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amoristt · 2 months

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Grazing the Fire | VI

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The bat is heavy and demanding in your hands. Your mind races behind your eyes- a million concerns shrouding you. What was he going to have you do? You’d seen Nathan do some pretty heinous shit when he was bored, so what exactly constituted fun for him? You roll the bat in your palms, scanning over the chips and cracks in the weathered wood. A part of you worried that this was going to be some sort of hit-man crap- like now that you’d ventured into the next tier of his friendship pyramid he was going to bring you into his bad dealings. He turns to look at you and the sun catches on the expensive camera nestled in his hands.

All you can offer is a lopsided, unsure smile.

He guides you deep into the heart of that junkyard, a maze chock full of broken down appliances and soda cans dotted with pellet gun holes. For the first time since summer had begun to settle into shrill fall, you were grateful for the chillness in the air. God, it would have stunk, all those mounds of trash just baking in the heat.

A sharp, popping echo of glass breaking has you leaping nearly a whole foot in the air, and you whip around with a harsh glare at the source of the sound. Of course, of course it’s Nathan. He’d set his camera down on a tipped over fridge and made quick work to whip brown beer bottles at the ground. With every toss they explode into glittering shards, and you twitch every single time.

“Would you chill?” He laughs pointedly. “There’s no out here but us.”

“Have I ever been chill?” You grunt, feeling the full weight of the bat in your hands once more.

“Guess not. Tweaker.” He hauls a microwave up from the ground and settles it on a chest freezer. “Maybe you should take some of that stress out on his bad boy.” He pats it, the metal echoing hollowly, after settling his camera down on an upside down box off to the side. Away from all the danger.

You swallow. “You want me to hit it?”

“Fucking duh.”

It takes a long moment for you to consider it. Shifting your weight, feeling your heart rate increase. You never really were the destructive type.

“Hello?” He waves until your eyes follow his hand. “Come on, hit it! You’ll feel great.”

The microwave's door hangs limply, threatening to fall at any moment. “I fail to see how this is going to make all my troubles go away.”

Nathan couldn’t roll his eyes any harder than he had in that instant. In a moment’s notice, he’s beside you, and then he’s behind you, close enough you can feel his chest clasping over your back. Your instinct is hard- shoving yourself forward despite the raging heat that instantly rose to your cheeks. To your surprise, Nathan doesn’t allow you. He’s quicker than you, grabbing the bat and keeping you in place. Trapped. You’re once more reminded of his height, the inches he has over you. And how those little noodle arms of his hide some serious power.

“Dude, what the hell,” You manage with a surprisingly even voice.

“Like this.” He drags your arms high over head. There’s a moment where they linger above your head. Your shirt rides up just high enough to feel the breeze over your naval.

He breathes in, you breathe in.

He crashes the bat down onto the microwave with you in tow.

Wood meets metal in an explosive bang and you can feel the exact moment the appliance gives way from underneath the powerful swing. The door clatters to the ground, bolts spring out from every corner, a hefty dent plays right down the center and caves in the empty middle. The vibrations rattle you to your core and sink into your bones, adrenaline greeting every nerve. You blink at the sight of the destruction.

When he laughs, deep and full, you do too.

“See what I’m talking about!” He cheers, and you do. He’s moving like he’s on air now, light on his feet as he backs away and motions towards the microwave once again. “Do it again! Come on, imagine it’s fucken- uhhh,” He taps his forehead, brows drawn together. “Fucken- you know! Those two bitches!”

“April and May?” You blink at him, still feeling laughter dancing on your tongue. When he nods, you chuckle. “I don’t wanna kill them, Nathan.”

“Okay then,” He rubs his face before it lights up suddenly. “Oh! Those two fucks that stole your book of whatever the fuck that whole thing was!”

An unpleasant memory drags through the forefront of your mind. Trying to relax at the fountain, having your very private artbook ripped from your hands and tossed around like it was nothing. The nasty things they said to you. Yeah- you could definitely give those two a whack. Or three.

You’re rearing up and crashing that bat back down before your mind can catch up with your body. More bolts rattle out of the metal frame, and when you swing once more, you relish in the way it cracks under the force. The microwave teeters off the edge before it plummets to the dirt and damn near shatters from the abuse. Coils, shreds of plastic and metal are confetti around its remains.

Nathan whistles when he peeks over the edge at the sight.

“I always knew you had that in you. Maybe you didn’t need me that day after all.”

He says it so offhandedly. Quick, mindless. But it rocks you in a strange way that’s hard to place. Mostly because you definitely did need Nathan that day. And also because for just a second you’re launched back to the first moment you saw a glimpse of something other than just vitriolic hate in him. He had stood between you and those two boneheads, unmoving and unwavering.

All for you. Even though you didn’t realize it at the time.

“Give it.” He says, arms outstretched. You offer the bat with just the slightest reluctance and he takes it, gets to work without a second thought. z

He nails the tipped over fridge, drives dents into the thick metal over and over again until it craters like the moon. He howls, he laughs like it’s a performance. You step back when he picks up more beer bottles from the ground and lines them up on the fridge, struggling to stand them upright on the dipping surface. When they’re set and ready to go, he swings, hard, and glass launches in all directions as he tears through the line.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” He cheers. He tosses you the bat and it slams into your chest before you manage to catch it. While you’re getting your bearings back, he’s stacking more bottles. “Your turn.”

You feel those similar nerves rising your chest, unignorably and bubbling, but you step up to the plate anyways. Those slotted eyes follow your every move, all the way from you rearing back and to the very moment you swing with everything you’ve got.

When you miss, you feel the air leave your lungs. The bat glides right above them, just merely an inch away, but a miss nonetheless. Oh, how Nathan laughs at you. He doubles over and everything, chest heaving with every breath. You cringe so hard it feels like you could die.

“Keep laughing and I’m gonna hit you next!”

“Go on, killer.” He motions for the bottles once more, snickering. While you get into position, you can hear him faintly chuckling to himself, likely replaying the moment over and over again in his head.

Running for redemption, you put your back into your swing once more. The bat collides with the bottles so satisfyingly it makes you shiver. It glides through the line like they’re nothing, and the impact sends bursting sprays of glass everywhere the eye could see. It feels so good- feels right deep in your chest. Your shoulders are loose, your heart is light. You laugh and you grin at the man before you like you’d known him your entire life.

And he grins right back with visible pride. A mentor, a guide to your unmannerly behavior.

“Okay, I see what you mean now.” Your voice is fast, breathy. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“That’s nothing, light work.” Nathan rummages through his pockets and pulls out a red and white box. He draws a cigarette out, settles it in between his fingers, lights it like a professional. He draws in a captivating breath before it leaves him in a plume of gray.

He reaches out, offers it to you. Though you hesitate, you ultimately decline.

But you do make a mental note of the day Nathan Prescott tried to share his precious cigarettes with you, a lowly no one in the eyes of Blackwell Academy. There’s something beautiful in the moment, the way the sun catches and glitters off the mounds of shattered glass and broken metal. The clouds dragging over the vibrant sun and the breeze swaying through the many piles of forgotten trash and leaves that were beginning to fade from a true green to a mellow yellow. You may as well have been on top of the world.

Nathan must have felt it too. He plucks his camera up from the box he’d settled it on, routinely boots it up with its hundreds of buttons and takes tasteful snapshots of the evidence of your fun. It prints, see’s daylight for just a moment before he’s shoving it into his back pocket without even sparing a glance. That’s how you knew he was the real deal- he didn’t even have to check. Just knew that it was a good one. A keeper.

The early afternoon draws on just the same. You both work your way deeper into the thick of the junkyard until the piles of garbage are tall enough to box you in, leaving a path of broken glass and metallic shrapnel in your wake. You’re only stopped when you see train tracks yards away, cutting a sharp boundary between the heaping trash piles and green, lush grass. Little ways before the tracks a ramshackle shed-like structure stands with holey walls and what may as well have been a tin roof. Nathan doesn’t pause before he approaches it like you do. Doesn’t have to take in the sight, really absorb the atmosphere. You wonder how many times he’d been in this very spot wasting the day away.

Neon graffiti demands your attention when you’re close enough to see it, cigarettes and crumpled blunt buds seeding the perimeter. A bottle of Jack Daniels rests against the wall, half empty. Nathan drags a puff from his cigarette and toes it with his black shoes, rolls it over and watches the contents spill out with a less than amused expression. The smoke climbs the air hypnotizingly and you watch what you can before it disappears entirely.

“I haven't been here in years.” He breathes. His voice is low, mellow. Lost in thought and memories. He nudges a snuffed out cigarette on the ground partially buried in dirt. “Before Vic and all the parties and the Vortex Club shit I used to come out here and just chill out.”

You lean the bat on your shoulder, nodding, imagining him all those years ago long before you met him. Before he came the menace on site that was Nathan Prescott. You wondered how he presented himself back then- softer, or perhaps just quieter. A subtle anger that had only really started to fester. He steps into the shed and you follow without a second thought, join him when he leans his boney back against the brick wall and slides down. The interior is overstimulating- dirty, haphazardly decorated with the most college-like shit you’d ever seen. A dart board, stolen road signs, a disgustingly bright yellow tapestry with an elephant etched into the fabric. Streaks of light beam through the gaps of the roof and shine down on a small coffee table.

You eye the vulgar messages written in black marker while Nathan leans his head back against the wall, huffing out a breath of smoke that makes your nose twitch. Once again, he offers the now half smoked cigarette out to you.

This time you accept. He doesn't hide the way his lips tug into a smile. The cigarette feels uncannily heavy between your fingers, beckoning you. Your chest feels tight, anxiety rising under your skin for some reason.

“I used to come out here when my dad would chew my ass out.” He rubs his face with the flat palms of his hands, eyes unfocused. “Fucking prick. This one time he made me take this stupid ass role in this stupid ass play and I didn’t even wanna be in and I totally blew that shit. Just fucked up all my lines right on show night. Man, he let me have it.”

You feel your breath stuck in your chest at the sudden venting. Venting about his father, no less. It was sudden, unwarranted. He was opening up to you all on his own without prompting.

“What happened?” The cigarette still burns, a red glowing halo.

He shrugs, tosses a rock from the floor and bounces it off the wall across the room mindlessly. “I don’t know. I didn’t even want to be there so when I saw all those people just staring at me- I don’t know. They were laughing at me and I just totally froze up.”

You could picture it if you really tried. Nathan, younger and anxious, locked up on stage with a sea of eyes all glued to him. Muscle memory and rehearsed lines vanishing in the blink of an eye. Pity grows in your gut.

Pity, and understanding. Your own memories of being younger, up on stage in front of countless people watching your every move flare up in your mind. Your mother was raised in pageantry and made damn sure you would be the same despite your complaints.

“I can’t imagine you in a play.” You admit quietly. He snorts.

