his cheeks with a vengeance, as embarrassment and awkwardness boiled in his stomach making him want to run away and never face the logical side ever again. “I meant, would you like to sleep in my room!” He quickly amended, his face getting redder by the second, even if he refused to relinquish his grip on Logan, who had gone very still. “I could use a nap after the day I’ve had, and it sounds like you need one too.” His voice softened for a moment, “You’ll have nothing but good dreams, and when we wake up… we’ll do something, just the two of us. You can have a day off, and just… relax. How does that sound?”

He could in the very least give Logan a sleep that he would wake up from, while ensuring that the logical side wouldn’t go off and do something reckless to ensure an endless slumber for himself. Plus…

It had been a very long time since he’d done anything with just the two of them, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spent time with just Logan without Patton having to force him to take the logical side along.

It might be nice, a chance to show Logan that for now, things would be okay and that Roman would be there for him.

They could just talk, and do things… without the worries of everything around them weighing them down.

A soft sigh left Logan’s lips, as the logical side gently rested his head on the creative side’s shoulder. “Sleep…” He began tiredly, the exhaustion of letting out so many emotions making him feel a little more than drained. “Sounds amazing…” It did, and even though he would wake up from this sleep, he would have something to look forward to, something to do that hopefully wouldn’t make him feel worse than he already did. A spark of gratitude welled up inside of him, had Roman not come along…

He probably would have just stayed here, crying and thinking things that would only lead him further into turmoil and sadness.

Until…

Logan’s body swayed as soon as Roman rose up, the creative side’s arms remained securely wrapped around Logan. Only jostling him slightly as the creative side almost too easily picked him up and sank out of Logan’s room, had he the strength Logan would have made a remark about how Roman was choosing to carry him or even given a small laugh about it. But instead he merely went limp, not putting up a fight as he rested his head against the other side’s chest and closing his eyes as soon as he felt the impossibly soft mattress of Roman’s bed touch his back.

But that didn’t stop his hand from darting out, almost as soon as Roman’s warmth left him.

“It’s okay,” The other side gently told him, his voice soft and reassuring to the logical side’s ears. “I’m just going to get on the other side, I’m not leaving you. I’m going to be right here.”

As nice as that sounded, Logan shook his head. That wasn’t it.

The logical side cracked open one of his eyes, the blurry world around him telling him that Roman had already taken off his glasses for him. “Roman,” He mumbled tiredly, the effect of Roman’s room already working to put him into a beautiful dream just for him. “Thank you,” His grasp on the other’s sleeve was already going slack, but he needed to let the other know before he lost himself to unconsciousness. “Thank you for caring about me, even if.. even if I make it hard sometimes.”

A warm and feathery softly blanket draped itself over Logan, and the fuzzy softness of sleep encroached more.

But just before he lost himself to it, Logan heard the sad chuckle from the other side grace his ears as a weight settled next to him and an arm laid itself over his chest. And a velvety soft voice murmured right next to his head:

“You don’t have to thank me Logan… you never have to thank me for listening to you.”

And just like that, Logan sank into the dream that Roman had created for him, a smile curling on his tear stained face.

Within moments, Roman had joined him as well, his exhausted body tucked against the logical side.

Protecting him from anything else that would cause him harm.

#logan sanders #ts logan #ts logan sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #ts roman sanders #logan angst #ts sanders sides #ts sides #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts sanders sides fanfic #ts sanders sides fanfiction #ts sides fanfic #ts sides fanfiction

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meenah-chan · 3 years

Text

Solace

A Belphegor x GN! MC fanfic

3.14k words

Genre: Angst

Trigger warning: mention of death. Read at your own discretion.

Requested by: @belphiesimpalways thank you for patiently waiting for this. Supposedly, this is for your birthday but still, belated Happy Birthday to you!! This became a little bit too long, and I actually changed the whole thing twice 😅😅 I changed the title too to prevent confusion, hope you don't mind.

He lost it the day he lost his beloved sister. A place to call his home. Yet he met them. The one who brings light to his dark days. But what shall he do, when this solace was never been his?

“How I wished I didn’t met you at all.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He can hear the harrowing sound of the clock, ringing inside the closed space. As if it were imitating his increasing pulse. Belphegor couldn’t open his eyes. He won’t though, even if he can. He fears he’ll see it again. The agonizing sight of that cursed attic, where he is trapped, cold and lonely. Each click, each clack drives him on a brink of madness.

Somebody please make it stop..! Curled up in his bed, writhing in anguish, Belphegor tried to block the sound with his trembling hands.

Let me out… I hate this place...

“It is for your own good.” Lucifer’s voice reverberates throughout the whole room. His guide light and the hero of his stories… once upon a time, that is.

For my own good? This place was a nightmare! He was imprisoned! He was trapped inside his head, with nothing but bleak thoughts!

He felt cold, with no one to hold onto. With no Beelzebub or Lilith, ready to embrace him when he’s afraid…

Ahhh…

Right…

Even if he managed to escape that place, there’ll be no more Lilith to hold him. To comfort him. To make him laugh of joy and happiness. No more… Lilith is no more…

“...Belphegor?” he snapped his eyes open and suck in a deep breath, as if the voice pulled him out of the deepest pit of the abyss. His heart was beating fast, bathed in his own sweat.

It was just another dream. He was not trapped in the attic any more. He was freed, by the person with him right now, sitting beside his bed, a few weeks ago. “Are you alright? You’re sweating buckets and squirming in your sleep.”

“I’m fine. It was just pretty hot in here.”

They stared at him for a moment before replying. “...If you say so… Wait, let me get you some water and a change of clothes.” unconsciously he raised his hand, fingers tugging on the hen of their shirt which stopped them from their tracks.

“Don’t need one… Just stay here and be my pillow.” Still, feeling a bit anxious of being alone, he didn't let go.

“That won’t do. You’re so drenched. If you don't change clothes and rehydrate, you might get sick. I'll be back in a jiffy.” Yet as they swiftly pried his hand off their clothes, he couldn't do anything but to watch them stride out of the room.

He sighed, recollecting the series of events from the time he met them. “...What a weird person...” He muttered under his breath.

A few weeks ago… Just a few weeks ago, they succeeded in freeing him... Just a few weeks ago, they died by his hands... Yet, they kept on approaching him like nothing had happened.

But oddly enough, he also couldn't get them off his mind; to want them by his side. The only time he could find his peace of mind is when he's with them.

I guess I'm weird too...

Silently, he observed them. The way they speak and walk. The way they would scold him when he chose to nap over catching up his missed lessons. The way they tap and hum unconsciously, while studying with him to encourage him to do so. Those awkward laughs they made as they tried to mend the rift between him and his brothers. The sighs left their lips as his brothers fought over who would have them. The slow and silent steps they make to slip away. The way they wink and place a finger over their lips and pull him with them.

Especially the way their eyes disappear when they're smiling. He can never describe how soothing it was, that smile.

...until he suddenly felt it wasn't.

The way they make the very same smile to Lucifer, Belphegor couldn't help but feel a little bit too irritated. Yes, it was Lucifer. He’s naturally annoyed by him, after what he's done. But this is a little bit different from his usual displeasure.

The youngest just wanted to pry the human off him and drag them away. He knew he couldn't suppress the burning sensation rising from the pit of his stomach. He also knew he'll regret what he wanted to do. He'd look possessive. Delusional. He may even hurt them in the process. So, he chose to escape the scene instead, into the attic which was once his prison.

“Belphegor! I got... and you're asleep.” the demon dares not open his eyes as he hears them make their way to him. “You didn't even remove your uniform...or your shoes. I'm really amazed how you can fall asleep in a matter of seconds.” They carefully remove the shoes and socks from his soles.

Oh no... That's not a good thing. For every touch of their skin sends tingles throughout his entire body. Each cell screaming in a way he never felt before. The bed shook as they crawled in, reaching for the buttons of his vest. He was at his wit's end, completely conscious of the human's presence.

Before they could ever reach for the last row of buttons, his hand stopped them before he lose it.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Y-You're awake?!” Before they could ever pull back, he tugged them in his chest, flustering the human even more.

“H-Hey, let go. Your uniform will get wrinkled.” They tried squirming out to no avail. The demon is just too strong to make him budge.

“Don't want to.” To hide his warm and probably beet red face, he clasped their nape and keep their face over his shoulder.

“I still haven't changed out of mine.”

“Hmm, goodnight...”

“Hey...” after a few more stirring in vain, they just sighed and let the youngest have it his way.

This is bad. Thought Belphegor. The annoyance he felt a while ago dissipates as fast as it builds up inside of him. Still, his heartbeats and head were in utter chaos, the time he held them so close. He said he’s returning to slumber, yet his heart showed no signs of ever slowing down. He bet they could hear it, but he have no more energy to even mind it. After all, amidst the chaos in him, could also feel he won’t be getting any nightmares right now.

“Say Belphegor. Do you have a fever? You’re hot and your heart’s beating a bit too fast.”

“Just tired from the extra work a while ago. I just need some rest.”

“If you say so...”

He could no longer deny this feeling inside him.

He… fell in love with a human. He found it, the peace to his raging storm. The salve to his wounds. But they can never be his solace.

He lost it the day he lost his beloved sister. He lost his home. His freedom. He doesn’t have anything but his disgusting self, who could only obsess over keenly observing each and every move they make. Like a stalker. Like a creep. Like a predator eyeing its prey.

But they were never been his. And the day they learnt of his habit is the day they will be disgusted by him.

“Lucifer!” and the fact that they were attached to his eldest brother— the one who robbed him of his freedom once— didn’t help.

They would link arms around his. Heck, even snuggled to it as they do so, with that widest smile upon their face. The small giggles they give off as the abomination in the form of his brother praised them while petting them. Oh, how he wanted to just cut off that hand straying onto them! How dare he touch–

…them that might have already belonged to him, long before he could enter the picture…?

No. There's just no way that heartless brother of his to fall for a mere human. That brother who bowed down to a demon the day his sister died. And the human who taught him how to love again, to fall for Lucifer. That’s just… impossible… It’s just too cruel…

But I love them too! I can love them more than that fiend who chose a demon over his family!

“No, you’re much crueler…” He could hear the whispers at the back of his mind. “Have you forgotten what you did? You killed them. Do you think you have any rights to even lay a finger on them? You spiteful, wretched, monster…”

…Right… He has no rights to have them… He lost it before he could realize the weight of his actions… It was the painful truth. A punishment for a sinner like him. He could regret it until his last breath but he could never be forgiven.

He doesn't deserve to have a place in their heart. Never. Never…

The door to the twins’ room creaked open and he knew exactly whose footsteps it was without the need to look. “Belphegor, Lucifer gave me some sushi. You like this, right? Let’s eat it while it’s fresh.”

Lucifer again, huh...

“It’s yours. Eat it yourself.” There’s no more point in fighting a lost battle.

Let it grow, “Ehh? But you like—”

“Let’s stop this.” … or let it go.

“…Huh? Stop what?”

He also fears what he might do in the future due to this rotten affection of his. “Just as I thought, I couldn’t stand humans. You’re so naïve and trusting. I’m already fed up with dealing with your antics.”

“Wait, I don’t understand…” They asked, confusion and unease were all over their face.

“You don’t? Then let me explain in a way you’ll understand in that small, gullible brain of yours.” He took a deep breath. He needs to keep his cool or he will definitely break in front of them, “Everything is all an act. You thought I like being with you? Think again, fool. Having a human around me fills me with nothing but wrath and anger! Who do you cause my nightmares!? Your race disgusts me to death! Just looking at you makes me want to puke!”

“B-Belphegor… please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Kidding? Do I look like I’m joking?” he scoffed, holding back the pain clawing in his chest. “Be thankful for my brothers. If not because of them, you won’t be alive the second time, nor your ignorant race are.

“I won’t touch a hide of you or any human. So please, stop bothering me anymore.” being unable to stifle the emotions on the verge of bursting, he turned his back on the devastated human.

This is for the best. He’s back in his cage. Staring at the lacework of the long-lived spiders on the ceiling. He already witnessed its threads wear and replace countless of times. That might not even be the same spider he saw on his first night there. He could care less. After all, the only time he was truly curious of a being is when he met them.

How he wished the thread of his feelings were as flimsy as the spider’s. That way it’ll fall off over time. It can simply be cut off when it comes on his way.

“How I wished I didn’t meet you at all.” He knows it well. He is a big liar. In some way or another, just like the firstborn. But they deserve him more than his wretched self.

Lucifer, he was the morning star. The fact that both heaven and hell were captivated by his beauty and excellence. But Belphegor… he was nothing but a bleak abyss. He once dreamt of his brother’s greatness. Yet he couldn't be anything. He, miserable and empty, who only had nothing but guilt, regrets and a broken heart— as he watched them weep.

It’s been weeks since then. They never approached him like he said. Neither in the dining table nor classroom do they discern his presence. It was painful, but he can take it. The only unbearable one he felt is catching them cry— in Lucifer’s arms.

How long are they going to cry? Is it still because of him? No… This is for the best...

This is his atonement. His fate. He still couldn’t have anything, yet he already lost everything. His—

Lucifer… He is staring at him straight in the eye. I should leave.

But Belphegor couldn’t leave. Not after the eldest gave him that sly smirk. What does that mea…

Lucifer didn’t give him time to think. “Wha, Lucifer…?” Sound of confusion left their mouth as Lucifer grabbed their chin firmly between his index and thumb, with the menacing look on his face. “What are you—!”

And the gap between their faces disappeared. “Hmph!” The sight of the futile struggle of his beloved in the hands of the man he entrusted them to… made the youngest snap.

“LUCIFER!!!” His horns and tail materializing, he lunged towards him. His clenched fist flying in the air, aiming for his jaw. Yet, as if expecting it, Lucifer evade him, loosening his grip on the stunned human in the process. Belphegor saw this as a chance to pry them away from his brother’s hands, before jumping a few meters away from him.

“When are you going to learn to clean after your own mess, Belphegor?” As if the devious smirk were never been present on his face, Lucifer looked at them with his usual expression.

“What the hell?! You’re the one who assaulted them!!” He snarled like a wild animal, holding his treasure protectively from the threat.

“I didn’t do anything. Ask them yourself.”

“Ask? Do you think I’m blind?!” His stance became stiffer, fangs sheathed and glaring sharply at his brother, who is unfazed.

