hitching-hyacinth - Tumblr blog

hitching-hyacinth · 4 days ago

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Primrose

link, zelda, implied ze/link ( BOTW / TOTK )

cw: snz kink !! brief mentions of mess, implied chara with kink

notes: hi!!! this one was a lot of fun to write(^_^) im in my totk era again let's see if i finally finish the game. this takes place pre-totk, but a few years after botw. this was inspired by this post when I saw it and went ok reverse that and also by the flower sanctuary in totk I found a few days ago doing the Penn quests !!! I hope u enjoy ( ´∀`) rbs and any tips very welcome!!

It was beautiful.

Endless rows of flowers. Buds she had only seen in ancient texts, species’ even the royal labs couldn’t get to thrive, all displayed in a stunning show of color. Some, more adapted to the moonlight, were hiding away in their leaves, but they still stood tall. Others, newly discovered, were just beginning to peak through the soil. Zelda was speechless.

Magda didn’t hesitate to fill in the gap, rushing towards her the moment she spotted the princess. “Aren’t they so beautiful?” She asks, flitting about. She stops only to give Link an out-of-place glare. “Be careful with them.” She warns, before flipping back to Zelda, who’s yet to actually register any of it.

”While the two of you are here, I need some muscle. There’s been such little help.” It’s, sadly, true. Most farmers are focusing their efforts on returning the agriculture to its former state, so there have been so few hands for something like this. As important to the ecosystem as these flowers are, food takes priority. Zelda remembers enough of her lectures to know that much.

She would love to. This project is hers. But both she and Link had taken the day off from major projects. They’ve spent the day on a relaxing horse ride along quiet roads when Zelda remembered Magda’s gardens about an hour previous, and realized she hadn’t visited in months. She really ought to help, just as an apology for forgetting.

On the other hand, Link had been seeming a bit tired. He was placed front and center at the monster clearing effort, and it was definitely taking a toll. When she looks over at him, at her right side as always, he’s looking right back with a neutral expression.

“Would you like to?” Zelda dares to ask, trying her very best not to let any emotion seep into it. They’ve been running into a roadblock where Link struggles with individualistic things. A lot of minor details are still fuzzy for him, but Zelda suspects he hasn't had much time to think about himself anyway. They’re working through it together.

But to her immense relief, Link nods. And again, before Zelda can say anything, maybe praise for the choice or just simple acknowledgment, she’s cut off. Magda grabs Link’s arm and drags him off in a whirlwind of argumentative noises and a “you just relax, princess!”

There’s not much else to do, so she stays. Maybe not relaxes, because she feels a bit too bad when Link is being put to work, but she finds a nearby stool and sits. Rehabilitation efforts have been successful but slow, and the princess (Queen? The line is still a bit blurred, and she’s not in any rush to clarify it, despite Impa’s nagging.) She’s in charge of everything. Zelda can’t really remember the last time she slept in a bed or house that belonged to her, and the warmth on her back here feels delightful. It looks like a dream. The whole area feels like the royal gardens, with its stone pathways and well-trimmed bushes. If Zelda unfocuses her eyes, watching Link as he hauls bags of soil, it feels like simpler times. Like the Calamity never happened.

Halfway across the island, Link jerks forward. Does it again. What’s wrong with him- could it be a monster attack? Is he grabbing for a weapon? Magda, who’s directing him animatedly, pauses and says something Zelda isn’t able to hear. Link waves her off with his free hand and piles another bag onto his shoulders. Stray dirt tumbles down his back, dirtying royal blues.

Zelda’s hands are shaking. It’s a shock when Link appears near her, still hauling the bags. He looks annoyed and focused. It’s the kind of look he gets in a battle, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. Something must be wrong. It’s a monster attack just like she thought.

Zelda can’t hide the worry on her face when the expression deepens. They must be closer. His hearing is better than hers- he’s surely listening to the thundering footsteps, war chants in the distance. When he takes in a breath, Zelda’s ready to jump from her seat. He’s about to yell, she’s sure of it. Tell them to run, or duck, or something. Then he jerks forward. Once. Twice.

Oh. That makes more sense. Her heart’s pounding in her chest. Link straightens up, flipping hair out of his face, and sniffles, looking a little sheepish, but still slightly bothered. They lock eyes, and he smiles, but it doesn’t look genuine when his brows are creased. His face falls a little into a concern she’s too familiar with when she doesn’t move, but her heartbeat is still thundering. She has to swallow past a lump in her throat to talk.