“I couldn’t either. But that doesn’t matter, does it?” He huffs. “Always pushing me into shit I don’t want to do because I'm a Prescott and it’s apparently my job. He even made me sign up for the football and get this-” He turns to face you with a harsh expression. “I didn’t fucking cut it!”

You tilt your head. “Didn’t cut it?”

“Nope! Didn’t fucking make tryouts. But thank god my dad was there to buy my way in, right?”

“You couldn’t say no?” You ask, even though you already know the answer. The picture he’d painted of his father was growing clearer by the second.

“I said no probably a thousand times. Still joined.”

Your heart falls for him, sinks into your stomach as his walls visibly come down around him. He’s bare, vulnerable.

“My mom always made me enter beauty pageants as a kid.” You blurt with a dry throat. “I uh-... I remember being up on stage with a face full of makeup feeling uglier than sin. Bunch of grown ass adults judging every micro movement I made. Really did a number on how I see myself now.”

“You ever win?” He asks.

You stare into the ever burning cigarette. “No.”

“Never?”

You shake your head. “Never. My mom stopped enrolling me after I almost threw up on stage.” He raises a brow, and you sigh. “I had the flu and she made me go up anyway. Show had to go on. But… She was done after that. Never even really wanted to talk about it anymore, either. I feel like I really disappointed her but at least it was over, I guess.”

Nathan stares into his lap. After a beat of silence, he says, “My sister used to be into all that Little Miss America shit.”

Your view of him and his world grows a little wider. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

He nods dully. “Yeah. She’s out in Brazil. Got sick of my dad and went to go find herself or some shit.” His voice is tense, sarcastic with just a hint of something deeper. Hurt.

“Do you still talk to her?”

“Sometimes.” He bites at his lip. “She talks to me, but-... I don’t know. She always wants me to get into her self-help crap and it’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

You shift your weight. “Not even interested in trying?”

He scoffs. “If my shrink can’t even figure my shit out, what the fuck is Brazil gonna’ do for me?”

“Getting away from your dad.” You answer bluntly, and he grimaces like he knew that’s what was coming. “Getting away from all this pointless shit.”

“Well if I was gonna’ bounce it wouldn’t be there.”

“Where would you go?”

Nathan looks at you. Though it’s quick, fleeting, you see something in his eyes. Reflection. Wonder, even. Then he’s back to stone and shoving your question away with a half-assed shrug.

Before you can open your mouth to press a little harder, keep that same energy he’d been so kind to offer, he’s knitting his brows and staring at the cigarette you’d kept so safe and unsmoked in your fingers. He sighs. “You gonna’ smoke that or just let it burn?”

You jump a little. For a moment, you’d entirely forgotten it was there. For such a little stick of paper and herb, it felt awfully intimidating in your grasp. The smoke teased your senses, made your eyes water just a little. With a small, anxious swallow, you let out a soft breath.

Fuck it, you think to yourself.

You suck at the end and watch the red halo burn into a rush of red as thick smoke fills your mouth. Blowing the smoke out into the cramped room, you cock your head. No coughing, no ache in your chest. Just the rough taste of tobacco. Not what you’d been expecting in the slightest.

Nathan laughs at you.

“What?” You ask, knitting your brows together.

“You have to actually smoke it, you know.” He snickers. “Like, breathe it in.”

You frown, cheeks reddening. “I just did.”

“No, you have to breathe it. Into your lungs.”

So, you try again. A little less nervy this time. You drag the cigarette up to your lips and suck, feeling the same flood of smoke fill your mouth. But, this time, you breathe into your waiting lungs, expecting it to be just the same as before. Oh, how wrong you were.

The very instant you heave in that breath, the smoke assaults your lungs and you’re sent into an instant coughing fit. It burns, it feels like it shreds your chest and throat, heaving coughs striking you as you struggle to get in another breath of air. Bursts of gray sputter from your lips like a broken tail pipe. Every breath hurts and your eyes water, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. For a moment, it feels as though you’d never get your breath back.

A flash of white blinds you for a second, another sense grabbing your attention. The mechanical sound of his camera reaches you as he prints a picture and shakes it to develop.

“You fucker-” You struggle to speak, gasping for air. “T-Throw it Away-!”

Nathan just plucks the cigarette from your fingers, pockets the picture and laughs even as you shake your head. “Gotta make sure we keep the memory!”

“I feel like this is a blackmail moment.” You manage. You could only imagine what the picture looked like- you in all your virgin-lunged glory, red faced, puffy cheeks with billows of smoke entombing you.

You’re still steadying your breath when Nathan plucks the cigarette from your fingers and draws in an effortless hit. It’s like he’s doing it to tease you- straight faced and lax meanwhile you were pawing away the tears in your eyes with heavy lungs. The settling never comes, your breath never fully returns from its shaky state, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s due to the hide-out being now chock full of thick, swirling gray. It takes a lot to ignore his snickering when you’re bounding off your ass and heading for the door.

Cold air hits you like a bolt and slices through the assault in your chest. Finally, finally you suck in a full breath of precious air. The door swings open, then shut, and Nathan’s beside you once more.

“Gonna’ make it?” He asks without bothering to hide the snark in his tone.

“I think so.”

“How’s it feel to lose your cig virginity?” He asks, grinning slyly.

“It feels like lung cancer.” You answer flatly.

Nathan shrugs. “It gets easier.”

You’re about to answer, but you’re stopped at the sudden bellowing song of a train's horn. It echoes from the distance, grabs both of your attention. A train barrels past through the valley of the trash, only mere yards away. It scares you for only a moment before you’re enamored in the colossal machine. Rocks and pebbles bounce to life as it hauls past.

“Sweet,” You say breathlessly, watching metal and graffiti blur by. “I knew the tracks were close, but I didn’t realize it cuts right through here.”

Something draws you closer, and you follow it like a moth to flame. Eventually you’re so close, daring to inch a few feet away, the colossal beast howling in your ears.

The wind picks your hair and clothes up, flutters it around you and has you closing your eyes as it rips past. It’s like nothing you’d ever felt before- a certain ring of adrenaline. You don’t notice it when Nathan snaps yet another unsuspecting photo of you, but you do notice the bullseye of the camera staring right back at you when you open your eyes. You also notice the expression on Nathan- one you hadn’t seen yet. Focused, and yet, softer than that. Fondness, almost. All aimed directly at you. It’s when he realizes you’re looking that you physically see his edges reharden. He straightens his back and blinks at you.

“Another picture?” You shout over the deafening noise.

“Can’t waste a good opportunity.” He calls back, very of matter of factly, but you see the way he swipes the picture from his camera and drinks the sight in. You can tell the shot must have been a good one with the satisfied nod he gives subconsciously.

The train is gone just as quickly as it came. It bellows in the distance as it disappears, taking the serene moment with it. Suddenly, once more, the world grows silent.

“How do I look?” You reach out to grab the picture but he’s quick to swipe it from your grasp, rears back and crams it in his pocket. A frown draws over your lips.

“Like shit,” He snarks. “That’s going on a christmas card for sure.”

You’d hoped he’d give you a passing glance given you were the subject but clearly he had no intentions of that, the photo long since disappearing in his jacket with the ongoing collection of pictures he’d snapped so far. It eats at you, in a way. Worries you. You knew his snark- surely you couldn’t look that bad. But…

What if you truly did look awful? You were never a fan of having your photo taken- always felt so awkward and out of place. So forced. You hated the idea of existing there in his pocket, or potentially in some binder, forever ugly and immortalized.

But then you remind yourself how he’d gazed at the picture with such softness, like it was perfect from top to bottom. A certain passing glance of appreciation you never knew you craved.

Birds sing overheard, the clouds lazily draft by the sun just enough for a chill to creep up your spine. For a lingering moment, the two of you just stare off into the endless blue. But then that moment too, passes. You grow cold- you clutch your arms and goosebumps ride a shiver that tingles its way up your spine.

“I’m going back in.” You say. Nathan perks up, haloed by his cigarette’s trail of smoke.

Despite the brick walls, the hide-out offers little warmth, but it’s enough. While you linger, he finds his spot once more wordlessly, languidly falls back against the wall and slides down until he’s nestled in his spot like he’d done it a million times before. He probably has, now that you think about it. He’d probably spent years in that exact spot, drawing on gritty walls and smoking the whole plot out. It makes you think about him and his past, what was once a blank canvas in your mind slowly adorning strokes of color and painting the picture that was Nathan Prescott. He draws in a hit of his cigarette and tips his head back to sigh it back out. You wished, in that moment, you had a camera of your own. You want this version of him to stay.

It sort of does, in a way. For that day at least.

Because time drew on just like that- tossing bottles at the rubbly ground to see if they’d break or bounce, Nathan burning through his sticks of tobacco and you refusing with every passing offer. The sun hangs heavy on invisible strings and lowers to the treeline, peaks through the splintered roof and stripes gold along his pale skin. You both talk about nothing and everything. At one point, you make a joke, and he laughs. Not a snarky, bitter laugh. Real, deep in his chest. A hearty sound that lanced through you like lightning and settled in your gut with a truly pitted realization: you’d give anything to hear more of that.

You’re both so enthralled in each other's presence that you barely register the way the sky had melted from a bright blue, into a purple and red haze glowing hot over the horizon. Crickets sing in place of the birds, a crisp breeze picks up once more, reminds you that it’s getting late. Though it pains you, you’re the first to call it a day by standing up and stretching your arms high overhead. You don’t miss the way Nathan’s shoulders slump just a little- just enough when you grab the bat and hoist it over your shoulders. He’s reluctant, doesn’t move until you nudge his foot with your own, and even then he moves so slowly you can’t help but wonder if he’s stalling.

“Got places to be?” He grunts, standing and grabbing his camera.

“Sure do.” You follow his saunter out of the hide-out. “In my room, in bed.”

“Seriously? It’s barely even 8.”

“Gives me more time to think of why I ditched class today.”

Nathan gives you a sideways glance, guiding you through the junkyard. “I got one. It’s called not giving a shit.”

Easy to say when you don’t have to worry about your future. You think. But then, you kick yourself mentally, because you know that’s not true. You know he worries- now more than ever. You press your lips into a tight line all the way to Nathan’s truck. Always the gentleman, the boy opens the door for you and motions for you to hop in.

His driving is just as reckless back as it is on the way to the junkyard, giving you the urge to grab the handle on the door to brace yourself. The camera in your lap is heavy and you can’t help but want to fidget with it. So, naturally, you do. You can’t help picking it up and pawing at it like an uncultured beast.

“Break it, you buy it.” He says nonchalantly, and you cringe. Thing probably costs more than your life was worth.

Upclose, you can see just how many buttons and dials cover all the settings. It feels more like a computer than a camera, the high technology of it making you worry the slightest mistake would have it glitching out in your hands. It makes sense- of course Sean Prescott would ensure Nathan had nothing but the best. Or maybe, Nathan had bought it himself with his old, old money. It probably wasn’t even a splurge, just a simple staple of their lifestyle.