A light tug on his collar made his eyes soften, and caused him to realize his tight grip on them in which he loosen. “Are you hurt?”

“N-No… Lucifer’s saying the truth… He didn’t kiss me. I was just a bit confused he pressed his thumb over my lips.”

“.... What? Okay, but still—!”

“Do you think I’m a fool, Belphegor?” Lucifer cut him off, “I know what you’re planning. I'm already your brother for thousands of years.”

“...”

“Do you now understand the consequence of your foolish action? You left someone important to you in the care of others. But you didn’t think that sort of thing might actually happen?”

“But it’s you who they love!”

Lucifer’s frown deepens, “Even if it were some lesser demon they’re in love with, I bet you'll leave them in their care.”

“I...” He… Lucifer’s right… No one's more dangerous for them than himself.

Belphegor's horns and tail disappeared as he calms down, processing what his brother is saying.

“Everyone’s dangerous in Devildom, you fool. If you really are sorry for what you did, protect them instead.”

“Protect? But… But I...” Ignoring him, the eldest glanced at the person between the youngest’s arms.

“Do you already get what I’m saying Y/N?” They nod. “Not only are you both foolish and stubborn, but also blind. Now fix this yourselves. I’m done with your drama.” pinching the bridge of his nose, Lucifer left them in that awkward position without another word.

“...I’m really sorry. I was afraid to hurt you more than I already did.” After a moment of silence, Belphegor decided to break it first.

“You already did, you idiot.” Wiping the stray tears on their puffy eyes, Belphegor gave them a sad smile. “I guess I did.”

“But I still don’t think this is alright. Shouldn’t you be a bit more wary around me? I mean you already… died in my hands once.”

“You brat. Do you think I’d cry like that if I we’re okay with not being with you? I've never held a grudge against you in the first place.” They pout.

“Why? How can you forgive me that easily?” The demon frowns at them.

“Well, wouldn't life be more wonderful if we know how to forgive and forget?”

Frustrations were evident in his eyes, Belphegor's frown deepens. “That's not right… I killed you mercile—”

“Then shouldn't I be asking you? Why can't you forgive yourself?” He didn’t answer. Mistakes have already piled up as is.

Forgive himself? Why? Does he hate himself?

...Yes... I probably do... He loathed himself. terribly so... But they, who tasted the his abhorrence. He couldn't understand how they didn't.

“You want you to find happiness.” They cupped his disgruntled face in their palms, foreheads touching as they gave him comfort.

“I can’t.” with glassy eyes, he held a hand on his cheeks, “Not when you are my happiness. Not when you liked my brother.”

“You really are blind. And here I thought I was just assuming things.” their giggles were like music to his ears. Their orbs were like the placid sky set upon him. “You really are blind. And here I thought I was just assuming things.”

“I love you, idiot.” And their words, with no hint of doubt or hesitation, hit him like a surge. It made his feelings overflow, coursing throughout his entire body, and finally spilling on every corner of his eyes. It made him unable to speak. “I’m not even hoping for you to feel the same. I just wished to stay by your side… and for you to cherish yourself like how I’ve been to you.”

Belphegor felt so happy beyond words. Such indescribable feelings swirling inside him, one that he can’t put into words. With so much running inside his head, the only line he could form is… “Thank you.”

Weeping, but from so much joy this time, they huddled in each other's grasp, not caring of their setting, until their hearts finally felt whole again.

And after such a blissful moment, “...that’s it? No I love you too?” They spoke.

“What are you saying? I already said I love you.”

“No you didn’t. Saying I’m your happiness and confessing are separate things.” they frown at him, expecting.

“It’s the same.” Yet knowing how stubborn the demon is, the human raised their white flag, although disappointed.

“Okay, alright…” They sighed, wiping his eyes with a tear-stained handkerchief. “Why am I the one comforting you anyways? I’m the one crying because of you.”

Belphegor smiled mischievously, like he didn’t cry a while ago. “Because I’m the youngest.”

“Ugh, why did I fall for a spoiled brat?” Another sigh left them as they pulled him up, “Let's go, I’m sleepy.”

Yet as soon as he rose on his feet, he placed his arms on the back of their knees and shoulder blades to carry them, gaining a small yelp from them.

“Hey...” no protest managed to leave their lips as he sealed it with a chaste kiss. Probably not their first but it was the sweetest one. It only last a few seconds, but Belphegor knew fully well. This memory will last forever.

“I love you more, my solace.”

#I seriously don't know what I did here XD #hope you liked it tho #jumping to the next request tomorrow~~ ヾ(≧▽≦*)o #obey me fanfic #obey me belphegor #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me belphegor x mc #obey me boys #obey me #obey me masters #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #meenah-chan's babey fics~~#meenah-chan~~

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imagineabrighterworld · 3 years

Text

{Flowers} Midoriya x Reader

Summary// Soulmate!AU where everyone has different soulmate markers. Yours happens to be that flowers bloom where your soulmate gets injured. You just happen to be paired with the boy who breaks his bones daily.

Buds and small blossoms were the norm for you as a child. You would find yourself with little blooms on your palms or on your knees, your mother explaining that that meant your soulmate hurt themself. Maybe tripped or bumped into a table.

Your mom told you how the buds that bloomed on your cheeks meant someone was being mean.

As a teen you realize that the flowers on your body meant cruel things and cruel people.

"Hang on out there." You whisper to the flower on your shoulder, its soft petals tickling your skin. You wished you could talk to your soulmate through your skin like your mothers, how they could write on their skin and see the message on each other, or sing and hear the others voice like your uncle had with his wife. But you and your soulmate were connected by flowers.

What was going on in their life to have so many flowers? Sometimes you could feel phantom pains on your stomach as small bruise colored blossoms grew on your skin, or feel the sharp sting of a slap on your cheek the color of yellow daisies.

One day you're walking down the street when you bump into a green haired boy. You were in a good mood, lately there hadn't been new flowers on your body, which had to mean your soulmate was having a good week.

"Hi." You smile at the boy whose face immediately turns pink.

"H-Hi!" He stutters, his hand immediately going to the back of his neck. "Sorry for bumping into you, I should've been watching- not watching you! But watching out! You know- like how you walk and- and yeah.."

You chuckle. He was cute. Covered in freckles and with bright green eyes like the leaves of a tulip. "Don't worry about it." You hold out your hand and introduce yourself. "How about you?"

He shyly takes your hand. His grip is surprisingly stronger than you expected. "I'm Izuku Midoriya."

"Nice to meet you Midoriya." You smile and shake his hand firmly. "Guess I'll see you around."

"Y-Yeah." He smiles.

He smiles and for a moment the world slows to a stop.

You suck in a breath and hold onto your smile as you continue walking.

It's when you enter highschool that the flowers return.

You're in the middle of orientation when deep purple hellebores sprout from your finger. You flex your hand and feel the ghostly pains of a broken bone. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you listen to the droning of your homeroom teacher.

What happened to start the cycle again? Why was your soulmate hurting? Who was hurting them?

For the first weeks of school, you're stuck with that question as you do nightly checks. Your arms were constantly covered in flowers, and if you were capable of laughing at something so serious, you would debate selling bouquets with the flowers you were growing.

The day of the U.A. Sports Festival you sit between your moms and listen to the pro hero Present Mic as he introduces the classes.

Your mom cheers from your left. "We’ll get to see the first years that survived the villain attack!"

Your mother on your right chuckles. "You say it like it was planned darling, they're only kids. They're probably scarred."

Your moms debate the mental health of the 1-A first years as you watch the students from your spot in the stands. The blooms were getting better and had receded, showing your soulmate had healed which allowed you to focus on the games below.

But then a new set of questions popped up.

Would your soulmate be watching too? Were they interested in the sports festival? Were they quirkless? Did they have a quirk? Did they want to be a hero? You couldn't stop the questions that flowed freely in your mind.

You lean on your palm with your elbow resting on your knee. Your face lights up with surprise as you spot a familiar face in the crowd of students from Class A.

"Hey I know that boy!" You point to Midoriya and tug on your moms sleeves. A smile forms on your face. You didn't know he was going to U.A. but then again you never asked. You didn't think to ask.

"I never got his number though."

Your mother hums. "Too bad, he's cute."

Your mom pats your back. "You can try after the games are over."

During the first and second event, you keep your eyes glued to Midoriya. He was a good strategist. Even if he hadn't shown his quirk yet, you could see how skilled he was. It was a far cry from how you met him. Stuttering and shy. He was confident now, albeit a little emotional. He felt different to you.

"You can do it!" You whisper to yourself, your hands clenched as you see him step up to begin his match. You believed in him!

"Welcome to the first match of the finals tournament!"

From above you could see the student across from him begin to speak. Obviously you couldn't catch what was being said, but you had high hopes for Midoriya!

"Ready? Begin!"

Midoriya begins to run forward, but right as he nears the middle of the platform, he freezes in place and stays there. You feel a shiver run through your body as you watch him. Why was he staying still?

"The fight has just begun and Izuku Midoriya is completely frozen!"

The other boy’s lips start to move. Midoriya turns around and begins to walk back to his side of the ring.

No. He starts walking to get off of the platform.

“What is he doing?” Your mom mutters, “Silly boy, he's supposed to be heading the other way!”

Your mother murmurs in agreement. “Could it be his opponent’s quirk?”

You didn't quite care as you stood up from your spot and began yelling. “Come on Midoriya! You can do it! Don't give up!”

He was just a step away from the border of the platform when a giant blast of wind came from his hand. At that moment you felt the ghostly pains of your index and middle finger snap. Baby’s-breath grew from your fingers.

You look down at your hand in horror as the announcer screams over the intercom.

"What's this! Midoriya stopped just in time!"

Midoriya was an inch away from the platform, but all your focus was on the flowers that bloomed on your skin. Flowers in the same place as his injuries.

You sit back down, ignoring your mothers as they continue cheering when Midoriya goes back into action. You don't see what happens next, all you hear is that Midoriya won.

On went the battles, but your focus was on your hand and the flowers that slowly fell off as the broken fingers were healed.

When his next match came, you looked up from your stupor. He was fighting a boy who had so far sweeped his way through to the finals. A part of you wanted to cheer Midoriya on, knowing that his match would be a tough one, but the other part was reeling in horror at what would become of his body. He broke his bones using his quirk.

Day in and day out, you had seen flowers grow on you, and you never had a face to link them to.

Cuts, bruises, burns, broken bones.

All from him.

You don't watch his match, all you hear and feel is the shattering ice of his opponent and the flowers that burst from your skin in waves of color. First his fingers, then his arms.

The match ends, and you are left sitting with hydrangeas and hibiscus, poppies and peonies all littering your arms as if you were a living garden.

“Sweetie what happened?” Your mother finally asks from beside you, or maybe you just weren't listening before. “Could your soulmate be that boy- hey!”

You stand up and push your way through the crowds, running down the line of stairs and around the stadium. The students were in seats across from you, which meant they had to have an entrance nearby.

A door lay in front of you, blocked by several Pro Heroes. You transform into a butterfly, not caring about the pain that rattled through your body at shifting into such a small creature as you fly past their watch and enter the stadium reserved for the students.

You fly past doors marked as waiting rooms until you reach the recovery center.

The door was cracked open, and inside you could see him. He was bandaged up, his body covered in scratches and bruises.

You shift back into a human and slam your flower coated fists on a nearby table.

His eyes open and he straightens up on the recovery bed, wincing in pain when he moves his arms. His eyes were dull with pain, but they had the same light in them as when you had met him for the first time.

Did that light drive him to hurt himself so much?

“You again- how did you get in here?” He sits up properly.

Your eyes are full of tears as you look at his casts.

“You.” You wipe at your eyes, spreading pollen across your face. “I've been a living garden for fifteen years and all you have to say is how did you get in here?”

You can hear the confusion in his voice as he mumbles a small “I’m sorry?”.

Summoning a claw, you pierce the side of your neck and make a thin line.

From his neck, carnations bloom from his skin at the same site of your wound.

His eyes widen in realization.

You both stay silent until you let out a breathy laugh. Now he knew. Now the cogs were turning. You were always so careful to not get hurt to keep from scaring your soulmate, but did he ever put in the same care?

“We’re soulmates..” He whispers.

“For fifteen years.” You repeat silently. “For fifteen years, I’ve had sleepless nights, knowing you were being hurt. For fifteen years you gave me flowers. Looking at flower shops were so painful because they reminded me of you. I couldn't even stand being at my uncle’s wedding because the arrangements reminded me of your pain.”

“I’m-”

You hold up your hand. “Why do you hurt yourself so much? Why go through so much pain? This quirk.. Is it so important for you to become a hero if all you get out of it is pain?”

With blurred vision and eyes stinging from tears, you look at Midoriya who had a quiet look of contemplation on his face. It takes a beat before he looks you in the eyes.

“I want to become a hero that brings a smile to people’s faces. A hero you can rely on.” His Adam's apple bobs as he gulps. “A hero you can rely on. I never meant to make you cry. I'm sorry.”

You slump down to the floor. You hear him squeak and jump down from the bed, letting out a string of “ow’s” before crouching in front of you.

“Really, I’m sorry-”

You place a hand over his mouth and give him a stern look. “Just shut up.”

“Yes ma'am.” He mumbles from behind your hand, his face obscured by the flowers on your hand.

“Ma’am?” A small laugh threatens to escape you.

“I say things when I get nervous..”

Despite the weight of the emotions you had been carrying, you finally laugh.

He leans away from your hand, a blush on his cheeks as you hold you cover your own mouth to try and tame your laughter.

“So um.. Im free Sunday. If you want to talk about how this'll work..?” He questions meekly.

You wipe your eyes and smile. “I’d like that.”

Extra//

You hang upside down from a tree as you watch Midoriya train. He had come over for dinner but as you waited for your moms to finish cooking, you both took to the outside. He had looked to your training grounds in awe and quickly pleaded with you to try out the course.

“It’s my mother’s, not mine, go ahead.” And how could you deny his bright eyes and smile? The damned thing could light an entire city.

He was nearly drenched in sweat by the time he stopped his run through of the course and his small session of shadow boxing. He wipes away his sweat with the back of his hand and sits down under the tree where you hung like a bat.

“Nice huh?”