“Goddess, bless you.” Is what she manages, and it's a relief when his smile comes back. Despite her and many others’ pestering, she’s never been able to get him to sneeze properly. She’s adjusted to his restraint, even though she wishes he would let himself relax.

Link sets the bags down with a thud a few feet away from her, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. Before she's able to offer him her stool, he sits down right in the grass, smiling at her again. She recently discovered that he has dimples. She observes as he takes a bottle from his belt and drinks. There’s a small scar on his neck, the edge of it just peeking out from his hair. His throat bobs as he drinks. After so long apart, she’s always trying to drink in any detail she can of him. His nose is a little pink, and when he scrunches it again she can’t help but giggle a little bit, because he looks like a wild fox like that. But then he does it again, and his breath gets pitchy, and he wretches away from her in a flurry of motion.

“h’nGT-! e’nDT-! hi’nGKT-!” She can only watch his back tense with each release, but she’s certain that it can’t feel good. Something must be wrong if he’s sneezing so much. He can’t be sick- they’ve been together for the whole morning, and he’d been fine. He'd slept in as late as he could, eaten his usual heaping for breakfast, gotten the horses ready with his usual care, and hadn’t so much as sniffled for their entire ride. Link isn't sensitive to anything, either, and has never had a reaction to pollen. Could he have been hiding an illness this whole time? How could she-

“nKT - e’NGT-hh! ” Suddenly, Link jerks forward into his lap. He looks up, blinking at the sky as his shoulders tremble, lips parted. His expression crumples again and he jerks back down. “eH’TZCHh-iewh!”

Zelda’s face explodes with heat.

Hearing something so - natural. So raw, out of Link, put an odd feeling in her stomach. He rights himself, sniffling, and Zelda can’t miss the wetness dripping down his lip before he wipes it off with his sleeve. It must’ve made it worse, because his nose starts twitching and twitching again. Like everything before wasn’t enough to cleanse whatever tickle he has. Zelda’s enamoured watching this silent battle- his breaths are uneven, his eyes squinty, brow furrowed. He looks up at her through his eyelashes and tears his eyes away with a new pink on his cheeks. Even his ears are twitching. He gasps again, finally, because Zelda can’t take this anticipation anymore.

“ ‘tTZCHh-! hiA'CHht- i'TZCHhih-!” Seeing his princess’s face must have brought back some kind of etiquette, because these ones are muffled into his elbow. They’re itchy. Needy. Strong enough that he can’t fight them. Zelda feels all tingly. Something must be wrong with both of them.

“May Hylia bless you.” She says, and prays that he’s too indisposed to recognize whatever emotion is coating her words. “What’s wrong?”

Once again, he waves the concern off, this time with an expression so tickly it makes her own nose itch in sympathy. She wants him to sneeze again. She wants to study every reaction, every twitch in his face, and understand whatever is making her knight unravel like this. What she needs is to get a grip.

“You’re certain you aren’t sick?” Why is the idea of that enough to make her feel too hot all of a sudden? Would he look just like this? Face flushed, hints of his voice peaking through raspy and low? Zelda must be the sick one. Link shakes his head a little wildly, like he might be able to get rid of the itch with it. Thankfully he doesn’t. Instead, he whines.

“ hI‘iISHHihh-yU! hI’TSCHh -e’TCHhih-! hiH’tZCHh-iew!” Four times, Five. Zelda’s dizzy. Warm in all the wrong places. She’s never seen anything like this from Link. He looks so desperate. He tilts his head back with stray tears tracking down his cheeks, chest heaving, before he sneezes again. Mist sprays down his front, glimmering in the springtime sun, his hands raised but not close enough. There’s warmth between her legs. Every release makes her spine tingle. This isn’t the usual thrill that experiments bring her. Watching him sniffle desperately, pawing at his face, red with irritation and maybe embarrassment, is unraveling something within her. It also allows her to see flecks of yellow covering his hands and tunic.

“Link, stop!” She yelps, ignoring the part of her that doesn't really want him to stop at all. He freezes, looking at her through red-rimmed eyes. Now is the part where she has to explain herself and seem normal. Get it together. She’s done things much harder- she can say the words sneeze and allergy when referring to Link.

“You’re, um” She's so, so warm. She clears her throat. “You’re allergic to something here, I think. There are several rare flowers here that you wouldn’t be used to.” Link gives her an owlish blink and she thinks, oh, she’s been caught. He’s too perceptive. But then his facial expression crumbles again and he buries himself in his elbow with a gasp that’s so unrestrained that she can’t think.