You glance over at him, the pompous heir. He’s drawn another cigarette and it rests between his lips, left arm slung out the window. Your eyes follow the shape of him, his broad shoulders down to his right hand wrapped around the steering wheel. The way the sun graces the outline of him captivates you. This time, you do have a camera.

“How do you work this?” You ask, pressing a random button. The camera lights to life in your hands.

Nathan, without looking over at you, says, “You press the button, that’s how.”

“Awesome.” You can see him through the little digital screen. He looked beautiful, picture perfect. The ocean makes a wonderful landscape. Your finger dances over the countless buttons, and then, click. The camera shutters and in the blink of an eye Nathan glares at you so sharply you wonder if it gave him whiplash. All his attention is ripped from the road and funnels onto you and that damned camera. It spits out a photo and drops into your lap.

“What the fuck,” He huffs, swipes hands on the steering wheel and swipes at the picture. “Don’t fuck around with that thing!”

You pull the picture away from his grabbing hand, grinning. “Nope! This one’s all mine!”

“It’s my camera, dipshit.”

“Too bad. Wanna trade? You can give up the one of me smoking.”

“That one’s mine, too. Now hand it over.

You pretend to give it some thought. Let him marinade while you hold the picture just barely out of his wiry grasp.

“I’ve given it some thought, and, well…” You sigh dramatically. “No.”

“You fucking bitch.” He shakes his head and grits his teeth. “What for? Huh? Gonna show it off to all your little friends?”

You open your mouth to retort, but then you stop for a beat.

Friends.

“First of all, what friends?” You scoff. “Second of all, it’s a good photo! You should be thanking me. I even got Arcadia Bay in the background. It’s gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous.” Nathan rolls his eyes. “Where? Behind all the drug dealers and phony ass hipsters?

“Nathan, you’re a drug dealer.”

He eyes you. “Still stands.”

Your eyes fall, voice softening. “Arcadia Bay is pretty.”

You don’t see it, but he tosses his attention to the water spanning broad over the evening horizon. “I guess the water’s not too bad.” He admits. It’s enough to perk you up, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

By the time he turns off the coastal road to something more winding, it’s well past curfew. In the forefront you see the looming building of Blackwell return to your vision. Your stomach sinks just a little realizing the day truly was coming to an end. He turns off to the dorms and nearly whips into the parking lot before he slams the breaks, white knuckling the steering wheel. You lurch forward in your seat at the sudden stop- grabbing hard onto the camera so it can’t go plundering to your feet.

“Dude! What?” You huff.

“Madison- that fucking freak!” Nathan sneers with narrowed eyes. You glance over the stretching parking lot and feel a pit settle in your gut at the sight of Madison standing at the boys dorm entrance, arms crossed and standing tall as ever. You knew exactly what he was looking for, and it was sitting right beside you.

“Fuck, we’re way past curfew. He’s gonna ream us.” You murmur.

Nathan chews at his lip, drills his foot onto the gas and speeds past the boys dorm and towards the girls. “If he’s gonna stalk my ass, at least be subtle about it. Fuck it. I’ll just drop you off and crash at some friends.”

“Stay at mine.” You’re blurting out the words before you can even stop yourself. So quick it shocks you.

“What now?” He turns his entire body to you, seemingly just as surprised.

You nervously fidget with your fingers, swallowing hard and scrambling for a way to explain yourself that didn’t show your obvious desperation. “What, do I not fit the ‘some friend’ criteria?”

“You’re inviting me in?” He raises a brow. “Last time you couldn’t get me out fast enough.”

Last time. You remember it in flashes- being backed into the corner of your own dorm and witnessing first hand Nathan’s flashes of raging emotions. Feeling the full brunt of him box you in, nowhere to go. You remembered how terrifying he has been.

And how exhilarating it had felt.

You swipe your tongue over your lips. “I’ve slept in your room how many times now? I’d feel like kind of a piece of shit if I didn’t offer you this solid.”

Nathan eyes you suspiciously, a look you’ve come quite familiar with. But then it softens. “I mean, if you insist. Better not get all weird on me, though. No drinks, and minute I start feeling dizzy it’s over.”

“Jesus christ.” You grunt with a sharp eye roll, masking your relief. “Now why the hell would I need to do all that?”

“I dunno. I don’t know what weird shit you’ve got going on there.”

“Homework and self loathing.”

Nathan snickers. “Then honestly, I think I prefer the roofies.”

You shove his arm and he laughs again, pulls into a parking space in the far corner of the lot and rolls the windows shut. Quick thoughts pester at you, poke at your brain and bounce off your thick dome of a skull.

What if someone sees him? There were already so many rumors floating through the narrow half of Blackwell, your name echoed and drug through the mud with every passing day. It was new to you- a strange form of popularity. It made you want to bury your head, go back to the days before college where you were a proper nobody with nothing to offer to anyone except a few sarcastic zingers here and there from the back of the class. It was easier back than.

You chew at your lip in thought.

It was strange to have your own name tossed back at you from total strangers. Back in highschool you worked hard to withhold a reputation that was held deep below the radar. Quiet, unintrusive. Nothing to see or hear. The lack of attention was lonely, sure, but it was worth it when you saw what happened to the few friends you had with louder prescenses. There was safety in the isolation. You’d witnessed vulgar names scribbled on their lockers, their papers smacked from their hands in the hallways. Always had to watch over their backs simply because they had a voice and the heart to do something with it. Despite the raging seas behind your eyes, you kept yourself so at bay that you lacked any depth at all to the observing eye.

But, from your very core, you were nothing if not a bitter, repressed spectator.

So now you had no idea how to navigate these murky waters. If not for Nathan, you’d be lost floating in the void that was the first stages of social suicide. Outcast from your friend group, a vicious sexual rumor. To know it was all founded on lies made you want to tear out your hair.

But, you didn’t. You barely even barked let alone bit and then you let Nathan handle it- and he did it with ease. Vindictive, impulsive and brazen ease. You knew it the day you saw him fighting out in the school's parking lot, and you still knew it now: He was a force to be reckoned with.

And you were sitting in his truck, inviting him into your room. And he accepted.

So maybe, truly, nothing else mattered but that.

You watch Nathan mindlessly as he pulls his keys from the ignition and leans on the steering wheel before he grabs a small shoulder bag from his back seat. After fishing the pictures out from his pocket, he tosses them in the bag alongside his camera.

The trip to your dorm went smoother than you’d thought. You’d guided him to the far side of the building where your trusty window remained open, barely open enough to notice but the perfect amount of room for you to wiggle your fingers into the opening and haul it up. You crawled in, dragged Nathan and his lanky limbs through, and made your way to your room. To your shock. Nathan took the lead. Led the path to your own room and leaned on the frame waiting for you like he’d done it a million times before.

The moment you unlocked the door, he was shoving inside with no hesitation as if he owned the place. He takes in the state of your room, immediately judging you. There was an unmade bed, and a few posters on the wall. A TV mounted on a shitty little coffee table against the wall across from your bed and a small computer desk that held your cheap laptop in its wooden hands. A pile of clothes rests in a tipped over hamper, a cluster of papers scatter over a nightstand, some laying discarded on the floor. You own a single stuffed animal and it sits in proud display among your crumpled blankets- a little brown teddy.

What a mess.

“Wow.” He says flatly. You swallow.

“I haven't had a lot of time to clean.” You say quickly. “And to be honest, I’ve been fucking exhausted.”

“It’s better than last time. Less crackden and more of a… Slightly better crackden.” He grins. “A crack home.”

The scoff that leaves you doesn't go unnoticed by him.

Nathan makes quick work to start sorting through nearly everything you owned after he sets his bag down at the edge of your bed. The first victim was your nightstand, to which he rudely ripped the drawer open and began pawing through the random items you'd tossed in. Half empty packs of gum and crumpled receipts were swiped to the side to reveal even more junk. Next was your computer- the mouse being jostled to spring your screen to life.

Luckily there wasn’t anything too tantalizing- just the home screen of Blackwell's online site and a few youtube tabs. In that moment you realized this was simply a taste of your own medicine- payback for you dragging his glove box open and sorting through his shit like you didn’t have a care in the word. Turns out, he was right. It is pretty violating.

There’s a moment where you almost stop him when he plucks the stuffed bear from your bed. Your hand moves at your side just barely, just enough for him to see.

“What are you, five?” He snorts.

You frown.

“It’s, uh… My grandpa’s. He gave it to me before he died, and I didn’t feel right tossing it.”

It’s shocking when Nathan pauses at that. You fully expected him to laugh at you, toss it to the floor, do something just so painfully and evilly him, but… He doesn’t. He looks at you with a blank expression and then eyes the bear, gives it a subtle squeeze before he’s tossing it back on the blankets without a word. The mental image of his definitely existing heart grows larger in your mind. The canvas in your mind earns another stroke of vibrant color.

“Well now, what do we have here?” A stack of movies by the tv catches his eyes. He fingers through the stack, which is comprised of a few horror movies and early 2000’s comfort shows. “Didn’t know you were into slashers.”

You shrug. “You never asked.”

Before you know it, he’s standing and tossing a DVD case onto the bed. Scream 2.

“Put it on.” He damn near demands, and if you weren’t already a little excited at getting some movie-time in, you’d have wanted to smack him upside the head. But, alas. Scream 2 is too good of a movie to pick a fight over, and you also don’t know if you’ll get this chance with him again. You’re almost positive that watching a movie with Nathan isn’t exactly a commonplace in Aracdia Bay.

While you’re getting the movie started on the tv, he’s busy behind you making sure to get nice and comfortable in your bed. He even takes his shoes off and tucks himself under the blankets, and you try to not zero-in on the fact that he’s getting his outside clothes all over your washed sheets. He probably wouldn't even give a shit if you did fuss. The animal.

But you can’t deny the buzzing thrill you feel under your skin when you settle in beside him, keeping plenty of room for jesus. This was different then the other times you’d slept side by side. This was something… Softer. Something more intimate in a way that almost made you so nervous your stomach was churning. This time, relaxing together, enjoying a nice movie and warm blankets, it was all intentional and wanted. No anger, no bitterness.

But then you remember how, even with all that, you’d woken up with him wrapped so tightly around you that one morning it was hard to breathe. His fingers pressed into your skin, his face nuzzled so perfectly in the crook of your neck. The morning sun warmed your skin. It felt like how a painting looked- so perfect in every little detail. It almost felt like a dream.

With each passing adventure, you grew to accept that somehow life was determined to draw you two together, even despite the different worlds you lived in. Though the battle was hard, you felt like you were winning, worlds bleeding into each other just right.

You’d made it out of the woods and into that beautiful, scorching sun.

The movie starts, and you both seem to let yourself melt into it.