“Yeah. What does your mother do to have a space like this?”

“She's a hero. But she patrols the west region. She comes back every few weeks to visit us.”

He bonks you on the head as he looks up in amazement. “She's the Transformation Hero Mystique?!”

You quirk a brow. “Bingo. How'd you get that?”

“Lucky guess.” He mumbles sheepishly.

“You saw her hero costume didn’t you.” You ask bluntly.

He fiddles with his scarred fingers. “I may have taken a detour when I went to the bathroom..”

You turn your head and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Silly boy.”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha izuku #bnha midoriya #bnha Izuku midoriya #bnha Midoriya x reader #boku no hero academia Midoriya x reader #mha #my hero academia #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha izuku #mha midoriya #mha Izuku midoriya #mha Midoriya x reader #my hero academia Midoriya x reader #- beta Zetzal

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just-a-quirkless-loser · 4 years

Text

Maybe We’re Not Meant To Be

Alpha Izuku x Omega Reader

Warning: Sexual Content Below

Word Count: 3.9K

Two years of dating Izuku was no easy task. As sweet as the man is, he often blundered when it came to the love life (or the lack thereof) the two of you shared. No one questions his devotion to you. You’re cold? Midoriya will give you the shirt off his back. You’re hungry? Midoriya runs to the nearest store to grab you something (he doesn't care if it’s miles away). Two years of dating the most considerate person in the world yet, you selfishly yearned for more.

A mating mark; a silent reminder to onlookers that you were taken by one of the most eligible alphas in Japan. You wanted your skin to be marred by his long fangs and you wanted to leave your own mark on him. But after two years of waiting, it felt as though maybe he didn’t want to mark you.

‘Maybe we’re not meant to be.’

At first, you didn’t mind that Midoriya wasn't quick to ask to bound you; it showed that he cared about you rather than force himself on you for the rest of your life. It was nice to have him court you but, you’re getting older. You never wanted to admit that biology was correct but, you felt yourself slowly facing the realities.

It’s easy to push the want away, hiding it deep in your mind to only ponder over every once in a while. But, every once in a while becomes every day. It makes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you.

You watch as all of your friends start to show off their marks, they start to get married, one by one having pups. And, you’re there for all of it. Silently cheering everyone else on from the sideline but, awaiting your turn to race.

You’re quietly bitter. All you can think about is having mini versions of Midoriya and yourself running around. What would they look like? What would they smell like? Would they want to be heroes? Your desire to have a physical manifestation of your love to care for and nurture grew. It seems like the closest you’ll ever get to that dream is when you're around other people’s pups.

“Wow, Y/N! How did you get her to be that quiet?” Uraraka asks you with an amazed expression. She watched you cuddle her close to your chest, rocking her off to sleep after her latest tantrum. “You're such a natural.”

“Thank you. I've always loved kids,” you're mesmerised by the rise and fall of the pups chest as she breathes. It’s nice having something so small depend on you.

“You’d make a great mom,” she doesn’t miss how you tense and, for the fleetest of moments, a scent of resentment seeps from your pores. Why should you have to sit and take care of someone else’s baby when you want one? “I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

“No, no, you’re fine. I was just thinking,” you put the sleeping pup down to its duvet. “I want one. I want what you have so bad it hurts.”

“Why don’t you talk to Deku? I’m sure he’d love to have a baby with you,” she smiles to push your hurt away but, it only makes you grimace eternally.

“For us to talk, he’d have to be home for more than thirty minutes before he crashes out in bed,” that ends the conversation. You knew that dating a pro hero with ambitions like Izuku’s would be no walk in the park however, you didn't think it would be this hard.

You know he didn’t mean to but, Midoriya has inadvertently neglected you. First, it was forgetting date night due to the need to pursue a link to a villian. Then, it was forgetting your birthday to finish some paperwork. It seemed like something always popped up that Midoriya had to follow but, you couldn’t hold a grudge; he’s always been the type to help.

‘You knew what you were getting into when you chose to date him,’ you blamed yourself. You can't just expect him to change (and you grew bitter for that as well).

“Izuku,” you started across from him on the floor. He looked up at you with those dark green hues, giving you his full attention. “Izuku, why haven’t you marked me yet?”

“Y-Y/N, ahh you caught me off guard. I mean, do you want me to mark you?” he always does this; reverse the question when he doesn’t know the right answer.

“Izuku, I asked you a question,” you put your chopsticks down.

“Well, I don’t think I should bind myself to you,” cue the dramatic scent drop. “N-No it’s not you, it’s me. Okay, that sounds cliché but I just, I don't want to keep you from finding someone better.”

‘THERE ISN’T ANYONE BETTER THAN YOU,’ the words were stuck in your mouth. The conversation should have ended there but you were hurt.

“Y/N, please, say something. Are you mad?”

‘Yes.’ “No.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t take-”

“I’m fantastic. Just not as hungry as I thought I was. But, I’m glad you told me. Now, how was your day?” It hurts but your grin through it. The conversation shouldn’t end there but, you have no desire to see what other bullshit can leave the alpha’s mouth.

You know he doesn’t mean it in this way but, doesn’t that mean that Midoriya doesn’t see you as a life partner? Wouldn’t it be safe to say that he’d leave you if he found someone better? Weren’t you just wasting your time?

“Are you sure you’re okay? We can talk about it if you want,” he pauses to yawn. “Maybe, tomorrow though. It was such a long day. All Might was-“ ahh yes, All Might. You’re sure you know more about him than you do about Midoriya’s mother.

You feel unwanted, used, and taken advantage of. You do everything for him: cook, clean, support, help him with leads that stump him, drag him to bed, bandage him up. Yet, your efforts have only gotten you in a position where you’re positive Midoriya only keeps you around for entertainment. It’s a bad feeling.

But, you can’t bring yourself to pack your belongings and leave. Your inner Omega is intertwined with his, even without the mating mark. She wants to be with him till the very end; till either one of you dies and the other soon follows into the afterlife.

But, the feelings just keep growing. They’re in the back of your mind as you kiss Izuku, they’re in the corner of your bedroom as you cuddle with him, they’re blaring in the car as you falsely laugh. So, you suppose it’s half your fault that things have gotten to the point that they currently are.

Today, you woke up in a particularly good mood. Midoriya had made your favorite breakfast and kissed you roughly before he left the house.

“I have a feeling something’s going to happen today; make sure to call me when you get to work and when you get home,” his lips pressed down on you almost urgently, making your insides quiver. “And, make sure you check your surroundings.”

“I will Izuku. I’ll see you later,” and he went out to save the world. You got dressed in some leggings and a blouse and headed off to your café. While it wasn’t the flashiest job for a person with a powerful quirk like yours, you loved watching the little pups pick out what they wanted. Occasionally, you could even pick them up.

“Hai, Y/N. I have some fresh scones waiting to be put out,” one of your workers greeted you. You h/c colored hair was pulled into a messy game, a few tendril framing your face. There was a low gust of air from the door behind you. Another mother with her pup.

You got to work helping wherever you could, throwing powder sugar at your workers whenever they were being too impatient; you have a knack for doing things slowly till you get them perfect.

“As to be expected of such an analytical quirk,” one of your best employees, Kagey, tells you.

“You’re just mad because I won’t allow you to rush my beautiful cakes,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“No, I’m mad because you’ve made me wait for ten minutes just so you could place those fucking cakes. And they’re placed crooked. I could’ve been over there serving that hottie. Look at himmmm,” Kagey shakes your shoulders while fawning over some unsuspecting soul.

“Ummm, you forget I have Izuku,” you raise one of your eyebrows.

“There’s no crime in looking. It’s not like you’ve got a mark,” you crack your neck. “Sorry, I forget that’s a sore subject for you. “

“It’s fine. And, who’s the poor victim you’re staring at this time,” he points to a man you’re well acquainted with: Monoma Neito.

His blonde hair is still light but he’s grown it to be a little above his shoulders. Those beady eyes that used to be rimming with anger and discontent are finally happy and playful. He’s filled out, body-wise, and you can tell he’s bulging with muscle.

‘Izuku’s better.’

“Damn, that glow hit him like a truck,” Kagey pushes your shoulders forward. “Okay, bitch, stop being pushy.”

“Ofcourse, you know a beefcake like that. Introduce me to him! I’d love to get my tongue on him,” you shudder with disgust at that mental image. “Don’t look like that. My men always leave me satisfied.”

“I didn’t know that was how people describe STI’s nowadays. I really am a Boomer now,” he smack you upside the head. “Okay, okay, I’m going. Just stop hitting me.”

You wander over to Monoma, trying to decide what’s the best way to approach him. You decide on being direct.

“Monoma,” he turns and his face lights up with recognition. “Hai, it’s been so long. Welcome to my shop”

“Y/N!? You own this place? I would’ve thought you’d want to be a hero. It’s good to see you,” he grabs your hand in his. His hands are warm, no doubt he’s probably feeling the strength of your quirk. He’s always been the handsy type. “You’re single? What happened to Izuku?”

“We’re still together. We’re just taking things slow,” you shrugged off his gaze. “Plenty of people do it.”

“So, no mark and no ring. You’re basically single,” you ruffle up and his tone. You had forgotten he can be as blunt as yourself, one of the main reasons you had been good friends.

“You could say that if that’s what you believe. But, this isn’t about me. My friend over there, Kagey,” you point your thumb over at the fool. “He wanted to know if you’d like to go on a date.”

“You and I both know I’m straight. But, I appreciate the offer,” Monoma raises his voice so Kagey can hear. You can hear muffled cursing about straight men behind you following his statement. “But, I’d love to take you out sometime this week.”

“I have Izuku.”

“Do you really? You know alphas are preconditioned to mark what they feel belongs to them. What does that say about you?” He knows exactly how to manipulate your mind.

“...when are you free?”

***

You were shaking as you applied your makeup. Today was the day that you were going to go on a small date with Monoma. Nothing too serious; just an outing with a friend that just so happens to be an alpha.

Why were you shaking? Well, you hadn’t told Izuku about your plans. He normally gets home later in the night and you had planned on getting back from your date earlier than him. But, what if he found out? Well, it shouldn't matter, right?

He did tell you that you could find someone else (although, now as the moment was nearing, you started to doubt how serious he was when he told you). So, it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like you were planning on running away with this alpha. But, would Izuku understand that?

‘He’s not even going to find out. No point in worrying about it,’ you hissed as you accidentally poked your eye with your makeup brush.

The soft material of the skirt stretched across your thighs as you paced through the halls. Were you really going to do this?

“Y/N, I’m home baby. I picked up some pizza for us,” you froze. Out of all the times for Izuku to come home early, he chose the day when you were going to converse with another alpha. You thought about trying to run back to the bedroom but he was already halfway to the kitchen and he would most likely hear you.

“Ohhhh that’s great. Really great,” you inched towards the couch to try to cover yourself in the pillows.

“Yeah, why are you covered in the pillows? Are you building a new nest here? Want me to go get my shirts?” You immediately felt guilty all over again. Here you were about to betray him and he’s being selfless.

“NOOO, no, just, stay right there,” you sink in further as you hoped he’d leave you alone. Unfortunately for you, Izuku doesn’t leave anything alone if he thinks something is wrong.

“What’s wrong, omega?” He gets closer and sniffs the air. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yeahhhh, wanted to try something new,” you avoid eye contact.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?”

“...”

“Omega, look at me please.”

“Izuku, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Look at me.”

You look at him with small tears in the corners of your eyes.

“Awww, omega. Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He starts to emit a soothing smell for you.

“Izuku, I have a-“ the doorbell interrupts you. You know it’s Monoma. You know you can’t get up to get the door. You know that you are fucked.

“I’ll get it. But, when they leave, we are talking about what’s wrong,” you gulp. You hear Midoriya open the door.

“Midoriya, it’s nice to see you. Is Y/N ready?” There’s the nail in the coffin.

“What do you mean?

“We have a date tonight.”

“No you fucking don’t.”

“Um, we do. I asked her out the other day at her café,” you hear silence till you hear the unmistakable sound of Izuku’s growl. The air becomes stiffling as his pheromones threaten to choke you to death. You cower in the pillows, listening to Izuku grab Monoma and pull him into the room. No matter how much he told you he’d be fine with you finding another alpha, you should’ve known your actions would drive him feral.

“Why the fuck is he here?” Izuku snarled in your face. You were silently sobbing, ashamed of what your actions had caused. “FUCKING ANSWER ME, OMEGA.”

“Y-you’re the one that said you weren’t mating me in case I found someone better,” you pushed the pillow into his face as you stood to defend yourself. “Why are you so fucking mad? You drove me to this.”

“Don’t try to fucking blame me. You should have told me. So, you really want him?” You nodded your head to spite him. “No, you don’t. You just want to piss me off. Well, if that’s the objection, you accomplished your goal. Now, strip.”

“What?” The false confidence was wearing off.

“You wanted to make me mad and you did. You want a mating mark? I’ll give you one. Now, strip for your punishment,” you shakily point to Monoma that was wide-eyed in Izuku’s grip. “Yes, in front of him. He needs to see you belong to me since he’s clearly a visual learner.”

You slowly reach behind and unzip your skirt. You push the fabric down your legs to bunch at you ankles, step out of them, and shakily pull at the hem of your shirt. You lock eyes with Monoma as you pull it above your head. The air feels cold against your soft skin. You stand there in your bra and panties, awaiting Izuku’s next command.

“I said strip. Keep going,” you gulp.

“I should leave,” Izuku slams Monoma into a chair. He grips his shoulder so hard you can hear a small crack.

“Nahhhh, stay. I’m sure you knew she belonged to me but, this is a good reminder,” Izuku turns back to watch your breasts spill from your bra. Your nipples pebble from the attention you’re getting. You slip your panties down your legs, reaching for a pillow to cover yourself.

“No, show him what belongs to me. Turn around and bend over,” you slowly turn, placing your hands on the sofa behind you. You clench your legs together. You bend at the waist, hearing two sharp intakes of breath.

You stand there like an exhibit, slick pooling in between your legs. You’re sure they can see your nether lips glistening with arousal as well as the wall, your breasts hanging from the position.

“Look at how wet she is for me, Monoma. I bet you wish she was like that for you,” Izuku’s breath fans across your ass. His hands gently cups your waist, tugging you backwards so he can muzzle your ass crack. “Such a beautiful body. All mine.”