“ hyIHT'SHHhih-! ‘iISZHh-! hih - hE'ISHh-iewh!” They’ve taken on a wet quality. His nose is streaming when he comes back up. Hair unkempt and in his eyes. He looks tired. Undone. Natural. Sexy, Purah might say. She’s struck with these sudden, conflicting desires to wash him off and feed him tea, and to watch him unravel with sneeze after sneeze while her hands disappear under her skirt. She’s been away from civilization too long. Thank Hylia she doesn’t need to be much of a princess right now. The royal court would be in shambles.

The first idea sounds a little more plausible. So she finds Mgda quickly, where she’s kneeling over a tiled bed of soil with her sleeves rolled up. She looks determined. Zelda, not for the first time, is overwhelmingly thankful that somebody so passionate gets to do this work, even if she can’t.

Magda sends them off with well-wishes for Zelda and a promise to call for more help soon for Link, and the horses are already prepared once she comes back. He’s adjusting the reins and his hair is soaked, plastered to his forehead and dripping wet. He looks over when she comes closer and blinks at her, and he looks so pathetic like that that she just bursts into giggles. It gets worse when he shakes himself off like a dog, probably to make her laugh, and sends droplets splattering around that make the horses whinny with irritation.

They’re both quiet for a few minutes, until they’re trotting down the path to the stables. Zelda tries to distract herself with the scenery and the rhythmic clack of horseshoes, and it works until Link comes up to her, rubbing his nose on his shoulder. While she’s trying not to think about the implications of that he brings up his right first and rubs a circle around his chest. Sorry.

Zelda’s not quick enough to hide her frown. She really needs to get back into etiquette lessons. This has been another struggle in this uncharted time of peace. He’s guilty about so many things. Big things, like not being fast enough and remembering her enough, and little things, too. Tearing the champion's tunic in battle and having nightmares and being tired. It hurts her heart. “You can’t help it, link. It isn’t your fault.” She wisely elects not to mention that seeing him like that had awoken new feelings in her. “If it will make you feel better, you could cook me something?” He lights up at that. With a small smile on his face, Zelda can see how his under-eyes crinkle, like he has a headache. Even though he was looking better, his nose is a bit red again, too. It may just be sunburn. Her stomach does not get any sort of feeling of the possibility that he's still itchy.

She can't hide the noise she makes a few moments later, when a “e'tSZHHhi-!” from behind catches her off guard. Her horse jerks to the side, caught off guard, and it takes a second too long to get her bearings back and fix their course. She tries to cover it up with an only slightly shaky “Goddess, bless you!”A moment later, when the click of horseshoes behind her stops, she tugs the reins of her own mare and chances a glance behind her.

He's quivering silently, nose pinched in his hand. The sight of it does not bring back that warm and tingly feeling in her stomach. She's very collected when she says “Just let them out, Link. I don't mind,” and prays and prays that he can't sense any ulterior motives. To continue, she does not nearly fall from her horse when he obeys instantly. There must be some knightly manners still left in him. They're lying in wait, Link caught in a desperate, hitchy buildup and Zelda trying to suppress this too sensitive, wanting feeling in her body. His breath finally catches in his throat, whiny and needy, and Zelda nearly shudders. Finally, his body gives in.

“e’EITZCHh-et’TZCHh’yu-!! hI'tSCHHh! hiA'tTZCHh-ieww!! hi’IDTCHHiew-!” They're back to that itchy and needy quality that makes her head spin. He washed off and should be alright now, but he sounds so allergic. So at mercy to his own body. He aims another needy release towards the grass, almost doubled over. Zelda does not feel any need to close her legs.

She fumbles for a handkerchief, something to busy her hands and eyes. When she looks back up at him, his face is wet again, stray strands of golden-blond plastered to his cheeks. She hops off the horse and quickly presses whatever fabric she'd managed to come up with into his palm. If he doesn't get himself under control now Zelda doesn't know what will happen to her.

This close, she can see pollen on his horse's chestnut brown coat. She clicks her tongue. The horses must have been rolling around in the fields. She tells as much to Link, watching him dab at the moisture on his face. She can't help but think about how sensitive he is, especially not when he rubs his nose a little too much and trembles into the fabric with a rapid “ ‘dschh-‘tszhhiew!” Warmth spreads across her stomach, even though she's too hot already. She needs to take off some layers, but she's already in a simple dress. Link will get suspicious if she dunks herself in some nearby water, too. She's trapped. “You both can wash off once we get to the stables.” Link nods and tucks the fabric, now useless and covered in wet spots, into his pocket and takes up the reins with more needy sniffles.