-----

You hadn’t realized you fell asleep until a loud, shrill scream rips you from your slumber.

Your stomach plummets into your guts, heart thrashing in your chest, damn sure that someone must be getting sliced and diced somewhere in the halls. But instead of a gruesome blood bath seeping under the crack of your door, you’re instead met with your TV screen. The color floods the room, basking it in disorienting waves of red as some poor woman on screen chopped to bits. You rub at your eyes and wipe away the dreariness before you start rummaging through the blankets to find the remote. You don’t find the remote, but you do find Nathan.

He’s out cold, passed the hell out on his back with his arm thrown over his face and everything. The steady rise and fall of his chest helps your heart rate fall back down to where it belongs, your nerves beginning to settle. You peek around the edge of the bed, wondering if maybe it’d toppled onto the floor. Once again you find something else- this time in the shape of a bag. It lays on its side, items scattered about haphazardly. You realize you must have kicked his bag off during your minor fit, so begrudgingly you drag the warm blankets from your legs and let yourself sink to the floor.

The thought of rummaging through Nathan’s personal goods doesn’t even strike you until you pick up a plastic bottle, bright orange with a little white label. Diazepam. Another little bottle catches your eye and you grab it, too, without shame. Risperidone. You hadn’t heard of the second, but you had heard of the first. A sedative, you were pretty sure. Your heart falls just a little even though you knew you shouldn’t be shocked. This was Nathan, afterall. Dude has problems. You knew he was seeing a psychiatrist, but for some reason you hadn’t considered him medicating himself. You wondered if it was his choice or his dad’s, a desperate attempt to regain control over his son.

You tuck the bottles into his bag and try to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest. The rest of the contents were to be expected- his keys, some receipts, a little baggy with a few unlabeled pills and then of course his trusty cigarettes. You’re about to zip the bag back up when something slightly under the bed catches your eyes.

Photos. Quite a few of them too- a small pile of outside shots. The first few were shattered glass and the unfortunate remains of the day you two had had. And then two more.

The first polaroid is exactly what you were afraid of: you, wrapped in a veil of smoke, eyes squeezed shut all red-faced and sputtering. It was everything you had been afraid of since the moment you saw the flash go off. You’re so tempted to tear it to shreds but you refrain- long enough to take note of the other picture. It’s heavy in your fingers, eyes scanning over the image before you.

It punches the air from your lungs.

It’s you, again. But it was different this time. Your hair flows around your head like a crown, the train blurring by grabbing leaves and wind. Your clothes ruffle as it drags by. The photo he’d taken at the junkyard. It was perfect, the composition just right and the timing impeccable. And you. You never considered yourself on the pretty side of the scale, but you couldn’t stop the wonder that struck you staring down at that picture.

You never looked so beautiful. You looked so alive.

Your eyes travel up the side of the bed, where you peek at Nathan, this man you let into your room and welcomed into your bed. The stark contrasts of him between things not exactly inherently good or bad. His eye for perfection, his urges to destroy. Between the drugs and the outlandish ability to make you see yourself as something worth photographing for the first time in your life. How he cursed at you with every other word but insisted on keeping this little laminated version of you close to him.

The garrish, raging fire inside of him with a soft, blue core.

Quickly, you tuck the photos back into the bag. Even the ugly one, that suddenly doesn't seem so ugly anymore. You pick the bag up and set it on the nightstand, revealing the remote. You can’t help but laugh. It really did feel like the world was aligning to draw you closer to him- like not falling in love with him wasn’t an option anymore.

The bed is more than welcoming when you crawl back in. He’s so warm beside you, and even warmer when he subconsciously wraps himself around you. Your heart stutters, breath caught in your throat. It’s just like the other morning in his dorm, caged against him like a willing bird. He hums breaths onto your neck. His heart beats rhythmically against your back. It’s perfect, and you sink into him like you were meant for it. Like two little puzzle pieces with frayed edges planted into the wrong sets.

Like even if the words hadn’t been said, you were his lover. His girl.

#life is strange #nathan prescott #lis nathan prescott #nathan prescott x reader #grazing the fire

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shushposting · 5 months

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I can be your Prince or I can be your Dragon

Possessive Full Demon Form Vox, intersex Val, toxic relationships because Vox and Val being Vox and Val, they’re so codependent it's disgusting can you have make up sex and hate sex at the same time? Yeah kind of.

Valentino stays gone too long after a fight, Vox doesn’t handle it well

It’s a dance at this point, well practiced and predictable. They fight, they break apart, they fuck, and the broken pieces fit back together. It didn’t matter how many times they stormed out they always always came back.

But even the most practiced dances stumble sometimes, right?

Valentino had walked out of the Vees tower two weeks ago. The longest he's ever stayed away in all their years of euphoric highs and sickening lows. Any attempt Vox made to contact him was ignored. Texts left on read, calls dumped to Vmail, assistants baring messages and gifts shot and left wherever they crumpled. That was the first week and by the tenth day, the texts and calls stopped.

After that, it got more drastic. TVs in the hotels he stayed or in window displays where Valentino walked on the streets burst. Voxtek appliances shorted and sparked or just combusted once he touched them. Lights shattered in his clubs, showering him with sparks and colored glass.

The moth’s last frayed nerve snapped when the next casualty was his phone. He'd only glanced at a text from Velvette that he needed to haul ass back home before every contact and app changed to Vox's speed dial.

Vox vox voxxy V̸̨̊o̶̺͛ ̴̀ͅxv̴̎͜o̸̰̐x̵̢̚x̶̡̒v̴̙̕oVox ̷̬́x̸̪̊ẍ̵͎v̷̱̍ȏ̶̧x̶̄͜Y̴̞̚v̸̟̓Ǒ̸͎X̴̞̍V̸̄͜ö̸̟́X̴̫̀vXY̸͌ͅo̵͖̓Ơ̶̯0̴̡͂0̸͕͘x̶̉͜

The thing rapidly heated and glitched in his hand until the screen cracked. He'd just barely managed to throw it down before it shattered apart with a sharp pop!

Under threat of being sent back to the goddamn stone age Valentino finally relents, he tells Dia to call his car for him and thankfully she's able to do it with minimal static and sparking around the phone. The car was suspiciously close, too close for it to not have been waiting on standby for him. It's not his usual driver who opens the door for him, it's Vox's and he's not asked where it is he wants to go. He swears he sees Vox's eye staring at him in the driver's V-Watch through the partition the whole way back to the tower.

The walk to the media overlord's surveillance room is.. honestly a shitshow. Vox's area of the tower was always pristine, sleek, and perfect. Now it looks like a war zone, with pieces of employees and debris scattered along the floor. Lights hang from their fixtures in ugly wirey tangles, ceiling tiles broken on the floor, elevator doors stand jarred between floors, doors not able to close properly and ding obnoxiously. One shudders to life and opens for him, the light overhead indicating the destination was Vox's lair.

It's not a smooth ride but it doesn't drop him to a temporary death either. Small mercies. It does leave him though, the second he steps into Vox's private space the thing slams shut behind him and groans back up the chute, stranding him.

Wires and cables writhe like snakes along the floor, the ceiling, and walls; all feeding back to the bank of monitors. Vox's highbacked chair was in a gnarled heap, torn from where it had been fastened to the floor, more wires coming up from the hole it had left. The TV demon himself hung in front of the screens, the cables connected to his body holding him aloft like a puppet. Or maybe he was just standing. It was hard to tell with Vox's disjointed limbs, too-long cables and wires lengthening his joints like some grotesque doll. And he said Val was theatric.

Valentino's own reflection looks out from the screens. Recordings and still shots of him over the last two weeks cover every monitor. In his clubs, hotels, the street, looking up at him from his phone before the damn thing detonated. Right in front, the one Vox was fixated on, was the live feed of him standing there in the here and now.

"And you get mad at me for wrecking shit?" Val says to his partner's back- might as well get this shit started "I take a siesta and you trash the whole tower while I'm out."

"G⦻N3" The glitched snarl seemingly comes from everywhere as the screens go red, Vox's black-ringed hypnotic stare broadcast across each one, glaring down at him "Not 'out'. You were gone."

A sneer pulls Valentino's upper lip off his teeth "Oh excuse me, I didn't know I had a fucking curfew."

"Two weeks" In a surging wave of sparking cables Vox is in his face, bodily slamming him against the wall.

"Ow- Goddammit, Vox-"

"You left me." Vox's claws fist into the ruff around his partner's neck as wires wrap painfully around him, sparks of electricity singing the fur. "For two weeks. You. Left. Me."

"Oh poor fucking baby," Valentino growls through a mocking grin, sucking in the electrical smoke and hissing it back out red and thick, cocooning around them as his body threatens to change, to grow monstrous in the face of Vox's own more demonic form even if it makes the wires cut into his skin.

They snarl and growl in static glitches and insectoid chirps, pushing and pulling at each other with too-sharp claws. Val's teeth grow in his mouth, snapping loud in front of Vox's screen when the hypnotic stare tries too obviously to catch his eye.

"You want to bite me? Here-" Vox's throat is suddenly right in his face, synthetic skin pressing against sharp dripping fangs. The hold feels suspiciously like a hug, cradling the back of Valentino's head as he tucks him into the crook of his neck, offering to let him bite and rip. "-bite. I don't give a fuck if we're fighting. Scream. Cuss me out. Hit me. Level this goddamn tower to a parking lot, Valentino I. Don't. Care. But you will fucking come home when I call you."

And fuck if that horrible- pathetic- declaration doesn't have Valentino's hips rolling up against Vox's leg where it pins him between his legs and takes the invitation to break skin under his teeth. "You miss me that bad, Papi?"

Vox's groan is miserable and angry, the cables writhing and tightening around Valentino's limbs, but he grinds his own aggression-hardened cock down to meet his partner's rolling. "You're not supposed to stay gone."

Electricity crawls across his skin as he lets go of Valentino's neck fluff to forcefully lace their hands together. The moth retaliates against the shocks by moving to the TV demon's shoulder and sinking his teeth in there too. Their hips slot together, rocking their cocks against each other, Valentino's pink-tinged slick dampening the panties under his short dress and the front of Vox's slacks. Finally back in step with their dance.

"We have a goddamn deal, Val." The surging electricity burns them both, smoke wafting off Valentino's fur and from Vox's overloaded processors. Burns down their arms, raising lighting-shaped marks to their joined hands where rings manifest around their fingers, the delicate chain joining them unseen between their clasped palms. "We don't leave each other. You don't leave me."

Valentino laughs bratty and condescending, breathing more red into the air around them, "Maybe if you reminded me more often why I shouldn't then I wouldn't have to take a two-week vacation fucking and getting fucked like I deserve. You've not really been acting like my prince have you? I thought I was supposed to be your Princesa?"