“IZUKU,” you scream out as he suddenly slaps your ass. It makes more slick fall between your legs but, it still stings as a punishment. “I’ll be good omega.”

“I know baby. You’re always such a good girl. You just need to be corrected. I’ve been giving you a little too much free reign. Wanted to be sensitive alpha. Wanted to give you time. No more of that,” you shivered at the promise. “Gonna give you exactly what you need.”

A tirade of smacks rain down on your behind, lighting up your backside. You yelp and try to pull away but are restrained by Izuku’s strong arms. He’s the one supporting your weight as you crash down against the couch, the front half of your body slumped down.

“Awww, is Omega tired? But, we’re just getting started,” from behind you, you can hear Monoma’a breathing get heavier. “Let’s give fuckface a good show baby.”

You’re about to question what he means when Izuku stands up, walks over, and rips the tie from Monoma’s neck. He walks back over to you, tying your arms together.

“I’m in control,” he says. You quiver when you hear Izuku’s knees hit the floor behind you. Only moments later his face is buried in your heat, lapping like a dog. It sounds so lewd to hear him slurp at your juices.

He starts off slowly kissing the backs of your thighs, gripping you by your ass cheeks as he pulls your globes apart. You feel exposed when he takes an exaggerated sniff. “I’ve missed this. Need to start being more attentive to my baby.”

He licks up and down your slit, lightly nibbling on your clit as he circles it, pulling it between his lips to give it a harsh suck. Your hole clenches around nothing as you moan and try to cant your hips into his face. Your efforts are rewarded with a warning smack.

“Just enjoy my tongue,” he positions you to be on your knees as he continues to eat you out. He first slips in one finger to the knuckle, reveling in the debauched groan that leaves your beautiful lips. Your lips are parted as drool rubs down the left side of your face. Your eyes go crossed eyed from Izuku slipping in another finger and curling them upwards, those two fingers touching that spongy texture inside of you. The perfect Ahegao face. A vision of wrecked.

“That’s it, cum all over my fingers,” he continues to finger fuck you through your orgasm, latching back onto your clit. You shiver from the overstimulation, wanting to run with nowhere to go. You’ve forgotten Monoma as you whimper.

“Zuku’ too much. Please,” you’re shaking as you bite into the sofa to mute your screams.

“Aht aht aht, I wanna hear you fucking moan for me. Let him know who’s making you feel this good,” he allows his lone hand to stroke your stomach, knowing that was one of your sweet spots. You whine loudly as you cum once again, mascara running.

“Nooo more. Izuku. Please. Alpha,” you’re stuck there. Forced to take all the pleasure he gives you.

“I think you can give me more baby,” he removes himself from you as he unbuttoned his jeans. “Monoma, you wanna know something funny.”

“What?”

“I bet you thought you’d be the one to fuck her pretty pussy tonight,” Izuku laughs with no amusement behind the sound. “Never thought you’d be forced to watch.”

Izuku pushes his hard cock between your legs, smearing your juices across his shaft. He grabs his cock as he toys with your entrance, pushing the tip of his cock between your lips and groaning at the sight. Your pussy grips the tips in a vice, trying to suck him in further.

“Alpha, stop teasing me. Please. More. Give it to me.”

“I thought you couldn’t take anymore,” he teases.

“Pleaseeeee ohiuuhhh yess,” you throw your head back when you feel him push all the way in in one motion. Your toes curl as his cock strains against your walls, forcing you to take it all. He expertly pulls back and gives an experimental thrust.

“Look at that pussy, Monoma. Isn’t it nice? Too bad you’ll never get to feel my pussy,” he sets a bruising pace, never giving you a chance to recover. You hear your own whines mixed in with his pelvis slapping against your ass, your body rocking forward from the force of his body.

He wraps his hand around your neck, lifting your body so he can make you meet his thrusts. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum around his cock but, you’re okay with being used like a cocksleeve.

“I’m gonna fuck my babies into your tight pussy. Gonna breed you,” you mewl. “Is that what you wanted? Pups?”

You nod as you cry, partly from the overstimulation but also from the emotional state you’ve been reduced to.

“I’ll give you as many pups as you want. Looks like I’ll have to fuck you out of your mind more to get you to talk to me,” he growls beside your side and he leans over you, crushing you beneath him as he pushes your body to scrunch beneath him, pounding you like he hated you.

“Are you gonna cum again,” you nod due to your raw throat. You’re clenching and the pleasure starts to build but, this time, it feels different. Your vision goes out as you spasm, stars coming across your eyes as you squirt all over his cock, making a mess on the cock bellow you. Your tightness pushes Izuku into his orgasm.

“Cum for me, Omega. Cum for your alpha,” you whine as you spasm but nothing comes out. He’s pushed you into a dry orgasm. You feel his hot spurts of cum enter your pussy, coating everywhere inside of you. His teeth sink into your neck, making you his forever.

“Izuku,” you whine.

“Feels good, omega?” You nod. He slowly pulls out from behind you, tapping your ass like a horse.

“Get the fuck out,” Monoma doesn’t have to be told twice as he runs out. Izuku grabs a few baby wipes from the kitchen and comes back to wipe your pussy.

“You’re mine. Never forget that.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you all enjoyed this. I was asked to write this a longgggg time ago and I’m so sorry for it taking so much time to complete. I rewrote this a total of three times and I’m finally happy with the end result.

Tag List: @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

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cupidhaos · 4 years

Text

underneath the cherry blossoms

pairing: vernon chwe x reader

word count: 1.8k

genre: straight up fluff, slice of life, first meetings, highschool au

summary: first meetings and first love - we go back to the moment where vernon experiences both at the same time.

warnings: swearing

a/n: i was going back to edit these to add in the genre and a link and i was rereading this and thought that this was probably my favorite one i’ve written so far just because its so cute and fluffy it hurts it pains me actually

[part of my What is Love? series]

“come on vernon! we’re gonna be late!” seungkwan yelled as he ran ahead of his friend towards the school gates. vernon mindlessly nods as he checks his book bag for the tenth time - making sure that he had everything that he needed with him.

“i’m coming just wait!” vernon answers once he realizes seungkwan was already on school grounds as vernon hurriedly tries to catch up to his friend. but as soon as he looks up, seungkwan was already gone and out of sights.

letting out a frustrated breath of air - vernon aimlessly begins walking around the unfamiliar campus grounds. he looks up at the buildings as he starts to study the area. he turns and walks down the pathway that was lined with trees on either sides of them.

it was mid march, and the cherry blossom trees were just beginning to bloom. vernon stands in place as he looks up at the trees in awe - watching as they slowly move with the wind in a nice harmony.

“mingyu! eunwoo! come on! the others are probably already there waiting for us!” a voice yelled from a distance, breaking vernon from his trance. he snaps his head forward at the calming - but very loud - voice. he stares at the end of the pathway in curiosity.

“y/n what are you running so fast for? trying to get the first years to fall in love with you or something?” another voice asks as someone else laughs. he hears - who he assumes is y/n, huff angrily before yelling at the two of them two shut their mouths.

it was then that vernon finally saw the identity of the person who had just been yelling not too long ago as they run in front of him. the entire moment felt as if everything around him had slowed down.

as a gust of wind picked up - the cherry blossom trees surrounding the pathway released an enormous amount of petals as if they were snow gently falling from the sky.

not too far ahead of him - vernon watches as y/n runs past with a smile on her face that made anyone feel at peace. she looks behind as she continues to yell at two boys who walk slowly behind her. vernon couldn’t make out the words she said as everything surrounding him seemed like a blur.

as the cherry blossoms continued falling around - y/n turns her head and the two finally meet eyes. a shocked look covered her face, but it was soon replaced with a large smile. vernon’s eyes widen as he makes eye contact for the first time with the person that he would refer to later on as his first love.

just like that - she was gone within a blink of an eye and everything seemed to have picked backup again. he was able to hear her distant yelling getting further and further and before he knew it, he felt his feet begin to move towards the direction. he was stopped though as he felt the back of his shirt being tugged harshly.

“how many times do i have to tell you to pay attention to your surroundings?! the entrance ceremony is already starting and we’re late! first off - you’re going the wrong way you already passed the gym. ALSO -” vernon slowly begins to tune out seungkwan’s scoldings as he’s being dragged towards the gym. his eyes lingering towards where y/n ran off to.

during the entire entrance ceremony, seungkwan and chan sat on either side of him and the two of them were silently arguing back and forth about something he didn’t quite care about. yet all vernon was able to think about was that moment. where the two of them had saw one another while the cherry blossoms fell around them. he couldn’t stop thinking about the familiar feel that he got when they had both locked eyes.

once the ceremony was done - he immediately went to go look for her.

“i’m going to excuse myself now - i’ll catch up with the two of you later.” vernon tells his two friends before quickly exiting the gym. sooner or later, he found himself in the exact same spot that he stood before a couple hours earlier. only this time the pathway was crowded and filled with other students - making it harder for vernon to find who he was looking for.

he looks around, trying to find her within the sea of people crowding the wide pathway. weaving and excusing himself through others in order to find the person who wouldn’t leave his mind for the last couple hours.

with no luck in finding her, he finally makes it out of the crowd and towards the sides. he hands his head low in defeat as he stands by one of the cherry blossom trees. feeling someone bump into him, he raises his head to apologize before feeling his breath stop once he did.

“sorry! oh! its you! the guy from earlier!” y/n gasps excitedly as she points at vernon. all vernon could do was simply nod at her since he wasn’t able to muster up any actual words. two unfamiliar boys stand behind her. “y/n do you know him?” one of the boys asks.

y/n opens her mouth to say something before quickly closing it. a sheepish look covers her face as she scratches the back of her head. “uh… well you see… not particularly… i just kinda saw him earlier before meeting up with hao and the others.” she explains and the other boy with silver hair just shakes his head.

“stop harassing the first years y/n”

“jeonghan be quiet! he’s gonna get the wrong idea about me! joshua tell him!” “haha um well…”

vernon watches the exchange between the three of them before speaking up. “i’m hansol vernon chwe but you can just call me vernon but some of my friends call me nonie” he introduces politely. loud gasps come from y/n and the guy named joshua as they looked at him.

“chwe?! like studiochwe?!”

“the popular anime account on twitter with like sixteen thousand followers?!”

vernon feels his face heat up - never had he expected to be exposed like this in public. “um, uh, yeah -” “wait yeah! it totally is you! i recognize your face!” joshua claims and vernon just starts to laugh nervously at the sudden exposure of his twitter account.

y/n suddenly grabs ahold of both of vernon’s hands as joshua places one of his hands on his shoulder., catching him way off guard. joshua was the first one to begin talking. “join our club! we’re an anime club and if we want to stay as a club we need five members to be official or-”

y/n cuts him off, “ - they’re gonna shut down our club! i’m a member and joshua’s a member and and so is this silver hair wannabe victor nikiforov! our other member seungcheol is off trying to flirt with some girl right now but i swear you won’t regret joining our club we’re all really cool and we watch animes together and we also -”

her ramblings were cut off as the silver haired boy covers her mouth with his hand. “y/n. joshua. calm down. you’re overwhelming him. and my name isn’t ‘silver hair wannabe victor nikiforov’ it’s yoon jeonghan. join our club, don’t join, i don’t really care.” he tells vernon.

vernon immediately wanted to decline the invitation since he didn’t really want the first club he joined in high school to be the anime club. yet as he looked at the hopeful look on y/n’s face and the warmness that it gave his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“...okay i’ll join”

joshua and y/n immediately erupted in cheers and the two of them pull vernon into a celebratory hug. jeonghan just sighs from where he stood and shakes his head at the two of them while a soft smile plays at his lips.

“you saved us vernon chwe!”

“you’re our hero thank GOD!”

the two continuously praise him and the blush on vernon’s face doesn’t seem to go away. his eyes never left y/n and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her even if he wanted to. after awhile the two finally let go of him and vernon was finally able to catch his breath.

“i have two other friends that watch anime as well. i think that one of them would be interested in joining your club actually” vernon speaks up after awhile. coincidentally, the two other friends he had been talking about had showed up.

“vernon…you left me alone… with chan… ” seungkwan seethes as he stalks up to their group. vernon sheepishly laughs as he looks at his friend. “speaking of the devils…”

seungkwan opens his mouth to say something before chan cuts him off “are you guys upperclassmen? do you know if theres an anime club around here?”

soon enough, joshua and chan are engaged in a deep conversation about their favorite character from demon slayer as y/n interrogates seungkwan into joining the anime club.

“you’re one of vernon’s friends that watches anime right? join our club!”

“like hell i AM. vernon. first you leave me TWICE now you’re exposing my weeb tendencies? whatever happened to loyalty?”

one heated argument and two new anime club members later. the group along begins walking towards the school entrance. a defeated seungcheol joins them along the way as vernon walks behind the group. stopping and noticing this, y/n slows her step and leaves where she stood next to jeonghan to stand by vernon.

she smiles up at him and vernon returns it. the feeling that he gets when he looks at y/n is something that he has never felt before. it felt like the moment the protagonist meets the person that they fall in love with. it felt like an instant connection when the two had met eyes. it was as if he was seeing and meeting someone from his past even though he knew it was their first time meeting.

“we’re gonna get ice cream to celebrate our new members - you coming with?” y/n asks him, looking up at him with a curious look on her face. again, vernon couldn’t help but agree immediately.

“great! i can’t wait to eat some strawberry ice cream!” “strawberry? i’m more of a vanilla guy.”

“pfft you gotta keep it fruity dude. vanilla’s so plain!”

a sudden feeling of deja vu washed over him as they continued onto their walk towards the nearest convenience store. the smile never left her face though throughout their conversation.

vernon didn’t know what this feeling was - but he knew that he always wanted to keep that smile on her face. even if it meant having her smile be directed towards someone else, he felt the urge to protect it no matter what.

moments of love masterlist

#seventeen #svt #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #vernon chwe #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen oneshot #hansol vernon chwe #hansol x reader #what is love? au

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a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan · 3 years

Text

LinkedUniverse Fanfiction Ch. 17: Swords, Shields, Arrows

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 19: Please, Don't Scare the Customers

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

In this continuation of my @linkeduniverse fan narrative, Wild and Four go on their own errand to find weapons to replace the resident amnesiac's busted sword and unwieldy Stalfos shield.