Zelda has to wipe the sweat from her palms before getting on her own horse. It flicks its ears and throws her a look like it can see right through her, and that's how she knows that she's truly lost it.

She’s infinitely lucky that a knight traditionally rides and walks behind his princess, because just the sound of another prickly sneeze leaves her white-knuckling the leather reins. If she'd seen it, that jolt of want would've run through her even worse and overwhelmed every too-sensitive nerve ending she had.

When they make it to the stables, after both too much and not enough sniffling and stray one-off releases, Zelda orders her knight to the lake to bathe and seats herself near the fire. The sun, already setting, lights Link's hair aflame in gold as he leads his mare away. When his shoulders twitch once, twice, and he jerks forward, Zelda most certainly does not feel anything about it.

#HELLO. HELLO. LOVE THIS LOVE THIS LOVE THIS

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hitching-hyacinth · 12 days ago

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Seeking Refuge - Grimm/Taisho

Just a short hurt/comfort thing between two warriors. The magic that keeps Taisho's demonic side in check doesn't work so well in the human realm. After a nasty encounter with an enemy, a short transformation renders Taisho weak and nearly incapacitated.

With Indigo away at an important conference for his editing business, Taisho chooses to seek help from a fellow warrior instead.

And this is where their own bond begins to take hold. __________________________________

Taisho struggles back into consciousness, the ache of his body like dull knives attacking bone with unrelenting vigor.

Too long. It had been too long.

In this realm, there were no safe havens, no places meant for recovery from such things, aside from human hospitals, which reeked of chemicals and impending disease. Why did they build such towers for healing, but boasted only death?

But he could not concern himself with human peculiarities. Safety was the priority and there was only one being who would commence to help him without question.

With the last of his strength ebbing away, he barely manages to knock upon the door to Grimm’s wooden house, willing the man to hear him somehow. Which he does after a minute or so, checking whatever manner of surveillance he has before opening the door.

“Taisho?” the man queries, despite knowing full well that it is he.

WIthout full use of his voice, Taisho can only nod once, clinging to the tattered shreds of his robes with as much grace as he can manage.

“Holy shit.” Grimm grabs his wrist, glances around the porch with a quick darting of eyes, and pulls him inside. “What the fuck happened to you?”

He has not seen himself yet, not knowing the full extent of his disarray, but it must be quite a sight, given Grimm’s incredulous expression.

“Demon,” Taisho manages.

When Grimm tilts his head with a wrinkled brow, Taisho points to himself indicatively, as if this somehow explains things.

Regardless of if Grimm understands or not, he leads him into the central part of the house with careful guidance, but Taisho’s reserves have vanished, his body rebelling against orders to walk or stand. He slides to the floor in a heap of shredded silk and tangled hair and Grimm is instantly beside him, his demeanor unlike Indigo’s fervent worry, but more so a stoic form of instantaneous duty.

Yes, he had made the right decision, to come to Grimm rather than his beloved catastrophizer. Indigo was a talented and concise healer, but this was not something his abilities could touch. A guardian was needed, one that would not falter under his rather wretched circumstance.

One pale hand reaches for him and Grimm drops to one knee beside the stricken Astral, the tips of Taisho's fingers swallowed in his grasp.

“Senshi.” The soft depth of Taisho's voice is a shadow of itself, little more than a whisper.

“Tell me what to do,” Grimm says.

Taisho's hand trembles with the faintest flutter of fingers and Grimm squeezes it with reassuring pressure.

“Blanket,” Grimm surmises. “Hang tight.”

Taisho has no idea what “hang tight” means, nor does he know just how Grimm anticipated his need, but he has. The man returns swiftly with the promised item and a pillow as well, first draping his body in heavy fabric before seeing to it that his head is no longer resting on the floor.

He makes an indicative gesture towards the fireplace with a half-hearted flick of his wrist and Grimm’s eyes track the movement, sending him into action.

Attentive. Uncannily observant. And apparently, quite good with kindling and matches.

He rests the tips of his fingers against his lips and Grimm merely nods, retreating into the kitchen and returning with a glass brimming with cold liquid. Again, Grimm says nothing, but merely raises his eyebrows in inquiry and Taisho nods, allowing Grimm to help him struggle into a sitting position.

The glass is cool between his palms, beveled and easy to grip, as if Grimm has made certain that he can do this himself. Which he does manage for the most part. While his throat is still raw and his voice a hoarse rendition of itself, it does give him some agency over his own speech, although he chooses not to use it.