The eyes watching him from all over the room spark and glare and threaten to drip digital tears. His poor, hopeless little Voxxy. His ingrained 1950s ego was too fragile to even insinuate he wasn't doing enough, wasn't The Man, wasn't the steadfast and proper provider. That he was failing as a lover. Vox's screen flashes lines of rainbow before going blue, white text typing out frantically

Mine. Mine minemiN3youucaN'+1eavemme3y0u're MmineCaNT13avemem1n3on1ymine

Vox tears through his fishnets and raises bloody lines on his thigh as he pulls Valentino's leg up to hook over his hip. The cables tighten and yank sharply, taking them down to the floor. He's not easy either when he goes up under the tight little skirt, blindly slitting the soaked panties straight down the middle, not minding whether or not he nicks his partner. The grinding, insectoid hiss tells him he must have and the thick cherry scent of Valentino's pheromones flooding the air tells him he liked it.

Finally, some attention. The moth rolls his hips against the sharp points making them slide and rub over his cunt, teasing himself as an obscene gush of candy pink slick coats the media overlord’s fingers and drips down his wrist. "Come on, Papi. I'm yours? Show me."

Vox's digital face loads back in sharp and snarling, bringing the fingers to his mouth, licking his fingers clean before grabbing Valentino by the jaw and spitting it back into his panting mouth "You taste like a whore, Princess."

He snaps his belt at the buckle, not bothering to try and undo it before tearing his zipper down. He doesn't tease or let his tip kiss up sweet and slow like he has for decades when they come back together and he's winning his princess back. The push is sharp and faster than either of them are ready for, fucking like they fought, full of snapping teeth and cutting claws. The media overlord is ruthless, thrusting hard enough that they slide across the floor. Valentino tears a bloody wrist out of the wires to press above them to keep his head from knocking against the wall, stilettos slipping loudly as he digs his heels into the polished floor trying to give just as good as he got.

"I'm going to kill every worthless nobody you let touch you." His voice crackles over the wet sound of driving himself into the moth's cunt, "Your pussy is mine. I don't give a fuck who you let suck you off or how many whores you stick your dick in. But this-" Two fingers slip in beside his cock, "is mine. Nobody else fucks you. I'm going to start hanging them flayed in the streets, do you understand me?"

Long tongue swiping at the drool and blood painting his lips Valentino arches up with a chuckling moan, gushing and dripping around Vox's cock. "Mmhm, medieval. My Prince knows how to make my heart flutter."

"Maybe I'm done being a prince." Vox leans all his weight into the hand laced with Valentino's with a static rumble, hilting hard until he can see the outline of himself through Valentino's belly with each deep stroke, "Maybe I need to be a dragon and keep my princess in his tower where he belongs. Keep you tied up in silks and jewelry until I get home and I can show you you're mine over and over and over. How many times do you think I would have to write 'mine' with my tongue inside you before you came?"

"Oh fuck- Vox"

"If that doesn't work I'm sure I can make a lock strong enough. Whatever it takes. What about this Val? Would this keep you?” There’s a whirr and a vibration pulses from his cock.

Valentino wails, hand leaving the wall and flying to the vibrating bump buried in his guts, feeling like it was jarring down to his bones and he gushes. “Vox Vo- Papi, please fuck”

“Say you’re mine, Val.” Vox growls, hips snapping faster, the hand tucked in beside his cock slipping out to hold him by the neck. “Tell me you know you’re mine.”

“Yours, Vox. Ah-always yours- only yours”

He pulls Valentino into a kiss by the throat, and they rut like that, rocking and shouting around each other’s tongue until the vibrations pushed them over the cathartic edge of orgasm.

The cables don’t loosen. Vox’s body doesn’t return to form.

“Val.” Static laced lips rub softly across the moth’s “If you ever leave me like that again I’m dragging you back to this tower and I’m chaining you to it.”

Valentino only laughs, long tongue dragging across the screen. “Wear the dragon attachment and it’s a date.”

#staticmoth #voxval #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #yall hungry? I'm hungry #the dragon thing has been knocking around in my head and I had to get it out #quick little dibble dabble drabble #they’re horrible #but oh so fun #dibble dabble drabble

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buckrogers · 5 months

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Sit With Your Ghosts A While by @buckrogers

Note: So, I initially started writing this while the celebration for 10 years of TWS was going on thinking I'd submit it, but then I found myself not really feeling the cohesion in the pieces, but I do still like them/it as vignette snapshots into Steve's life before Bucky's return/the events of TWS really kick off. So since it's just sitting there rotting away in my drafts, I figured I'd post it on my blog for what it is. Rating: Maybe just barely PG if you squint. Pairing: Steve/Bucky, Steve/Peggy allusions again if you squint Words: 1122

Steve's made a point not to talk with ghosts.

Not even ones in the shape of people he misses, the ache of their absence stretching out, unspooling endlessly before him.

It was a deal he made with himself after his ma had passed and everywhere around him, he could still feel her. Her presence lingering the way someone’s did when they'd just put their coat on and stepped outside.

Hey ma, he'd wanted to confide, to press comfort across that divide that had never seemed so distant, not to Steve, not after so many nights toeing the line between himself; hauled back at the precipice only by Bucky's fingers, curled around his thin wrist. His breath puffing hot against Steve’s skin, where he'd fallen asleep on watch.

You don't got to worry. You rest easy, okay.

II.

Sometimes, though, when the nights feel long enough - he lets the ghosts in.

He dreams of Bucky's bare back, the curve of it, the notch of each vertebra in his spine when he bent forward to unlace his boots that Steve had desperately wanted to reach out and trace but never dared to because it meant crossing that threshold, taking all that deep pressed longing Steve had woven into himself over the years and turning it loose, making it something tangible that they’d have had to figure out how to deal with back before either one of them had a clue.

About a lot, but especially about that.

I wanted to, he tells those eyes, when he conjures their likeness in the dark, caught in some complicated expression, a twist of frustration; all that banked affection he knew Buck held inside him bleeding through.

I'm sorry I didn't - I'm sorry I couldn't –

I should’ve reached further.

The ghost at the foot of his bed stays silent, expression unreadable in the early dawn light.

III.

He wakes to silence.

The hum of appliances. The kick of the radiator turning on. The near constant thrum of traffic outside his window.

The stutter-step of his own existence that feels so out of sync with all he remembers, like a lingering sourness in his mouth. It's a chemical burn, he can feel it peeling away layers, stripping him down the more time that passes.

Steve isn't sure what would be found if they dug right to the core of him.

Something frozen, he estimates. Frozen as the arm he pictures reaching for him from the bottom of a ravine, even after all this time.

IV.

There's a nurse living across the hall from him.

She puts herself in his path just frequently enough, wearing scrubs and balancing a basket of laundry on a hip that he lingers over whether to ask if she has time for coffee. It seems a simple enough gesture, one that speaks to the soul of a nurse’s son.

Bucky would’ve known how to go about it.

He'd’ve slipped into warm smiles and bedroom eyes without missing a beat. You gotta lay it on a little sweet, Stevie, chest puffed full of that ridiculous bravado that should have been too much but somehow swam perfect in the lines of his suit, twinkled in those grey blue eyes. Just enough to make 'em want to come back around for more but not so's much they get attached.

He can see Bucky at fifteen, at eighteen, cocky and assured, throwing wide grins over his shoulder at Steve.

Trouble is, he also sees Bucky as he was after Azzano. The dark circles gouged under his eyes. The haunted quality of the smiles he'd throw out, doing his level best to pretend everything was the way it used to be. Just fine pal, just fine.

Steve remembers the intensity of his eyes on him, after Peggy had walked out of the bar that night, wrapped in victory red.

He doesn't ask, in the end.

His smiles remain painfully constrained. Caged within the safe parameters of neighborly chitchat.

"Hey, Cap."

Rumlow's broad shoulders fill the doorway, members of the S.T.R.I.K.E team milling about behind him, waiting without being too obvious about it. They've changed out of their tactical uniforms, and Rumlow looks alarmingly casual without it.

"Taking the boys out for a post mission drink. Come take a load off, big guy."

Steve pauses with his hands on the locker door. He turns over the ramifications, searching for hidden pitfalls. There’s nothing. His smile almost stalls but finds a gear at the last minute. "Next time, fellas."

"Sure,” Rumlow taps the wall twice. “Next time."

He's not sure even he buys it as the truth.

VI.

"Surely you have better things to do with your evenings than spend them here."

Steve squeezes her hand gently. "What? And miss out on seeing my best girl? Not a chance."

Peggy’s eyes gleam at him, she’s having one of her good days. They’re focused. Sharp as a tack. "Hm,” she speculates openly and sets her hand over his. There’s a life lived in the lines on it, the fragile folds around her knuckles. "I have missed you so terribly."

"Well,” he musters, smiling to dampen the hurt, “I'm here now."

VII.

He finds himself pulled like an ocean tide to the museum, cap low over his head; hands tucked in jacket pockets, letting the sight of old friends looping on screen wash through him like a balm to the sleepless nights, the creeping awareness of moving with his back turned on time. It was a thought he'd had before, that he couldn't readjust himself to point in the right direction anymore; his true north was fixed.

It remained doggedly pointing behind him, like a shadow. (Like a ghost).

Tangled up in memories of Brooklyn summers and a familiar sly voice calling to him but stubbornly, firmly out of reach.

There's still enough here, wandering through a monument to his past; studying reels of old footage, that tether the hook beneath his rib; that call out to his bones.

Steve winds up staying a while.

VIII.

He dreams of monsters, swarming through a tear in the sky. Sees Tony Stark falling, endlessly plummeting toward the ground.

When he pries off the iron mask, Bucky is staring up at him, repeating his name and rank.

His lips are blue.

IX.

Fingers of dawn creep over the horizon, chasing down the sound of his footsteps.

There’s a solitude to running at this hour Steve appreciates, the world hushed at the precipice of the day, before all the ghosts are vanquished from their respective corners and put away to be dealt with later.

He doesn’t take his with him, but he knows they’ll keep.

Maybe, just maybe – he’ll sit with them a while, too.

#my stuff #things I write #otp: but i knew him

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coopigeoncoo · 1 year

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Hot Dish, Chapter 3: Save Room for Dessert

Chapter Links: One, Two, Three

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+

Tags: Sexual content, Exhibitionism, Chikan, Heavy Petting, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Safe Sex, Consentual Sex, Swearing, Romance, Soft Shigaraki, Posessive Shigaraki, Domestic fluff, Mutual Pining

---

Down on his luck and scrambling for survival, Shigaraki Tomura was just looking for a place to score a hot meal.

Instead, he ended up scoring a hot date.

--- "You want gravy?" You asked, waggling the ladle of onion sauce enticingly, some of it sloshing over the edge of the spoon and falling back into the pot with a wet squelch. Tomura glared at the chunky sauce disdainfully before closing his eyes and sighing.