Word Count: 1482

Twilight and Wind had already left Madame Viliafore’s shop by the time Four and Wild had located an armorer. The town of Selggog was even busier in the late morning than it had been the previous evening. The sights and smells bombarded the two young heroes. Wild glanced down at his companion. The Hero of the Four Sword had to walk more briskly to keep pace with him, on account of him being a good deal shorter.

Four had planned to help Wild pick out new weapons once they had found an armorer. That was the main reason Warriors sent the two together. The moment they’d entered the store, however, Wild gravitated toward the higher-end swords. He picked a sword, tossed it between his hands, twirled it, shook his head, and chose a different one.

Four looked at the shopkeeper as Wild repeated this routine. The burly man behind the counter eyed the young knight warily. Four guessed his customers didn’t often test his weapons inside the store, if at all. Wild slowed his motions. He grasped the hilt of the sword he had been swinging with both hands, lowering it from above his head. When his hands were at waist-height, he stood still a moment. He took a deep breath.

The shorter of the Links watched in anticipation. The taller released his left hand’s grip and picked up the sword’s scabbard, then fit the blade easily into its place. He looked at Four and nodded. He strode to the shields, grasped an iron heater shield about half his height, fitted it on his left arm, and shook it a few times. He shook his head and tried a few more.

Wild stared at one shield for a moment before tilting his head to one side. He suddenly took off at a jog toward the opposite wall. He jumped, threw the shield to the ground, landed on it, and skidded a meter before he hopped off again. The shopkeeper had had enough. “Hey!” he growled, crossing his arms. “This isn’t a soldier’s barracks, kid. You’re scaring my customers!”

The young hero picked up the shield and checked the face of it for scratches. Content to find none, he faced Four and nodded again. Then he cast a glance around the shop. The Links were the only customers to be seen. The two of them exchanged a quizzical look. Wild turned to the shopkeeper. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I’ve found what I want.”

The Links strode to the counter. Four passed a shelf with bundles of ten arrows each. He grabbed all fifteen of them. They placed their selection before the shopkeeper. The man scrutinized them. “What are two kids like you going to do with a knight’s weapons and my entire stock of arrows?” he asked.

Four looked up and stared the man in the eyes. He knew he was only fifteen but still didn’t like being called a kid. “There are actually nine of us,” he explained with a very slight edge to his voice. “We’re travelling a long way. Between monsters and bandits, the roads are dangerous.”

A few seconds passed before the shopkeeper cracked a grin and let out a bout of hearty laughter. Before either Link could recover from his confusion, the man planted his palms on the counter and continued. “Hell, whatever you say. So long as you’ve got the rupees, you’ve got the weapons. Let’s see… two hundred for the sword, three hundred for the shield, and three-sixty for the arrows… that comes out to eight hundred sixty.”

The Links winced at the number. Four shot a glare at Wild. Wild shrugged. He didn’t want to show how embarrassed he was that they were dropping five hundred rupees just because he needed new weapons. Thinking back to his conversation with Sky and Hyrule the previous night, he decided to try haggling. The young knight imitated Hyrule and put a forearm on the counter. He looked the man in the eyes. “Four hundred,” he declared boldly. Four saw the mistake immediately and shook his head.

The shopkeeper laughed even harder than before. Wild’s half-baked cocky expression faded. “Oh, boy,” the man said when he calmed down, “I know what you’re trying here, kid. Word of advice, huh? Never insult someone by offering less than half the starting price.”

Wild gulped. “I… um…”

“Save your breath, I can tell you have no clue what you’re doing. Let’s say seven hundred and call it even.”

Eager to avoid any more awkwardness, Wild just nodded. Four opened his wallet and withdrew three silver rupees, four purple, seven red, nine blue, and fifteen green. After placing them on the counter, he looked back in his wallet to find it almost empty. He sighed then stuffed the arrows in his pouch. Wild grabbed his weapons and the young adventurers went to leave the store. Four shot off a quick “thank you” before the door closed behind them.

Wild quickly fastened his new sword and shield to his baldric. “Right,” he started, “now to the café.”

Four sighed again. “You’re lucky that guy’s well-humored. That could have gone really badly.”

“How was I supposed to know what to offer?”

They started walking. “I dunno, but definitely not less than half.”

Wild’s shoulders slumped. "The Captain is gonna be on my hide for weeks.”

Four gently nudged his partner’s hip. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll probably appreciate that you picked such quality weapons. I saw the way you tested each sword. Where’d you learn that?”

“Part of knighthood is being able to choose the equipment that will keep you and your wards safe.” Wild went silent a moment. He remembered how the Master Sword had nearly fallen apart from the abuse of the Calamity. “When I’m out in the wilds, I take what I can get. Give me a choice and I’ll take the best I can find.”

“You didn’t pick the most expensive ones, though,” Four pointed out.

“I didn’t like the most expensive ones. This one,” he tapped the pommel above his right shoulder, “was weighted and sized the best for me. I know my abilities and my limitations. I can kill with virtually anything you give me, Four. Still, my own skill only carries me so far. My gear needs to pick up the slack. As the knight sworn to protect the princess of Hyrule, I’m most valuable when I’m at my most lethal.”

Four had to give it to him, that was solid reasoning. When he himself had forged the Four Sword, he put care into every strike on red-hot metal. In a way, he viewed the sword more as a piece of art than an instrument of violence. Wild had a point, though: Before everything else, a sword is meant to kill. Still, something bothered Four about his partner’s phrasing.

“Wild, your value isn’t just in your ability to slay evil,” Four said, careful to avoid the word kill. Wild looked down to his companion. Four couldn’t identify his expression, so he continued: “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’re kind, caring, and humble to a fault. You had the weight of the world thrust on your shoulders, and nearly died protecting the princess. You lost your memory, but you still soldiered on and saved Hyrule. And you were able to wield the Master Sword, which is a testament to the purity of your soul.”

The shortest Link looked skyward and smiled. “Just look at all of us Links. We share a love for life and a sense of justice that drives us to protect the light. That’s what binds us, what summons us whenever Hyrule needs us most. I’d bet all four of my lives that we aren’t the only Links there have been or ever will be.”

A few seconds passed. Four glanced at Wild. The Hylian Champion seemed lost in thought, as if he were walking on autopilot. The young smithy had had to make sense of four fragmented personalities to achieve his full potential. He still couldn’t make sense of Wild sometimes. He figured, as the other Links had, that Wild came out of his adventure the most psychologically damaged of all of them—even more than Time.

Wild was shocked out of his reverie by a little girl shoving past him trying to chase her friends. The sights and sounds of Selggog rushed back to him. He stopped walking and shook his head to clear it. Four waited a few paces ahead. “Sorry, were you saying something?” Wild asked, still a little dazed.

Four walked back, reached up to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and smiled. “Not really, no. Let’s head back to the café and meet up with the others. They probably picked out some good food.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m down for a second breakfast.”

“Hah, you always are.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #my own #my writing #fanfic #zelda #the legend of zelda #creator content #linked universe fanfiction #swords shields arrows

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bnhavibes · 4 years

Note

Yay requests! I was wondering if you could do something like y/n giving Bakugou a back massage after a long day of training? ^^

Yo this turned out soooo much thirstier than I meant! It was supposed to be a cute fluffy thing, but nah. Part 2 is nsfw, link at the bottom. Enjoy!!

-Brit, @slut-zawa

Ao3

Rating: mature, heavy petting? Just a bit hornee ~3.7k words

Want to go to my room? || Katsuki Bakugou PART 1

Ding!

The smooth metallic sliding of the elevator doors opening rings out in the vast common room of the third floor of the U.A. dorms. The new architecture has surprisingly high-quality acoustics; any sounds echoing slightly against the plain walls and ceiling.

“Out of my way. Damn nerd.” The signature insult and strained voice of Bakugou makes you look up from your place on the couch. He stares down your freckled classmate, waiting for the smaller man to move aside. It’s definitely Bakugou’s voice, but something is...missing. Horrifying aggression (that was very unbecoming of a hero-in-training)? Murderous intent? Explosive competitiveness? It lacked its usual venomous bite. In fact, it was nearly devoid of all emotion.

Still, it prompts your poor, unfortunate green-haired classmate to stutter out an apology as he stumbles aside and makes his way past the blonde into the elevator. You can see Izuku’s ashamed blush all the way from where you’re sitting across the room. However, instead of the usual victimized expression in his eyes, he narrows them, worriedly looking Bakugou over. It’s a relief to know Izuku isn’t actually taking it personally. People always do that and it annoys you.

He’s noticed the same thing you have, and he’s assessing what could have happened, looking concerned. But he certainly can’t do anything about it. Not like you can.

You and Kirishima are the closest Bakugou has to actual friends. Having become significantly closer in recent weeks, you could actually say you were the blonde’s best friend. It was strange at first, seeing a more—dare you say it—vulnerable side to the blonde. You weren’t sure what that meant, and others would poke fun at him, jokingly calling you his “girlfriend.” That thought had certainly crossed your mind. It’s unlike Bakugou to be soft or even slightly friendly to anyone, and he did occasionally let his apathetic facade crumble just a trace around you.

It pissed you off that people would make fun of their own classmate for being human. Everyone needs a best friend, or someone they can be completely themselves with. It thrills you that you can be that person for Bakugou. That he trusts you more than he has ever trusted anyone. Maybe even his own family. Before all the students were made to live in the dorms, you had been his next door neighbor.

There was no way to ignore the incessant rageful scream-arguments coming from that house. You had met his mother a number of times. It broke your heart that she was always aggressive with him, never really acknowledging his emotions. No wonder he turned out so angry. No wonder he’s so afraid to show vulnerability to anyone. But, as much as Bakugou likes to pretend he doesn’t need people, you can see it in the way he has been seeking you out the past few weeks.

It started off as him asking small favors, as he would call it, never admitting to asking for help.

“Show me how you got that damn answer!” You had been sitting peacefully at your desk in math class when you saw a shadow come over your notebook where you were hastily scribbling down the next problem. Incredibly startled, you looked up to see a stern Bakugou pointing at his own math problem that was crossed out with a plethora of large ‘x’s. The other students shook their heads as they interpreted his question as accusing you of doing the problem incorrectly. At this point, you felt like you could speak his language, and saw that demand for what it was. He needed your help with that problem.

Of course, you never called him out on it, lest he yell some unsavory things. You wondered if it was some strange compulsion for Bakugou to call everyone in the class derogatory nicknames. As time went on and you two interacted more, he eventually broke and called you by your given name. You would even go as far to say that he enjoyed your presence, as much as he may have tried to hide it.

The two of you didn’t necessarily do anything together, the man would just seek out the quiet companionship you offered him. A number of times, he had knocked on your dorm room with a gentle “hey. Open up.” When he stepped in, he would silently hold up his textbooks, plop down on your bed next to you and just study. Only a few words would be exchanged here or there, and you supposed it was a somewhat strange friendship, but you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Well, you certainly could, but you can’t let your feelings get in the way of the only safe friendship Bakugou has. It seems so obvious that you make him soft, but the man is so cut off from anything romantic, you always end up doubting his feelings for you. He would probably say he has to make it to the top first. Can’t bother with such trivial things before he is the number one hero.

You minutely shake your head to clear it, to focus on the matter at hand, as Bakugou practically trips over his own feet on his way towards the couch. It’s a far cry from his usual swagger, each step carefully planned, confident, without a trace of doubt.

He looks positively beat, and as he approaches you see the red scratches, sanguine beaded up and coagulated in approximated lines all over his exposed forearms. The soot layering his hands and face from being within the explosion radius of his own quirk. You watch as a drop of sweat rolls down his forehead, nose, down to his mouth, causing him to spit and make some sort of enraged noise. He’s back!

To your disappointment (that you would never admit to anyone), the anger ebbs away from his face, taking the crease out of his brow as he flops down next to you on the couch. Seeing your friend’s rapid chestrises, you gather that he is still catching his breath. Must have been one hell of a training session.

You regard him curiously for a moment, but don’t dare ask a question about what happened. You know him better than that. His stark change in demeanor tells you all you need to know.

He doesn’t even have the energy to make some sardonic remark about you staring at him. His head lolls back against the couch to gaze blankly at the ceiling. Trailing your gaze down the long line of his neck, you wrench your eyes away from the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, gulping. Focus.

“Need anything in particular?” You try your luck at asking a question. The moment of vulnerability feels so fragile, you’re sure that a single word will shatter it, rain down like shards of glass. But it doesn’t.

Bakugou just makes a low noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and stays put. Suddenly, you feel so lucky that you are his safe place. You never have to say anything to each other, one look and there’s a tacit understanding of everything going on with the other. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk; he just needs your silent support and gentle presence.

Bakugou looks so tense, and you find your hands on his shoulders before you can stop yourself. Before even he can stop you. Your fingers gently dig circles into his taut muscle through his jumper. If you weren’t staring at him like you are, you may have missed the way he turns his torso slowly away from you with each knead of your hands until you can reach both shoulders comfortably. Luckily, he still leans into your touch. You could have—and probably would have—taken it as a rejection if he wasn’t still so relaxed against you. He even heaves a deep sigh of what must be relief.

However, it’s still difficult to access his skin or see where you’re touching with the cursed turtleneck portion of the blue gym uniform. The normally explosive man has been receiving everything well so far, and you can tell he needs this, so you feel safe to continue. Your quaking hands cautiously, so slowly, reach around front to unzip the jumpsuit. You’ve never been undressed around each other before, and you’re afraid how he will interpret you doing this to him. Is this what friends do?

You kind of expect him to stop you when you roll the material mostly off his shoulders. Anyone can walk in and get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be the wrong idea as far as you’re concerned. You understand your feelings are a little complicated but it can be easily boiled down to this: you like him. A lot. How can you not? He’s just so complex and beautiful.

A surge of affection washes over you and spurs your hands to run gently over the hard muscle of his shoulders. He’s so warm. He’s so warm it gives you pleasant chills that race across your arms, cascade down your spine, raising your goosebumps. You knew Bakugou had a lot of muscle mass,—you’ve been fortunate enough to see him train in that blessed black tank top—but seeing it up close is….entirely different. All you can think is wow.