Not yet.

Instead, he touches the leather strap which binds his hair away from his face with one hand, setting the glass beside him with a shaky release of fingers. Grimm fiddles with it for a moment and sits back with a frown, reaching into his pocket.

Is that . . . the hilt of a knife? Why only the hilt of–

A blade springs forth from an unseen edge and Taisho sits back just a touch. Humans certainly made some . . . interesting . . . weapons.

Nevertheless, Taisho inclines his head enough for Grimm to saw through the strap with one swift slice, sending his hair tumbling around his shoulders in a curtain of tangled white, draping both the pillow and the flooring behind him.

“Well, damn,” Grimm says.

A smirk pulls at the corner of Taisho’s mouth. Yes, his mane of hair was a rather impressive sight, he supposed, especially if one had not seen it unbound.

Grimm’s touch, however, is reverent. Gentle. He combs through the absurd length of hair with methodical diligence, untangling snarls with careful fingers, combing from crown to tips until it has become soft and manageable.

“Hey.” Grimm traces the line of his jaw with the softest brush of fingers. “Let’s get you out of this crap.” He tugs at the remains of the tattered kimono. “I have to pick you up. Might not feel too good.”

Taisho nods once. One arm slides beneath his shoulders and the other, under his legs as Grimm gathers him against his body with as much care as he can manage.

Pain arcs through his entire being, but Taisho does not flinch or groan, only the slightest wisp of a gasp escaping him. If Grimm notices, he says nothing, carrying him up the protesting creak of wooden stairs with ease until they have reached the sleeping quarters where is gently deposited atop the bed, supine and once again trembling with cold.

But not for long. Grimm’s actions are swift, stripping away the remains of his garments and cloaking him in a thick, velvety robe far too large for his countenance, but blissfully soft, far warmer than what he would have chosen for himself.

Before he can consider expressing his gratitude for Grimm’s careful and quick assistance, darkness claims him, his consciousness slipping into the abyss.

___________________________________________________________

It is not the natural release from sleep that awakens him many hours later, but the thick strands of daylight streaming through the curtains.

Like a knife to his already delicate sinuses, piercing deep into vision with a blinding, fierce sharpness that drags a heaving breath from his still-aching body.

“Iiihh. . . ! Ihh’SSSSHeeh! HuuhiiihSHHHH-eeh!” Taisho winces, moisture clouding his vision and threatening to trickle down one cheek. “Senshi. Curtains.”

“Hmm? Curtains?” Grimm’s groggy voice is muddled with confusion for a moment before he snaps to his senses.

He hops to his feet with surprising agility and pulls the heavy drapes shut. “Daylight got ya?”

“Mmmn,” Taisho murmurs in affirmation as Grimm returns to his side. His breath hitches with a tenuous breach of control. “Nnh’GKISSSSH-eeh!”

A low sound of discomfort escapes him and Grimm pulls the blankets to cover their heads, creating instant and total blackness.

“Bless you,” he says in that habitual, dutiful tone so often heard with Indigo.

“Arigato.”

The fabric of Grimm's shirt muffles his voice, but he cares not. The man is a warm, compelling energy, soothing to his absurdly sensitive senses.

His fingers curl in a slow cinching of material and he turns his face into the sleeve of the borrowed robe. “--iihSSHHEEEh! Hkk–ISSSSHT! Hnnnhh. . .”

Grimm splays a hand between his shoulders. “Bless you.”

Concern weights his words, not emphatically, but as an undercurrent.

It is. . .nice.

“Domo,” Taisho says.

“Mhmm.” Grimm presses himself closer rather than drawing Taisho against him.

It is a simple act of consideration for the dull throb that still consumes his entire being, but one that is appreciated nonetheless.

Grimm has not questioned his sudden appearance upon his doorstep in the deep hours of eveningtide, but he shall tell him. Perhaps after a longer period of rest, when his consciousness has stabilized and his words are more coherent. But for now, he keeps the details of such a thing to himself, choosing instead to relax into the warmth of Grimm’s embrace. The steady rhythm of his heart is a soothing pulse, the rise and fall of his chest a slow counterpoint to his own.

Fingers comb through his hair with measured, gentle precision and the simple act of attentive affection lulls him into complacency.

“Go back to sleep,” Grimm says.

And so he does.

#LOVE THEM LOVE THEM LOVE THEM!!#when big strong warriors also know how to be tender and caring <33333

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