"Whatever."

"Gravy it is!" You cheer, pouring the sauce over the meat patty before passing it to him. "There you go! A hunk of meat for my favorite hunk."

--- A slow, domestic romance between a volunteer at a soup kitchen and the newly destitute leader of a notorious villain organization.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to Ao3!

The doors of the soup kitchen were shut for the night, the last of the patrons filtering into the room. You scanned the faces of everyone lining up, a tiny spark of hope still burning in your chest, yearning for Tenko to be among them.

He wasn’t.

And at this point you didn’t know why you were still hoping for him to appear. It had been months since you’d last seen or spoken to Tenko; he’d disappeared entirely from his usual haunts and all your texts and calls were left unanswered. The last time you’d seen him he’d mentioned that an associate of his had gone missing and he was planning on leaving town to investigate. It was obvious from his reluctance to share major details of his life with you that he was tangled up in some illicit activities, so it was easy for your brain to conjure up a countless number of terrible fates that could have befallen him.

Maybe he was dead in a ditch somewhere with a bullet hole in the back of his head. Or hauled off to wherever his associate had been dragged to, never to be heard from again. He could be in jail. Or on the run.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to see you again.

It felt selfish to admit that thought hurt the most; that you were more upset at the idea of him ghosting you than you were of him actually being a ghost. But you were. The idea that he could willingly walk away from your burgeoning relationship without so much as a break up text really stung, especially since you had both been so serious about each other.

Your conversations had been filled with thoughts and plans for what a future together might look like; finishing college, finding a place together, what sort of appliances you wanted for your imaginary kitchen, and how chores would be divided. Tenko apparently hated folding clothes as much as he hated wearing them and was willing to trade just about any other job to get out of laundry duty. All those fanciful plans had been lovingly stacked up to make a foundation that had been toppled over night; and you now stood amongst their ruins, wondering what you could possibly do with a pile of broken dreams.

As much as you mourned the tentative future you had daydreamed about, you missed Tenko's presence all the more. You missed his touch, his sweet words, the pure adoration in his gaze, and the long talks you'd share as you walked aimlessly about the city. Being with him was so easy, so utterly effortless, that life without him seemed unbearably difficult.

You'd experienced heartbreak before, but none of those previous experiences had prepared you for the all-encompassing sorrow that filled in the cracks in your heart Tenko left behind. But you couldn't wallow in misery forever. Your final semester of college was already well underway, and you refused to falter now with your degree so close at hand. So you pushed all your sadness and hurt down as deep as you could and threw yourself into your studies, turning in papers double the minimum required length and crashing on the floor in your friends rooms after marathon study sessions so you wouldn't have to face sleeping alone in the bed that you and Tenko had shared.

During the first couple of weeks Tenko had been gone you’d picked up extra shifts at the soup kitchen, hoping to increase your chances of running into him once he got back into town. But eventually you’d been forced to drop back down to your normal shift schedule because the constant anxiety you felt waiting for him to walk through the door was wreaking havoc on your mental well-being. Even just being in the serving line, your favorite position to work, was causing you so much agitation that you’d asked to move into the back of the house to help with food preparation and clean-up instead.

But today one of the volunteers had called out and you’d been pulled from your back room sanctuary to once again take up your post dishing out dinner next to Kiyomi. Despite all the feelings of despair being back in the serving line stirred up, it was nice to have the opportunity to spend time with your friend again.

“I’m sorry he wasn’t here tonight, Sweetie,” Kiyomi said earnestly, scooping up a spoonful of peas for the last tray of the night.

“I wasn’t expecting anything different,” you sighed dejectedly, gazing out over the sea of heads belonging to tonight’s dinner crowd.

“Yeah, but it still sucks all the same.”

“It does,” you acknowledge quietly, pinching the inside of your elbow to keep from crying. “It really does.”

I’m sorry if these texts are bothering you.

But it makes me feel better to send them. So you know that I’m thinking of you.

I’m just so worried that something might have happened to you.

So even if you’re totally okay and just- not coming back, could you let me know that you’re okay? Just send me a quick text back.

Or one of those awful dog memes you love.

Never thought I would miss those dog memes, but here I am!

What have you done to me?

Even if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I still want you to be alright.

I care about you.

Text me if you get this.

I miss you.

I wonder if, wherever you, you’re missing me too.

I hope so.

Is that selfish of me? It probably is.

Ojljflasdkjlllllllhasodhf

Sorry! That was a butt text.

I’m graduating soon.

My family can’t make it.

I’ll leave you a ticket at will-call.

I hope you can come.

Seeing you again would be the best gift in the world.

It’s a really nice night out.

It would have been great to go on a walk with you.

Even though your legs are too long and I always have to rush to keep up.

I’m packing up stuff in my dorm room and like, there’s just so much dust somehow?

Just big, huge piles of it every couple of feet.

It’s so weird.

Well, I’m a graduate now.

I thought I would feel different somehow? Older? More adult?

But I’m just sad.

I moved back in with my parents last week while most of my friends are moving away for their jobs. I feel like I’m getting left behind.

Again.

I hate feeling like this.

I know it’s just temporary, but I feel like an absolute failure.

Ugh.

Do me a favor and delete these messages if you get them. I can’t stand how whiney I am today.

I guess I should probably send out some resumes soon.

I don’t want to move though. I have so many memories here.

But I guess the good thing about memories is that you take them with you, no matter where you go.

Maybe it would be good to get away.

To start fresh somewhere.

Oh god.

I think my parents are having sex.

I can hear them through the walls.

Definitely sending out resumes tonight- I have to get out of this house.

OH GOD

AFTER I FIND MY HEADPHONES

what to mix w vodka

how tostop being sad after a breakup

dose orang juice stain??

Sorry for all the late texts last night.

Drunk me thought this was a search engine.

I hope I didn’t bother you.

I still miss you.

Moving home had been the obvious choice considering you were currently unemployed and your student housing agreement expired the moment you walked across the stage and accepted your diploma. Your roommate had ended up failing her final semester and you had a nagging suspicion she did it intentionally to push back having to sort through all of her accumulated junk for another year.

It was humbling, hauling boxes back into the tiny room that you had proudly marched out of four years before, convinced that you were on the fast track to adulthood. But here you stood again, years later, trying to come to terms with the fact that your road to success was less like the Autobahn and more like a go-kart circuit; slower than you wanted and constantly looping you back to the starting line.

Determined to make this part of your life as temporary as possible, you’d spent countless agonizing hours entering information into online forms and attaching resumes (containing the exact information you had just typed in) to every job opening you could find, with only a handful of interviews and no call-backs to show for it. The constant feeling of rejection was getting more difficult to bear as the weeks crawled on, especially when you’d scroll through your social media dashboards and see your friends posting selfies modeling their professional wardrobes or tagging their new coworkers in group shots from a bar after they’d clocked out for the day.

They looked so cute in their little blazers and pencil skirts and you hadn’t even bothered to change out of pajamas today. Or yesterday. They were, in fact, the same pair of pajamas you’d been wearing all week.

With a sigh, you went to like the most recent posts from one of your old high school friends who had just landed a prestigious internship when the app was overtaken by an incoming call screen.

Not recognizing the number, you hesitantly hit the accept button and lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you answer hesitantly, fully expecting a recording to play about possibly extending your non-existent car’s warranty.

“Hello!” A chipper voice answers back. “Do you have some time to talk today? Your resume came across my desk and I have to say that I’m very interested in getting you in for an interview!”

“You are-? I mean, of course! Yes! I would love that!” you stammer, diving for the backpack collecting dust at the end of your bed and pulling out a pen and notepad. “Just give me a time and I’ll be there!”

In retrospect, you probably should have asked more questions about the company before blindly agreeing to travel there in person. Like where they were located, for example.

But you didn’t.

So early this morning you’d gotten up, put on your most professionally coded outfit and cutest shoes, and then promptly had a small heart attack when you pulled up the address in the confirmation e-mail and realized it was in the center of Deika City.

Deika City, which was still recovering from some sort of catastrophic event that had destroyed a fair chunk of the town. No wonder the recruiter had acted so impressed with your resume, they probably had a ton of staff vacancies and were scrambling to fill them. You were nothing if not desperate to move out of your parent’s house though. So after an anxious walk to the train station, where you did your best to shake off your nerves; you scanned your train card, found the right platform, and took your first steps towards potential employment and away from the paper thin walls of your childhood home.

Hopefully.

The reconstruction of Deika City had progressed at a staggeringly fast pace. You’d expected there to be more widespread destitution, but apparently the News stations had been using significantly outdated footage for shock value because everything looked eerily normal for a town that almost stopped existing a few months ago. Kids waited on street corners for the crosswalk to change, a florist busied himself refreshing the water his outdoor bouquets sat in, and the headquarters of Detnerat, your potential employer, loomed high over the city like a nail someone forgot to hammer down.

You’d checked your face over with your front facing camera before silencing your phone and striding through the building door with all the confidence you could muster. No one stopped to stare at you, so it seemed like you were doing a pretty good job of blending in so far. The receptionist was on the phone when you approached her desk, waiting anxiously for her to end her call.

“Thank you for your patience,” she said as she dropped the receiver into the cradle and swiveled her chair around to face you. “Welcome to Detnerat, how may I assist you today?”

“I have an interview scheduled for eleven this morning?,” you explain, clearing your throat nervously at the end.

“Let me just check the schedule and get you checked in,” she droned politely, fingers flying across her keyboard as a testament to her experience. You had turned away to look at the large fountain burbling peacefully in the middle of the foyer when the receptionist shot out of her chair with a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh my goodness! I am so sorry!” she said while frantically bowing as she rounded the corner of the desk. “I didn’t realize you were a VIP guest! I have been remiss in my treatment of you!”

She looped a lanyard with a temporary ID card around your neck before pushing a large gift bag into your hands while motioning you towards the elevator doors, which opened automatically as you approached them.

“The elevator will automatically scan and detect the security authorizations pre-programmed into the ID card around your neck and deliver you to the proper floor,” the receptionist explained as you stepped into the open car. “I apologize again for my oversight and lack of professionalism. I hope your interview goes well!” She called out as the doors closed, leaving you alone in the elevator. The soft notes of a classical song started playing in an attempt to drown out the whirring of machinery as the elevator lurched into motion.

You stared down at the card dangling around your neck as you adjusted your hold on the gift bag in your arms.

“What the fuck is going on here?” you mutter in confusion as the elevator chimes for each floor you pass. You’re already more than halfway up the building and have a feeling that you won’t be stopping until you reach the top floor.

Your suspicions had been slightly off. The elevator hadn’t stopped at the top floor. It had continued on past the maximum number of floors indicated by the illuminated buttons on the control panel, letting you off on some super secret unmarked penthouse level. You’d also discovered that you didn’t have a cell signal up here when you pulled out your phone to make sure you were arriving on time, so you were fairly certain now that this was the start of the true crime documentary about your tragic disappearance and murder.