Watching his large pectorals peek out the top of the zipper, you notice the rolling beads of sweat across his chest. Focus.

He actually closes his vermillion eyes, brow melting into a relaxed position, tension falling away from his jaw as your hands draw invisible swirling patterns over his skin. Noticing how the pads of your fingers drag uncomfortably over his shoulders, you are thankful you have lotion in your purse that is lying slightly smashed between you two on the couch.

One hand continues warming up his shoulders, while grabbing the lotion with the other. You smile as you read the label: “Sunflower Cherry body butter.” Whatever the hell that means, it’s girly and surely he doesn’t want it. But his eyes don’t open back up, and he is clearly far too exhausted at this point to care. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to yell at Izuku. That says a lot. Sunflower cherry it is.

The other hand reluctantly pulls off the tired man for a moment to warm up the lotion, lathering it over your palms. The floral scent wafts to your nose, and you sigh contentedly. Your hands spread the pastel pink lotion over his shoulders and neck, using more pressure now that your hands glide smoothly over his skin.

Your eyebrows knit in worry at the knots of muscle he has all over. Bakugou does have a habit of pushing himself too far, but you had never thought of the physical repercussions of that. Certainly he hadn’t either before that training session.

Letting your thumbs do the work at first, you cup his shoulder with your fingers, running deep circles into the hardest areas of muscle. Starting out gentle and gradually increasing the pressure, he... groans? when you move your thumb over to a sensitive spot on his shoulder.

Bakugou. Made a noise. Acknowledging that he feels good from your massage. Oh my god, is this really happening? You try to keep it together.

You giggle gently in acknowledgment, hoping your voice doesn’t break or betray your pleasurable giddiness when you ask, “there?” The blonde nods once and you continue to rub at the tense spot, motivated by his soft sighs. Sighs. You might be hyperventilating by now, unbelieving that he is reacting to you this way.

He isn’t usually this vulnerable around you and it gives you such deep satisfaction that he trusts you enough for this. There’s a low heat churning in your abdomen, deriving a possessive delectation from the fact that you’re the only one who gets to see him this way.

Minutes pass by as you slowly rub the tension from the blonde’s shoulders, muscle knots melting away. Red splotches bloom up on his skin from the repetitive friction of your fingers. You move your thumbs to either side of his spine at his shoulder blades and, using deep pressure, run all the way up to his neck.

The movement is infinitesimal, but you are certain he shivers at that. So you repeat the motion, rewarded with a hitch of breath. You smile gingerly as your thumbs ease circles into the muscles on either side of his cervical spine. With light pressure, you drag your other fingers comfortingly over his neck.

You pull the lump of muscle away from his spine as you have seen in swedish massage videos. You have genuinely no idea what it’s supposed to do, but you assume it feels nice. After working on his neck for a few minutes, reveling in the gentle groans he gives, your hands travel up to rub circles into the blonde’s scalp. You spread your fingers, covering most of the sides of his head, relishing the feel of the chaotic spikes of his hair being surprisingly soft at the roots. He lets out a shaky sigh as you scrape your nails lightly along sensitive flesh, drawing circular, yet angular patterns. Like a kaleidoscope.

It’s rewarding to give Bakugou such relaxation, but he keeps letting his head fall back, becoming a part of the couch behind him in a way that makes it nearly impossible to reach anything. Also, in this position you have to constantly tear your wandering eyes from the absolutely sinful way he subtly arches his back. He’s definitely trying to suppress it, but you’re stripping away at his layers so that he can’t anymore. You want to run your tongue along the column of his spine.

Throwing your purse on the floor, you turn the blonde and bring him back so his head is resting in your lap. To your surprise, he is compliant. He’s more than compliant; he’s absolute putty in your hands. Here you can access every part of his scalp.

Your fingers ghost over the spot behind his ear, running back up to scratch lines into his scalp, earning another small moan from the male. You try desperately to ignore how Bakugou’s new position sends the vibrations all throughout your lap. It’s just enough to make your eyes flutter shut. Biting your lip, you try to keep your breaths even, lest he hear and judge you for getting turned on at something like this. What if he doesn’t return your feelings?

Another soft noise from the man in your lap brings you out of your mind, and back to the room. Glancing down at his now-slack features, you admire the harsh curve of his striking jawline, how the tip of his nose curls up at the end. He looks so peaceful and even a bit younger without anger and frustration wrinkling his face. It’s not often that you get the chance to just look at Bakugou, so you are sure to take your time to memorize every little detail.

Peering down at the male, you begin to notice his little tells when you do something particularly nice. His eyebrows twitch and raise, and his head tips up slightly into your touch. His lips dip open, jaw dropping minutely. It’s cute. And really hot. At the same time. It’s desperately arousing watching him lose his composure, and your mind can’t help but wonder how his face will contort during other activities. Eyes widening as your heart begins to pound, you’re certain Bakugou can probably feel it.

Your fingers curl along his hairline to distract yourself, gingerly raking your nails in and pulling the hair back up as if he was wearing a headband. You giggle when his hair flops back down. He lets out a relaxed, yet shaky exhale. At this point it’s safe to assume he has never had a massage before. He’s never been taken care of.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper jokingly, a lopsided smile adorning your face. Bakugou’s eyebrows twitch, pulling together, and he just grunts.

Another several minutes are spent with your fingers idly carding through his hair, when you notice the blonde’s breathing coming slowly and evenly. The poor guy fell asleep. At least that gives you a chance to ease some of the tension that had been building up in your abdomen. Your fingers continue mussing up his hair, and you feel safe to openly stare at him again. You hope that isn’t creepy, but who can resist drinking in the appearance of Bakugou when he is calm? It’s so rare that you feel obligated to take full advantage of this moment.

Other people may see Bakugou as a hot head and though you can’t deny that, what you see is so much more. An incredibly driven, dedicated man who knows what he wants and stops at nothing to get there. Every wrinkle on his brow maps out a victory or a time when he overcame great adversity. He doesn’t care how other people perceive his personality, he just wants to make sure they know he is unequivocally the best. You admire him greatly for that, where other people criticize him.

Unsure what compels you to do it, you find your head dipping down to plant a chaste kiss on his temple. When you pull back and open your eyes, you’re met with wide crimson orbs. Oh shit.

“Why did you do that?” He sits up as he asks the question, chest hovering close to yours, hot breath puffing down onto your face. Oh god. You brace yourself for the rejection of a lifetime. You can’t help but feel guilty that the only best friend Bakugou has is about to ruin a precious friendship that he probably needs. Your breathing coming quick, you stare back at him, analyzing his expression.

To your utter relief, there is no overt disgust written on his face, but the blonde is staring at you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyebrows are knitted together in bewildered confusion. He must see your nervousness, because he tries to reassure you. He never reassures anyone.

“I’m not mad. Jus’ wanna know.” Even now the man isn’t fully awake enough to not slur his words. Unfortunately that does nothing to ease your nerves as he continues to stare you down. You exhale deeply, mouth forming an “O” as you steel yourself and try to keep your shaky breaths under control. Though gazing into the deep burgundy of his eyes terrifies you to no end, you can’t look away.

“I.” You gulp, mouth dry. “I have-....I think I like you.” Now you can’t meet his gaze. You only hear a hitch of breath before a rough hand is on your chin, turning it gently to face him. Bakugou wears an unreadable expression before he pushes his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, enjoying the closeness. You both are just panting into each other's slightly ajar mouths. Breathing the same hot, charged air. You can hear the soft smile in his voice when he asks,

“Can I?” In lieu of an answer, you surge forward to seal your plush lips over his. He sighs into the kiss, deepening it immediately. Tilting his head, he brings another large hand to the back of your neck to pull you into him. His tongue darts out to run along your bottom lip and you open up for him. You moan as his tongue slips into your mouth, licking along every surface he can. It’s like he’s been waiting forever to do this, and he lays his desperation out in the open for you to see.

The heat in your core is back in full force, sending scorching waves through your body as the hand on your neck comes to the small of your back. His hands are scouring over every bit of you, greedily squeezing and kneading and stroking. You arch your body into him, frustrated that you can’t get the friction you need, but breath hitching at how you can feel his ab muscles contracting against you. Your hands are stroking down his arms and chest, appreciating the way his muscles pull taut under your touch.

He breaks away first, trying to catch his breath, but wastes no time in trailing sloppy kisses down your jawline and neck. He sucks on a spot at the base as one calloused hand comes to stroke up your thigh. Widening your legs, you gasp and whine as your hands dig into the roots of his spiky locks and pull. You delight at the full-bodied groan that earns you, and he pulls away from your neck with a searing gaze.

“Want to go to my room?” His deep voice rasps. You do. You very much do.

Part 2

#bnha #my fic #my writing #brit #brit writes #YO #part two coming soon lmao #I made this too thirsty not to continue #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha reader insert #katsuki bakugou headcanon #bnha fanfiction

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Lifeline - aka Ahsoka reaching out for Anakin post Malachor Oneshot

There was a sudden flicker.

So distant, so weak and wavering a gleam that she just might have thought it to be a fallacy, a trick of the mind. Her imagination willing it into existence. If that had been all, she might have ignored it. Might have denied it, might have told herself it was only an illusion. That it was only her weary state conjuring hope into her aimless life.

Until it sparked again.

Persistent, as it traced the periphery of her senses like the appearance of an unexpected, old friend. Not calling out to her in particular, but rather to anyone. To anything familiar, perhaps even unknowing of the fact that its was writhing in despair. Screaming for recognition, for comfort, for notice. Stumbling in the dark for a lifeline to cling to.

Ahsoka's chest felt inexplicably tight, as she allowed herself to taste the presence, so size it up. From afar, it seemed so much more like the man she'd once known. The man she remembered, the man she no longer recognized.

Anakin.

She hesitated, knowing that to invite him meant danger. Meant he may be able to locate or pinpoint her, however well she'd conceal her tracks. Opening up to the Force these days, with the Empire's shadow looming over the Galaxy, always came with horrible repercussions. Yet, even with that in mind, she couldn't deny him. She had promised him she’d stay.

Ever since Malachor, ever since she'd lost touch with the Rebellion, she'd found herself restless. Unable to stay in one place for too long, constantly glancing over her shoulder. On alert, highly strung. Barely able to sleep, for fear of Inquisitors finding her in the night. At the same time, she had expected to die that day. Had been set on staying beside him til the bitter end, even if it may be by his hand.

His hands were drenched in figurative blood. His conscience black and charred with sin, bearing the weight of countless innocent lives snuffed out. All for what?

She couldn't understand how the gentle, sensible, nurturing man she'd once known could have fallen so far from grace. But, as the tainted yet distinct Force signature she'd once felt such a kinship with reached out blindly for aid; she responded. What else was there to live for, if not him? He was the last link to her past; their shared past. As if reaching out her hand, she grasped at his unseen, extended conscience. When a cold, sodden weight settled at the pit of her belly she was convinced she had made contact.

"Anakin."

She breathed the name, trepidation colouring her tone as the words carried over the established bond. She felt the tremor as the connection wavered, as if the man himself was now hesitant. Or perhaps her initial assumption that the cry for solace hadn't been intentional had been right all along. Still, she shut her eyes as she latched firmly onto his signature, to his aura.

It was so much colder than she remembered it, so much darker. All harsh edges, and prickling tendrils of agony sinking deep into her core like grappling hooks. Daggers, greedily burrowing into whatever they could find. None of the warmth he had radiated in the past persisted. The only thing remaining a constant was the uncertainty, the bottomless anguish.

'I’m not good enough, I will never be good enough'; he had once said in a moment of emotional overload. His entire Force signature seemed to be vibrating with that unspoken sentiment now. As if his entire psyche was made only of suffering and pain and doubt, as if that was all there was to him. All that was left of him.

"Anakin," she attempted again, firmer this time - demanding.

She refused to let him slip away.

She knew he wouldn't want her to call him by his real name, so few of those who knew his secret left alive. She should be proud that she had lived to see another day, if only by the help of a friend. Had Ezra not found a miraculous way out, she too would pile onto the heap of his victims.

Her shoulders slumped in near relief, as some of her tension wore off when she was greeted more openly by the presence. So he was intending to stick around. She allowed him to pry into her mind, channeled distinct happy memories towards him. Albeit buried deep beneath the surface, she knew he too must be able to recall the moments when presented with them. Memories of them together, fighting side by side or throwing teasing quips at each other. All while she was still under his tutelage. While she would still look upon him as her older brother, as her guardian, as her master.

"I no longer respond to that name."

That stung.

Ahsoka had known he would reject it, but she'd hoped he would accept it for what it was just this once. They both knew his new name was nothing but a title, nothing but a mask to hide behind. Nothing but a facade. It helped make him anonymous, helped in washing away all his crimes. He had been a hero once, before donning the suit and mask. Before the Dark Side sunk its claws into him. Before he was twisted into but a shadow of himself.

Even worse, was the fact that his voice came out clear now.

Without the use of actual sounds and syllables, without the vocoder translating his words for him. Without the forced diction, much less monotone. Even with the different speech pattern he’d picked up, the differing pronunciation - the voice was human.

Distant, icy, dismissive. But it was not the mechanical baritone - it was the voice of the terrified, insecure young man she'd once known. The same voice that had spoken to her on Malachor, as one blood shot, golden Sith eye peered through the cracked face plate of his mask.

"It's the name your mother gave you."

There was no response to that, only a wave of pure rage accompanied by the undercurrents of hurt and distrust. Indignation, as if he was questioning how she dared bring up Shmi Skywalker so casually. She had said that with the intent of wounding him, of reopening his scars. She had succeeded, but she took no pleasure in that knowledge. She wasn't out to harm him, although she probably should.

"What do you want?"

Now, it was Ahsoka's turn to squirm. She wasn't sure what she wanted per se. She had responded to the cry, perhaps expecting him to deny her. Perhaps expecting him to turn her down, to turn away, to shut her out. Now that he was acknowledging her, she found herself lost. She had so many questions, but none seemed reasonable to ask. She didn't imagine he would reply to them even if she tried.

"You knew I survived," she found herself blurting out, an overpowering melancholy clouding her judgment before she could reign herself in.

A pause, as if he was contemplating. Or perhaps, it was a silent admission of guilt.

"I could not be entirely certain."

He was lying.