Hopefully they’d interview Kiyomi after they fished your headless corpse out of the channel. She would say flattering things about you and probably add some nice embellished bits to make you look extra sympathetic to the audience.

Hesitantly, you stepped out of the elevator and made your way down the hallway you’d been deposited into, drawing closer to the massive double doors looming at the end. All too soon you were at the end of the hallway, hand poised to knock, when the doors slowly began to swing open, a silent invitation to enter. If you were going to be murdered tonight you were going to put up one helluva fight so the girl they cast to play you would really have a chance to flex her acting chops.

“Hello?” You called, stepping further into the room, the plush carpet practically melting under your feet. With tentative steps, you made your way towards the large desk poised in the middle of the room. A high-back office chair was situated behind it, turned away from you and rocking restlessly back and forth “I’m here for an interview?”

“No, you’re not,” a familiar voice called out. “An interview implies that there is a possibility that you won’t get whatever position you’re applying for. Just name what sort of job you want and it’s yours.” The chair quickly spun around, revealing the man who had haunted your thoughts for the past few months.

“Tenko, ” you choked, lungs seizing as your chest clogged up with a sudden deluge of emotions.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he murmured, spreading his arms wide. “Did you miss me?”

The gift bag in your arms dropped to the ground as your hands flew up to cover your mouth, which had fallen open in shock at Tenko's dramatic reappearance.

Brow pinching in confusion, Tenko's arms dropped back down to his lap as you remained rooted to the spot, simply staring at him with wide-eyed disbelief.

“What’s the matter?” He asks gruffly, obviously growing uncomfortable under your unwavering gaze. “Not happy to see me?”

“I- I thought you were dead!” you screech, and with your exclamation the emotional dam you’d been shoring up over Tenko’s absence came crumbling down. Tears poured down your cheeks as you wailed, your chest heaving with sobs of relief. “ I was- I was so worried about you!”

Tenko began gliding across the room to you the moment your tears started falling, reaching your side quickly as he pulled you into his embrace, your head tucked in under his chin as he shushed you gently.

“Hey now, it’s alright. I’m alright. There’s nothing to cry about.”

“ There’s plenty to cry about! You left me alone for months and I didn’t know if you were safe or if you were just breaking up with me-”

“I would never break up with you,” Tenko quickly assures you, rubbing soothing circles across your shoulders as your weeping slowed down into gasping hiccups.

“What else was I supposed to think when I literally couldn’t get a hold of my boyfriend for months? You didn’t return any of my calls or texts-”

“Ah, yeah,” Tenko grimaced. “I was out in the woods for a while. No cell reception.”

“You were in the woods for six months?” you gape incredulously.

“No. Just one.”

“Why didn’t you contact me after that, then?”

“I broke my phone while fighting a giant,” Tenko states.

The silence in the room was heavy as you peeled yourself out of Tenko’s embrace, leaning back to level him with a disbelieving glare.

“A giant…broke your phone?”

“No. It broke while I was fighting a giant. It fell out of my pocket and smashed on a rock. I lost the save data for nearly every mobile game I was playing. And your phone number. I was pretty pissed off about that.”

You rubbed at your swollen eyes with both your fists, overwhelmed and confused by all the information Tenko was offering up to you after months of radio silence.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Yes. I told you before that I don’t like lying to you. That remains as true today as it was then.”

With an exhausted groan you turn and make your way over to a modern style loveseat set off to the side of the desk, snagging Tenko’s wrist as you pass by. He indulges your silent request, following your lead and settling down next to you on the small couch. Head cradled in your palms, you sigh deeply before scrubbing your hands down your face and angling your body towards Tenko.

“Okay. Let’s table the part with a giant for now. You had five months to reach out to me and you didn’t. Why?”

Tenko drummed his fingers on his thigh nervously. “I don’t think I can really explain that without revealing some other things about myself first. My name. My face. The goals I’ve been working towards,” he swallowed nervously. “But once I do that, there isn’t any going back.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can stand up right now and walk out of this building and back to your normal life. Volunteering at the soup kitchen, eating lunch out with your friends, spending holidays with your family. But once I tell you about who I really am, you’ll be considered an accessory to all of my wrongdoings; held accountable for all of my crimes. You can cut and run right now and I won’t stop you. But once the mask comes off I can no longer let you leave, ” Tenko explains solemnly, putting a special emphasis on the last words to encourage you to read between the lines.

You were a smart girl. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he meant. If you stayed here, stayed with him, that was it. You’d be at his side or in the ground.

“I’ve been choosing you, over and over again, for nearly a year. There’s nothing you could tell me at this point that would steer me from my course- away from you,” you assured him, resting your hand on his thigh comfortingly.

“We’ll see about that,” Tenko snorts incredulously as he lifts a hand to his hover above his familiar facemask. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? This is your last chance to back out.”

“I’m sure,” you nod emphatically.

“Alright then. You asked for it.”

And with those words, Tenko touched his fingers down onto his facemask, which quickly began to crumble away and dissolve into ash. Left in its place was the hauntingly familiar face of one of the most wanted men in Japan: Shigaraki Tomura.

“Oh, thank God,” you whispered in relief, sinking down into the back of the couch. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me you were Shigaraki for nearly a year now.”

“Wait, you knew ?” Tomura shouted, thoroughly shocked by your nonchalance.

“I mean, yeah? I'm pretty sure the entire soup kitchen knows at this point. You were pretty damn terrible about blending in- it’s hard to hide when you’re so handsome,” you say as you pat his cheek appreciatively.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been agonizing about revealing my identity to you since our first date!”

“It seemed like you weren’t ready for me to know, so I just decided to wait until you were ready.”

"Is that why you never asked me to take off my mask? Because you already knew what I looked like?"

"At first I thought you had a jaw mutation you were sensitive about or something. But then once I realized you were like, the most wanted man in the country, I felt like you keeping it on as much as possible was probably a smart call."

Tomura threaded his hands through his hair and fell back into the cushions of the couch, laughing deliriously as you snuggled into his side, resting your head against his.

“What a pair we make,” he grinned.

“Yeah,” you smiled in return, threading your fingers carefully through his. “A pretty great pair, if you ask me.”

"I can't believe you did this," you squeal in excitement, practically bouncing in your seat in the empty auditorium.

"Why not? I'm a good boyfriend," Tomura scoffed.

"You let me think you were dead for half a year," you remind him dryly, wiggling your shoulders to sink down further into the theater seat.

"I can't believe you're still going on about that. I apologized- "

"You told me, and I quote, 'My bad.'"

"Right, I apologized."

"You're impossible!" You groan, bumping your knees roughly into Tomura's in retribution.

"Fine!" Tomura grumbled, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I promise to call you the next time I'm busy establishing a criminal empire."

"That's all I ask, Dear," you smiled sweetly, patting Tomura's thigh placatingly. His retort was cut off by the sudden dimming of the lights and a grand swelling of wind-instrument heavy classical music filling the auditorium. You both leaned back in your seats, the chairs reclining easily, as the remaining light was finally snuffed out; blanketing the room in a thick darkness.

Suddenly, the planetarium projector whirled to life, scattering stars throughout the air.

You couldn't stop the gasp that falls from your lips as you watch the lights twinkle above you; clusters of constellations, colorful nebulae, and swirling galaxies all dancing into creation. They weren't the real thing, but you were still awed and humbled by the reminder of how grand existence was and how very miniscule your part in it truly is.

Carefully, you let your hand crawl over Tomura's, gently rotating his hand in your grasp so you could weave your fingers through his.

"They're really something, huh?" He whispered, just as enthralled by the spectacle of the night sky as you were. Close-ups of celestial objects filled your vision, and a breathtaking shot of the Earth rotating brought a distant memory to the forefront of your mind.

"You told me once that you wanted to give me the world. Do you remember that?"

"Of course I remember. I was touching your boob."

"Tomura!" You bark out, laughing as you drop your head to the side to knock roughly into his. Tomura turns his head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss onto the tender patch of skin below your ear.

"What? Your breasts are always noteworthy. But yes, I remember. And that offer still stands."

"I was just thinking that you've already fulfilled that promise."

"Oh? Because I gave you the universe ," Tomura said, emphasizing his teasing by throwing his free arm wide and wiggling his fingers towards the light-dappled planetarium ceiling.

"No," you giggled, burrowing your face down deeper into his shoulder into his neck. "Because you've become my world."

"Oh," he whispered, swallowing thickly. “I- I didn’t think lines like that worked outside of dating sims.”

“And how’s your affection meter right now?” you giggled, nibbling on his earlobe playfully.

“Maxed out,” he pants, squeezing your hand tightly as your tongue traced the shell of his ear.

“Really? I should be triggering a special event soon then, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely ,” Tomura grinned, sliding out of his chair and onto the theater floor. Worming his way between your legs, he grasps your knees with his pinkies up and spreads them as far as they would go, your thighs bumping into the arm rests of your chair. With a devious smirk, Tomura flips your skirt up over your belly and grabs the swath of fabric covering your crotch and pulls it away from your body; closing his fist fully and gleefully watching your panties disintegrate in his grasp.

“Lay back down, Sweetheart,” Tomura cooed as he tugged your hips down to the edge of the seat, pressing kisses into the juncture of your thighs. “I want you to look up into the sky because I’m going to make you see stars.”

You groan, both at his pun and at the feeling of his tongue carefully lapping at your slit.

“Oh- OH! Fuck, Tomura, ” you moan, hips bouncing on the seat of your chair.

“Again,” he orders. “Say my name again.”

“Tomura,” you keen, winding your fingers into his hair to hold him in place as his mouth worked its magic on your interior spaces. It didn’t take you long to finish under Tomura’s attentions; coming undone with a stuttering sigh while stars glimmered in your eyes.

And if you were to ask Tomura's opinion as he gazed at you, utterly enthralled by your rapture; he would say that he was pretty sure Heaven itself was reflected in his.

#tomura shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tomura x reader #mha x female reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha x reader #bnha x self insert #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #pigeoncoos🕊

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haulaway-junk-removal-service · 1 month

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repulsiveliquidation · 9 months

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i had a cute lil drabble idea for whenever you’re in the mood to write it!

jut maybe gf is in a little slump but then gets a burst of lil energy and cleans the apartment, changes sheets, etc. and is so excited to show you when you get home 🥺

morning y'all, i should have my breakfast but i liked this idea because when i'm stressed, i clean so i can attest to this lmao

you're still bundled up in bed when i come out of the shower, ready and changed for the day. i have a couple of urgent errands to complete, the plan was for you to chill at home and wait for me since the errands were boring.

"darling?"

"hmm?"

"I'm about to head out, love."