She knew he was, she knew him too well. She could feel it, could sense the dishonesty behind the careless statement. He was dismissing it as a lapse of faith on his part, but she knew better. She shook her head into the emptiness, he must know she wouldn't believe him.

"Why? I know who you are. Both who you were before, and who you are now. It's not like you to keep those aware of your identity alive."

“A simple oversight on my part. It shall not be repeated, take that into consideration. Be grateful.”

“You’re lying. I know you are,” she pressed.

"You are mistaken. You have never known me."

"That's not true. You know it's not true, you're only denying it to yourself," snapped Ahsoka sharply, her frustration slipping through the cracks.

She'd known he would behave this way, known he would be stuck in denial. Why had she hoped for anything else? She suspected he dreaded what might happen if he did admit to who he was, if he did admit to the fact that even now, he was the same man. That there was no phantom of malice possessing him to commit atrocities.

That it was all on him.

Ahsoka herself had wanted to ignore the truth for so long, had been desperate to accept his proclamation of having killed her old master, had longed to stay blissfully unaware. Had tricked herself into believing he was right, that there was nothing left of the Anakin she'd loved.

But she knew better, she'd stared into his uncovered eye. Into his bared soul. She'd looked into his mind, peered behind the fortified walls of torment and turmoil - and there hid the same, frightened boy who'd grown up as a slave on Tatooine. She feared he denied because admitting the truth would destroy what was left of his sanity, as much as it had crushed hers when she'd allowed herself to take in reality.

There was no Darth Vader.

There never had been. There was only the pitiful being Palpatine had twisted Anakin Skywalker into, more machine than man. Less than human, so much less than he had been.

There was only Anakin. And he must sense her stubborn wish to force the same epiphany onto him.

"Still as foolish, and naïve. You cannot appease me with your affections towards a dead man. Skywalker was weak, indeed his apprentice appears to be no better off."

In another lifetime, such a degrading statement would have insulted Ahsoka. When she was still quick to anger, following the whim of her rebellious emotions before reason. Now, all the words inspired was sorrow. The fact that he was referring to himself as weak, as feeble, as insufficient. The jab at her meant nothing; the one aimed at himself not as easily overlooked.

"You weren't weak. You never were. I may not know or understand why you've become... this, but whatever the case, I refuse to believe it was a choice you made out of your own volition. I refuse to believe you could commit to such evil without a good cause, without sensible justification. You always had a way out of trouble, Palpatine must have manipulated you beyond comprehension. He must have backed you into a corner, and extorted you!"

"You know nothing."

It was a warning Ahsoka didn’t heed to.

“What did he say, Anakin? What did he do to put you of all people on a leash?”

“Silence.”

Another tremor through their bond, and this time she feared he would block her out. That she had crossed the line too far; that she had been too bold, too daring. That she would once more appear only as a dot on his hit list, as an enemy of the state. Up for elimination, standing to be eradicated. The command was no longer an insinuation, as much as a promise. The one word urged her to recuperate, and try again coming at him from a different angle.

Still, he hadn't rejected her use of his real name this time. The importance of that wasn't lost on her.

“I just don’t understand. You were always so kind, so caring. You were invaluable. To me, to Rex, to the entire 501st, to Obi Wan...” she paused before adding, “to Padmé--"

"Do not speak her name, you do not deserve to take it in your mouth!"

Ahsoka shuddered and recoiled as if slapped when he raised his voice.

“You know nothing of her, or of me. Learn your place and watch your step closely. You have crossed the line more than once, you do not wish to press me any further.”

The delivery was so vile, so full of livid fury and loathing that it made her stomach reel. Made her feel dizzy, nauseous, faint. Her forehead clammy, her chest tight. The fact that the mere mention of Padmé's name could conjure up such unbridled rage was both shocking, confounding, and heartbreaking.

Ahsoka had been outright aware of the involvement between senator Amidala and her former master, had caught hints at their intimacy. She'd liked the senator, viewed her much as an older sister and a good friend. Her master's high opinions of her had been enough for Ahsoka to accept and appreciate the woman. She wasn't stupid, she'd understood there was more than a friendship between the two. Even when the senator tragically passed, the event made public to the Galaxy after the fall of the Republic, she had mourned a friend and a fellow candidate of democratic justice. She suspected the sudden death had more to do with what Anakin had become than would ever be revealed.

"What happened?" she finally softly inquired when she spoke again.

"It is beyond your concern, and shall remain that way."

His arrogant, uninterested approach was back. Dismissing her offer of comfort, of consolation, of someone to listen to his side of events. Of forgiveness. Ahsoka couldn't say she'd be unbiased, but she longed to understand. Longed for that final puzzle piece that would put it all together. That would explain his descent into what could only be described as madness.

"Please," she pleaded, aware of the disappointment and forlorn sadness she was radiating into the ether, pouring into their Force bond.

"Please, Anakin."

Just for a moment, something shifted. The change so vague, it would have been undetectable if she didn't know him so well. So closely, so thoroughly. His carefully composed facade cracking, just enough for her to glimpse what lay inside.

“I can’t.”

The bitter, freezing cold of darkness that had pierced every fiber of her being throughout their conversation abated with those words. Left was only a void; so vast and deep and harrowing that it would haunt her nightmares for the remainder of her life. A loneliness so stifling, a guilt so crippling, it left an excruciating, hollowing ache in its wake. She blinked rapidly against the involuntary tears welling up to blur her vision, choked up and speechless. This torment wasn't hers, it had only been lent to her, extended into her psyche. Laid bare for her, as a truce. As a silent plea not to ask any more.

The searing wound left behind, however; that was her cross to bear. She had wanted him to share, and this was the price to pay.

"You cannot save me, Ahsoka," he begged with such regret, that she could almost see his pained expression.

Before Ahsoka could protest or properly process it, before she could cling to him and keep their connection up - he was gone. Those steadfast, blue eyes of her memory etched into the back of her head. Along with the fading touch of his Force signature. Trembling, she heaved an unsteady sigh before covering her face to weep, grieving the man who would not mourn for himself. There was no one else to put the blame on.

There was no Darth Vader.

Only Anakin Skywalker, who suffered in constant anguish.

And that was the worst part.

--------------

This was intended as another chapter for Mask of Death, but I believe it works better as its own standalone piece. I wanted to write something for Anakin/Vader and Ahsoka, and Ahsoka’s POV is always fun to play around with - especially since she’s the only one besides Luke to really accept that Anakin is still Anakin, even while he calls himself Vader.

So, I hope you enjoy my spin on the idea of them conversing post Malachor!

Link to Ao3 version below, and subsequently my account:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578304

Lose Companion to Ablaze:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636756

https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/634786811339816960/ablaze-aka-obi-wan-learns-the-truth-about-what

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shera-dnd · 3 years

Link

Chapter 2 of our little Princess and Knight AU adventures. Now that we’re all familiar with the princess, I think it is time we were introduced to the knight in question

You can read this fic through the AO3 link above or under the read more link down here. Whichever one works for you.

That night the white knight marched into Lady Schnee’s tent. Though her stance was determined, her steps were weary after the long day of constant fighting, and her demoralizing defeat.

“Lady Weiss,” greeted the Schnee servant that waited within, “it’s good to see you well.”

He was a man whose largeness of body was only matched by that of his heart. Every word that left from under his full mustache was spoken with a care, and kindness, that Weiss had yet to receive from anyone else.

“It is good to see you as well, Klein,” she replied as she found herself a bench to slump on.

She took off her helmet for the first time all day, releasing her long ponytail of silver hair from its confinement. Taking a nearby piece of cloth she wiped the sweat that had gathered on her brow, and let out a sigh she had been holding all evening.

“I take it the tournament did not go as you expected,” he commented.

“I’ve lost,” she simply declared, not wanting to linger on this topic much longer.

“I’m truly sorry to hear it, my lady,” he replied, placing a hand on her shoulder, “but this is only your first tournament, Lady Weiss. There will be plenty of chances to make the people of Atlas see you for the knight you are.”

“Thank you, Klein,” she replied, offering the man the best smile she could manage, but it was as weak as she felt in that moment, “but I can’t help but dread that this humiliation has set a standard for my coming battles.”

“Humiliation is what you’ve brought upon half my men today,” her sister declared as she joined them within the tent.

The stern glacier of a woman that was Lady Winter of House Schnee, Knight of the Winter Maiden, grew but a few degrees warmer as she saw the defeated expression on her sister’s face, and for a moment the facade melted away; she was simply Winter.

“You fought well, Weiss,” she assured her, “you stood on equal footing with the Black Knight of Vale. That is not a feat to be taken lightly.”

“Thank you,” Weiss sighed, but accepted the praise, “I’m glad to have made good on our training.”

Winter gave her a nod and a proud smile, before the frigid winds of her duty froze her expression once again into that of Lady Schnee.

“Now, I must be on my way,” she informed, “Knight Commander Ironwood has requested my presence.”

“Of course,” Weiss replied, bowing her head slightly as she did so, “when should I expect your company again?”

Her sister stopped to think for a moment.

“If your identity is to remain a secret, I do not believe it is wise for us to meet in person any time soon,” she concluded. Weiss understood her decision, but that did not mean she found any joy in it.

“Understood,” she surrendered, “I wish you luck with your preparations, sister.”

“And you with yours.”

As she left she also seemed to take Weiss’s high spirits with her, leaving her only with her lingering frustration over her defeat, and dread over the coming month without her sister.

“I believe I am in need of some fresh air,” she eventually declared. She picked her helmet up and added, “I’ll just be stepping into the woods for a moment. No point risking exposing myself.”

“Do stay safe, Lady Weiss,” Klein asked, voice full of worry.

“I still have my sword and the iron of my armor,” she assured him, “unless Lady Blake returns for a second round, I believe I’ll be fine.”

As silently as she could, Weiss stepped away from the tent and quickly made her way to the forest; only removing her helmet again once she was sure she was fully out of sight of the festival goers. She took a deep breath, taking in the fresh scents of the forest that stretched around her, placing her focus anywhere but in the frustration that boiled inside her in that moment.

Weiss shook her head and groaned loudly, kicking at a patch of grass in her way. It wasn’t working. Perhaps a brisk walk would do better at working that disappointment out of her. Though certainly brisk, what she did do was closer to stomping than it was to walking.

Curse this tournament, curse this Black Knight, curse Lord Ironwood, and curse her father while she was at it!She always made a point to stop to curse him whenever such a foul mood struck her. It was a good habit to keep, all things considered. He always had at least some fault in her foul moods, and perhaps one day one of these curses would finally land and the bastard would die some ignoble death.

No, no, it wasn’t proper of her to get like this. She was the heiress of House Schnee and if she was to maintain such a title she had to play by his rules - Winter was living proof that he was not above rescinding such privileges after all - though at the very least this White Knight character allowed her some level of much needed freedom.

She leaned back against a nearby tree and rested her head against it, closing her eyes she took another long and deep breath. She had been gone for a while now, it was probably about time she returned to her tent. Wouldn’t want Klein to worry over her well being after all.

“We thought you were dead!” A voice furiously shouted in the distance.

“Good!” Another voice shouted back, “had I stopped to tell you my intentions you would have killed me on the spot instead!”

Weiss opened her eyes. Shit, she wasn’t alone in the woods anymore. She had to get back to camp before anyone caught her here.

“And with good reason!” The first voice replied, “you betrayed us!”

“What I have done was for the good of the fae,” the second voice returned in a steely tone, “you’re just too blinded by vengeance to realize it.”

The good of the fae? There were fae in these woods with her. She had to get away right now and…this could be her chance. Were she to strike a blow against the fae she would be welcomed home as a hero. Her father would have no basis to deny her her right to become a knight.

She snuck closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the two arguing faeries.

“I would rather let vengeance blind me than allow myself to be turned into their pet!” The first voice bit back.

“I am not their pet!” The second denied, “I am their equal!”

“And yet you don their symbols, you wear their face, and you play their game,” the first one continued.

Weiss could almost see them now. It was too dark and the forest was too thick around these parts for her to make out too much detail, but she could see the shapes of the fae locked in bitter argument.

“You may see me as subservient, but I have not forgotten my roots, unseelie,” the second retorted, “I am fae, but I am also a Knight of the Fall Maiden, and it is my duty both to my court and to my kingdom that I help them find peace.”

A fae knight? And one from Vale of all places? Now that was simply not possible. The fae couldn’t even touch iron, let alone wield it as a weapon. And who would even dare to bring one of them to their order in the first place? Only a mad man would ever try.

Weiss stepped forward, now more curious than ever as to who these fae might be. She had to be slow and careful now as to not catch their--

Snap went a twig under the weight of her boots. She looked up to the figures that argued in the woods, only to be met by a familiar pair of golden eyes staring at her and through her soul. It was her.

Weiss’s hand flew to her sword as she stepped back and braced herself for a fight. But as soon as her left foot moved back it was snagged by a root that hadn’t been there before. Maybe she should curse fae tricks next time too, if there was a next time.

When the Black Knight charged at her she did her best to block the blow, but with her posture already precarious as it was, she found herself being pushed to the ground. She raised her blade again, preparing to fight on her back if she had to, but the ‘knight’ deigned only to kick the blade aside and plant her boot on Weiss’s chest.

“Lady Weiss Schnee I presume,” ‘Lady’ Blake greeted, her form now fully human once more, “you have your sister’s scowl. I see it runs in the family.”

“What are you doing?” The other fae demanded, “kill her already.”

The human form that woman had taken was not unfamiliar to Weiss. She remembered the beautiful woman cheering for her from among the crowd, and had entertained asking her for her favor once the real tournament had started. So much for that thought.

“Ah yes, for no evil shall befall us or our people were we to kill the Schnee heir,” Blake replied, sarcasm nearly dripping from her voice.

“Try it,” Weiss challenged, “I’ll make sure you both burn before you have the chance to regret it.”

“That won’t be necessary, my lady,” Blake assured her, “my friend does not wish for the atlesians to find out who we are, and you don’t want your father to find out what you’ve been doing with your free time. I propose we keep each other’s secrets.”

“How are you so sure there is even a secret to be kept?” Weiss bluffed, “how are you to know I don’t have my father’s blessing?”

“I don’t believe you would have suffered those fools at the arena were you able to wield the weight of your name against them,” she countered.

Weiss scowled at her, furious at the thought of being so easily read. Still she refused to give in.

“I will not betray my kingdom by allowing you two to freely enact whatever plans you have,” she declared, “I’d rather you both slay me now than be complicit in your actions.”

“Do not tempt me, Schnee,” the woman in blue threatened.

“As belligerent as my companion is,” Blake interjected, “I don’t believe she has any nefarious plans for you to worry over.”

“Do you really want me to simply trust that you two are only here to enjoy the festival?”

“You are one to speak of trust, human,” the woman in blue countered.

“If it will dissuade your mistrust,” Blake sighed and stepped back from Weiss. She drew her sword and, taking a knee, she planted it on the ground, “I swear on my honor as a Knight of the Fall Maiden that neither me nor Ilia intend any harm and that if you are to keep our secret, we will keep yours too.”

Weiss was taken aback. Lady Blake’s oath carried the conviction of a knight. She spoke with the same unquestioning certainty that Winter had used when she swore herself to the Winter Maiden. Fae or no, there was no doubt in Weiss’s mind that Blake truly saw herself and carried herself as a true knight.

“What?” Ilia scoffed, “are we to simply trust the Schnee? After all her house has done to us?”

Weiss got up and reached for her sword. Ilia braced for a fight, but was caught by surprise when Weiss reached for Blake’s hand and helped her stand up again.

“And I swear on the name of my house,” that earned another scoff, “that I will do you both no harm as long as you do not bring me harm, and I shall keep your secret as long as you keep mine.”

Ilia remained unconvinced, but Lady Blake was relieved to hear it. She placed a hand on their shoulders as they brought them close. They were too busy glaring daggers at each other to spare Blake a scowl.

“Now that that is done with,” she began, “Lady Ilia, Lady Weiss, I believe it’s time we all got back to camp.”

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #blake belladonna #medieval au #fanfic

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pastelsandpining · 3 years

Text

The Master Sword

Summary: This is my take on memory 18, because the game’s version was far too happy for me. Zelda’s trip to Korok Forest was no easy feat, but she knew the sacred blade needed to return lest they lose it too.

Words: 2671 Warnings: this is Zelda after her entire kingdom was destroyed and all of her friends were slaughtered. it’s gonna deal with grief, survivor’s guilt, and other heavy themes.

CEO of posting works at midnight then being sad about the lack of notes

Masterlist

~~~~

Exhaustion was heavier than the sword strapped to her back.

Her legs screamed for her to slow down and her lungs burned from the ash in the air, inhaled in gulps as she wrestled with the grief in her chest.

This morning, a beautiful sunrise greeted her from her window. Birds sang a song of love from their perch, and people bustled along the streets of Castle Town. She had a piece of her favorite dessert brought to her by her knight as a gift, and she walked through her lively, wonderous kingdom covered by green grass and wildlife beyond compare, to meet with her friends and conduct a day of prayer at the Spring of Wisdom.

It was a day just like any other, birthday or not.

And now, that green grass was burning. That cerulean blue sky was painted red with clouds of ash raining down from every last bit of civilization she could see. The wildlife scattered, if there were any left at all. The fields of flowers were trampled by ancient technology that had gone from astonishing to terrifying—and out of their control.

She did not need Nayru’s wisdom to know that everyone from the castle, her home, to the outskirts of Central Hyrule had perished. She knew nothing of her friends, trapped within their once loyal machines, but she could not imagine they’d met a better fate.

And Link.

Zelda took a deep, shuddering breath and held tighter to the Champion’s Tunic that once matched his eyes. Now, it was covered in dirt and grime and stained with his blood. She wasn’t aware of the exact time, but she figured it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Hyrule’s hero had died in her arms. She didn’t allow herself any time to grieve—she couldn’t.

Her despair reached far beyond the point of tears anyway.

She wiped at her eyes with her wrists, which managed hardly anything more than smearing the dirt on her face, and tried to even out her breathing as she reached Kakariko. Only then did she lower her pace and she didn’t have to search far for Impa, who was giving orders to her warriors.

“Princess?”

Zelda pushed the tunic towards her dear friend and trusted it would say what her voice couldn’t. Some naive, stupid part of her hoped that if she didn’t speak it aloud, then it wasn’t set in stone.

“I can’t stay for much longer,” she explained, forcing her voice steady. “Two Sheikah have taken Link to the Shrine of Resurrection. When he returns, please, give him this.”

“How long-“

“As long as it takes.”

In truth, she had no real reason to believe the shrine would work. Every last piece of Sheikah technology they’d entrusted was corrupted and turned against them. If the Calamity had that sort of power, then it was probable it could do the same to their last piece of hope. She prayed that wouldn’t be the case, because she didn’t want to think about what would become of Link, or his body, if something went wrong.

“The sword,” Impa said, her eyes locked where the hilt peaked out from her shoulder.

“I hope to return it to the forest, so that when he is ready, he can retrieve it,” Zelda explained, fidgeting with the strap.

“And then..? What will you do, Princess?”

“Tell him that he must free the Divine Beasts if there is any hope of winning this.”

Impa’s face betrayed that she knew and Zelda turned away so she did not have to see the desperation on her loyal friend’s face.

“You can’t,” the Sheikah whispered. “We have no way of knowing— If the shrine does work, it could be years before Link is ready to face the Calamity again! No one can fight for that long, much less alone!”

“Stop,” commanded the princess. Her eyes traced the three golden triangles burned into the back of her hand and she closed it into a fist. “My entire purpose is to fight this Calamity. I refuse to do nothing when finally this power obeys me. Enough have died tonight.”

Her tone made it clear there was no hope in arguing. Her decision was final.

“Do you think.. Can we win this?” Impa asked instead with an awkward shift. She’d asked herself that same question many times within the last few hours and she wished that she could provide a complete answer.

“I believe in Link,” she replied firmly, as if daring him to truly die on her. “Tell him that as well.”

Zelda had taken perhaps three steps forwards when Impa spoke again.

“Will you come back?”

“...you must do everything you can to aid him, Impa. Promise me that.”

“I promise.”

She couldn’t stand to waste more time, so she didn’t allow for any more questions. With a nod of appreciation to her friend, one that also served as a silent thank you and goodbye, Zelda broke into a sprint and didn’t stop until she was out of the village borders. Extreme physical activity was not of her forte and she’d done plenty of running already. Every bit of muscle in her legs protested against it. With an unspoken apology to everyone she had failed, she stopped trying to push herself.

She would need all of her strength.

The strap was digging into her shoulder. Zelda slung the scabbard off of her back and chose to hold it in her hands instead.

How many times had she looked up, seen him with this very sword on his back, and loathed it? How many times had she seen the blue metal glinting in the sun, the golden triangles crafted with such precious precision, and felt defeated?

Zelda could laugh. Defeat surrounded her and it was far heavier than her tantrums. It was even heavier than the steel in her grasp. She found it ironic, yet heavily fitting, that she would be the one to carry the blade she once detested to its resting place, that she would be the one to hold its wielder as he died, when she once loathed him so, that she, the one who could not fulfill her role, would be the sole survivor left to fight the Calamity.

She wondered briefly, stumbling over a rock, or maybe her own exhaustion, whether or not they had made it to the Shrine. Did they lay his body to rest? Could they see his wounds healing? Was it slower than that, or was it just a futile attempt of grasping at straws?

A nearby screech startled her. Without much thought for what she was doing, she’d unsheathed the Master Sword and, with both hands on the blade, swung with all the might she had left. The Bokoblin fell before her without another sound, but the momentum of the swing kept her moving until she, too, was doubled over. The sword, with its tip driven into the dirt, was her only crutch.

How Link was ever able to swing something so heavy with such ease baffled her. Or perhaps it was just because her hands were clumsy with weapons of any sort.

Zelda pushed herself upright and picked the scabbard up from the ground. With a little difficulty, she slid the sword back into its holder and continued her trek towards the forest.

It was hard to ignore the burning fields all around her. It was hard to ignore the guardians soaring overhead. She was careful to avoid their search beams because she didn’t think she could spare any of the sealing power for them.

Part of her felt for them. She knew they were machines—no more than hunks of metal on legs, but there was tragedy surrounding them. Pieces of technology that were so advanced, that she loved, that were created with the sole purpose of helping Hyrule, were abandoned as soon as the Calamity was sealed. Their creators were exiled, their kind were banned, and they, too, were lost to the sea of time. Buried and forgotten, until they were needed again. And as fate would so cruelly have it, they were twisted and corrupted and now knew nothing but destruction.

Her thoughts flickered back to her loyal knight and she realized with a stroke of horror that he, too, would be buried and forgotten, lost to a sea of time. But then again, so would she. That’s how it went, wasn’t it? A hero and a goddess, set to revive only when the Calamity would. With tens of thousands of years passing between them, all they would truly become were stories. Except, there would be no grand legend following them. For a story to exist, there had to be people to tell it. Her kingdom, as far as the eye could see, had very little left.

She wanted to be upset. She wanted to be angry at this cursed fate, but if she refused to play her part in this elaborate game of chess, then there would be no hope for a future Hyrule to recall stories to.

Zelda gripped the scabbard tighter and pushed onwards. She never knew how much she would come to miss having his eyes on her back—having him three paces behind her at all times. She felt incredibly, strangely alone, and there was no comforting thought that one day she would feel his presence again. Wisdom did not grant knowledge of the future, so she was not naive enough to try manifesting her desire.

There was no bringing him back, not yet, and all the other lives lost tonight, all of their friends who’d stood bravely together only to die alone, had no chance of returning whatsoever.

All she could really do was hope that she could give the remaining populations in every last corner of Hyrule a chance to evacuate while she held the Calamity back. Should it devour her, her entire kingdom, at least her people would be safe.

Goddesses, every step felt more difficult. Every step she took forward was a missing step behind her. And she couldn’t help wondering,

could she have saved him?

Part of her wanted to believe it would have been possible. The other part of her knew better than to tempt fate. They could not change it, but fate itself could play with whatever rules it desired.

This, she realized with a deep chill, was how it’d always been meant to go. All of the time she spent in the springs, crying for a silent goddess to answer, wouldn’t have changed a thing. Fate was cruel.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with the goddesses. The realization, the clarity that fell upon her, washed her through with a sudden calm.

Or perhaps that feeling stemmed from the Lost Woods, whose fog seemed to be parting for her. With the sacred blade in her hands and the goddess in her blood, she supposed it had no reason to disorient and disable her. Even the trees were silent as she passed, their eyes following her as if they were waiting for a cue.

Korok Forest looked as if it were from an alien world. The bright and lively green of the trees and pigment of the flowers did not match the decay outside of them. But even here, in the most sacred grove in all of Hyrule, the Calamity had a reach. She could see the dark, crimson sky behind the leaves of cherry blossoms where it did not belong.

Zelda mistepped, her foot hitting the raised platform, and she didn’t try to catch her fall. The sword’s clang was loud as it hit the stone and her arms trembled under her weight. Her knees were scraped through the dress but it was already stained with blood, what was a little more? The sting was nothing compared to the loss of her kingdom.

“All hope is not lost.”

She lifted her head, but it was hard to see the Great Deku Tree through the blur of tears in her vision. She blinked hard, but it did little to help.

“With all due respect, I don’t think I can handle much positivity,” she replied, ducking her head again so she didn’t have to look at him.

“There is no fault in that. However, telling you that there is nothing left would be false.”

“They’re dead,” she said and shook her head. How did she still have tears to cry? “All of them.”

“Not all of them. But you already know that.”

Zelda wiped at her eyes with her fist and dug her nails into her palms to keep from slamming them on the pedestal.

“It hurts,” was all she could manage.

“Yes,” replied the Deku Tree with a gentle hum. “But what is grief, if not love persevering?”

She did not want to reply. Instead, she turned her focus to steadying her breathing and putting an end to the ever flowing tears. The Calamity had laid waste to her kingdom, what good would crying do? Her clumsy hands found the hilt of the sacred blade and she pulled it closer.

“You master will come for you,” she promised quietly. “Until then you shall rest safely here.”

But what good was her promise when she didn’t know if the shrine would work, or if Link would still be Link if it did? Could the soul of a hero strong enough to surpass lifetimes be altered, shaped into something unrecognizable? If such were the case..,

“Please,” she begged, holding her hands tighter, though she didn’t know if she was saying it to Link or to the sword. “Trust me when I say that I know he will arrive before you yet again.”

Zelda gripped the sword again and struggled back onto shaky legs. When she was steady, she slid the sword back into the pedestal and pressed down firmly until she felt it stick. There was a rush of something too, an odd sort of warmth that hit her fingers and spread throughout her chest as if it was trying to say something. This, she thought, must be what courage feels like.

“If I may be so bold,” the Deku Tree began again, “what is it that you are planning to do next, Princess?”

“It seems that my role is unfinished,” she replied, giving her eyes a final wipe. “There is still something I must do.”

“I sense there is great strength in your dedication.”

Yes, perhaps there was. She wondered if this is how Link had felt nearly every day—ready to act upon a moment’s notice. Even in his absence, she could feel a piece of him resonating within her heart.

“Great Deku Tree, I ask of you,” she spoke in the comfort and confines of the forest, where no one could repeat her words, “when he returns, can you please relay this message..? Tell him I-“

“Now then… words for him would sound much better in the tones of your voice, don’t you think?”

The guardian spirit, old and wise as the sacred blade itself, gazed down at her with a warm look of faith. There was a gentle breeze that ruffled her hair and a ray of sunshine peaked through the grotesque sky for only a moment, but it was enough to bring a tiny smile to her lips despite it all.

“Yes,” she decided simply.

This was courage.

The heavy fog of the forest parted for her just as it had done before and the gloomy, burning world she’d escaped welcomed her back as if she’d never left. The exhaustion was gone and in its absence remained a hostile anger that she was ready to let go of. Years upon years of neglect, of training, of hardships, led her to this exact moment—walking into an impossible fight alone. It wasn’t fair, goddesses knew that. This thing had taken everything from her.

But if her kingdom had fallen and she was destined to follow, she would make certain that she took the Calamity with her.

#zelink #if you squint #breath of the wild #yes i stole that line from wandavision #botw zelda #memory 18 #no offense but #i don't think zelda would be all smiles in this memory #everyone is dead #happy birthday zelda heres the sword of ur dead knight #go pick it up #my writing

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