"Okay, bye."

you don't move in bed, lazily waving your hand at me. i sigh, leaning over you and kissing your forehead. you suddenly pull on my arm before i move away, making me hug you.

"sorry," you whimper, "just feel so out of it today."

"i know, angel. you're okay, don't apologize. i'll grab lunch on the way home, okay?"

i kiss your forehead again and head out, coming home about 5 hours later with Nando's in my right hand, a gorgeous bouquet of rose and lilies for you.

"baby, i'm home!"

i walk in, setting the food on the dining table and the flowers next to it. you don't answer, but i hear you rummaging somewhere in the house. i smile, loving the fact that you're up and about. the house smells like bleach and lemons, not a speck of dust anywhere. i realize you're cleaning and chuckle lightly to myself.

you start singing, your voice heard from the bathroom. there's water running and i assume you're taking a bath.

you're not taking a bath, you're on your knees scrubbing the shower from head to toe.

"hello, my busy bee."

"baby! wait, j-just give me a minute!"

you hurry and rinse the shower, wiping your hands clean on your shorts. you barrel into my arms, jumping up for me to catch you.

"you've been busy eh?"

"I felt like cleaning suddenly, so i did! i have so much to show you! put me down, put me down!"

i do put you down and you drag me out to the living room. you show me all that you've done, rearranging my record collection in alphabetical order, wiping down every surface, my medals and trophy's all had a fresh shine to them too. next you hauled me into the kitchen, all the utensils and appliances reorganized.

"You set up my coffee station! thanks babe!"

"you like it?"

"i love it doll, thank you."

you press your face into my chest, arms wrapped around my waist. i pull you closer, with arms around your shoulders.

"I love you, i feel so much better now."

"I love you too, princess. I'm so happy you do."

#liquidation asks #liquidation writes #writer x reader #liquidation drabbles #drabbles

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horce-divorce · 11 months

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Update for interested parties: the last few days were frought, the situation in Wisconsin was not what we had hoped it would be at all once we got here, and it ended up not working out. Too many people with not enough space and too many clashing needs. it ended up feeling very unsafe for everyone.

We're staying with a different friend instead now, and today their mom/owner of the property not only said we could stay here for the winter if we need to, but also was scheming to try and find us a pop-up trailer this morning which we were totally blown away by, she's wonderful. We still want the kind of mobility where we could take off again at a moments notice, so I'm sorting that out, but we're with friends and thankfully not in a rush to leave again anytime soon.

i'm not sure if a camper is what we'll end up with. It isn't quite as stealthy as i'd like (if we need to urban camp at all it doesnt really work), but it would certainly add a lot of space and be more than doable, and Bel really liked the idea. If that doesn't work out, I'll look at trading our current vehicle for a used camper van in a comparable price range. I've never done that before but I have time to do research.

Thanks to the donations this week, we were able to fill the tank and get Bels meds on the way out here, which was such a huge relief. That gives us at least another month to try to find a prescriber for another refill. We also got a great haul from the food pantry out here, which was fun because the lady we're staying with actually runs it and it's inside an abandoned building.

the pantry was already in the building when it wasn't abandoned. my friend's mom took it over and was allowed to keep it in its original space, but everyone else moved out. My friend had the keys, so they took us in thru the back and this series of totally unlit, crowded corridors with random appliances, furniture, books and clothes, all of it donated. it was one of the most surreal experiences I've ever had. I asked to go back to take more pictures, which is why the 2nd pic is lit better.

Their house is also really cool. It's an old farmhouse, much bigger, with fewer people here, and we have a proper room upstairs rather than in an unfinished basement. there's a super comfy bed in here, too. I actually haven't had back pain in the morning here, for the first time since my surgery in May!

Also, absolutely wild shit in the world of drugs: nary a weed dealer to be found in this area, because delta 8 has completely taken over the market. I was deeply unimpressed when I tried it a few years ago, but my friend got us a live resin hhc/cbd/cbg/thcp cartridge and........... I am stoned. Like PROPERLY stoned. I haven't been this properly stoned since like 2013. It does kinda give me a headache, but it also helps the pain and gives me munchies and helps me sleep just like real weed. I even remembered my dreams a bit better than with d9.

Anyway I'm very grateful for my queer community today, for my friends mom who has come to my rescue more times than my own mom, and for everyone who's been invested, sending us money, advice, locations to scope out, items, and links; everyone who's been reblogging; and even everyone who's just listening to us talk and post, watching quietly from the sidelines.

We still have to go retrieve the rest of our stuff from the last place (on Monday), and things always change in an instant. We still have a lot of complex feelings, and this week was especially hard for Bellamy. He's never been through all this before this year, and the 19th was the anniversary of his worst trauma, losing the only good and loving person in his life 6 years ago. To be kicked out specifically on that anniversary was brutal. it made me wish I'd never brought him here. I really thought we'd be better off with that friend than on our own for the winter, and I made a mistake.

But we will still be okay. For now, we aren't alone, we're with good friends in a safe place, we've got food and meds and gas. We even have another place to stay if we change our minds. We check in with each other and process our feelings multiple times per day. It's still hard to get used to coming and going all the time; we stay in one place just long enough to get comfy and then we take off again, which is never long enough form a routine. So we're trying to learn how to do that for ourselves, based on our own needs, rather than around the location. But we're getting used to that, and each other's habits. When I go out to the car for supplies it smells like home in there.

It's hard feeling like we don't belong anywhere, like strangers care more about our wellbeing than our actual families. My dad did give us the car, and six months of insurance. He even renewed my license for me. But neither of my parents checks in on me, asks where we are or how we're doing. My mom seems to be getting more reactionary in her old age; not only did my transition cause a rift between us, she's now doubling down on trying to "cure" my autistic cousin when she knows that for both of us (and for Bel), our autism is a source of pride. She knows my disabilities and neurodivergence are what started this housing instability 10 years ago. She knows my health has been worsening. She doesn't text or call. All of you following this story on here know more about how and where we are than she does.

But times like this show us who our real friends and family are, and it's not the people who've left us to our own devices out here. It's everyone who's been stepping in to ask, "How are you doing? Can I send you anything? Do you need to talk? I love you. I want you to make it." The random guy we met hiking who never told us his name but who told us, "I hope you guys thrive. I really do." It's everyone who's sent us another $10 for our supplies because I haven't spent long enough in one spot to get any work done. It's the people who have never even met us before who offered to take Bel's cats indefinitely, or to let us come stay with them across the country. It's everyone who's pitching together to buy us more time when we need it. Everyone who sees us and bears witness and feels something about it.

At the end of the day, we sort of are choosing this lifestyle; if we wanted out, we would have to stay in one place longer than winter, get jobs, save money, find our own housing. But we kind of don't. Despite the hardships, despite what this journey is revealing about ourselves and the people we thought we could trust, we feel like it suits us to live out of the car. We go where we want, when we want. We don't have to answer to anyone else's schedule. If we want to go south or west when it's cold and visit our friends, all we need is the gas money and the OK to come over. We love the woods and we love living out there. It feels distant and lonely sometimes, but so right. We like getting to bounce around and meet each other's people. We want to see the old growth and the redwoods and the mountains and the seaside and the grand canyon. We want to go to Cuba and Vietnam and Iceland and Denmark. Maybe our health won't allow for us to do absolutely everything we want, but working underpaid jobs and paying rent absolutely won't allow for it. We have a better chance at our dreams now. We can lose our place to stay again and be fine and just keep going; it's not the end of the world. It's what we planned on doing, anyway. No big deal.

Living in the car has already allowed us to do more and have more adventures in just 3 months than we did in 2 whole years of us both being housed. We do have a lot to process emotionally and there's a lot on our plates; it's hard, and we do need a lot of help. It's not always good. Not having access to the internet when we're running out of money and gas and food; not having anywhere to bathe; having to go long distances to collect water even when we're not feeling well; losing things because i put them in the wrong place and drove off; that doesn't even begin to scratch on converting the car for stealth camping, choosing our routes and places to scope for campsites in new areas, or trying to figure out which supplies would actually be more helpful and cost effective in the long run.

But it's still not really any worse than the rat race to stay employed and be good renters. It's just different. And after 10 years of housing instability, and waiting for something to change, it hasn't. I'm growing more and finding more peace by just leaning into it. Trauma and bullshit never ends. Life doesn't ever stop for you so you can think about what just happened; there's never gonna be a perfect, calm time for you to digest everything and then move on strengthened and changed for the next main event. You have to learn how to do all that and keep living no matter what bullshit is ongoing. That's what "rolling with the punches" means. The punches dont stop, you learn to expect them, you move with them. I cant put my life on hold just because I'm homeless. It's not stopping me from doing the things I want. It's not stopping me from being the kind of guy I aim to be, or from making the kinds of choices i want. My life before did that.

Tl;dr thank you for all your help and concern this week, we made it to a different space and are taking some time to breathe. We are feeling more than a bit bruised, this week has been awfully triggering, but we also feel very held right now and we have space to calm down. For another few days at least, it's gonna be okay.

✨️🛸✌️

#me #prsnl #car living #keeping reblogs on bc im putting this on our travel blog. just for reference #long post #do u like my delayed reaction selfie. rofl.#gpoy

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sciencelings-writes · 1 year

Text

All in Good Time

Day 1 of Zelink Week 2023 hosted by @zelinkcommunity

Prompt: Yearning

WC: 6072

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48491140

Part of my Fem!Zelink AU, this is also the only one (this week) that incorporates LU

Wild couldn’t sleep. Despite being in an insulated room inside of an actual house after weeks of dealing with rocky ground and late-night monster attacks, despite feeling like she was closer to home than she had been since she had left her own time, despite the chorus of deep even breaths and the occasional snore that would normally lull her into the comfortable darkness, she just couldn’t sleep.

The entire day had been wonderful, she had spent a good amount of it enjoying the luxuries of an actual kitchen with appliances rather than the simple fire she was used to dealing with. Cooking was one of the few typically feminine hobbies she found herself drawn to and she was sure that if she were born a man, she’d still like the activity just as much. It was far more pleasant than cleaning the sables and the cucco coops and hauling hay around all day.

Lon Lon Ranch felt so close to home, but at the same time, not nearly close enough. It had the same smells and ambiance as her home farming village of Hateno, she could so easily hear the mooing cows on the way to Purah’s lab and the clicking of horseshoes against the stone pathways. Even the melody Malon hummed absentmindedly to herself felt so familiar.

But it was missing the most important thing. Or, she supposed, the most important person.

It had been an ache she had felt since stepping through the first dark mysterious portal, every time she pulled out the Sheikah slate to take a picture of something that didn’t exist in their time, every time she spotted a frog or listened to Sky’s melancholy harp serenade, the emptiness in her chest intensified.

It was such a sappy thing to admit, but she missed Zelda with her entire heart. Every moment away was an unending physical pain that she never seemed to get used to. For years they’d snuck through the shadows to see each other, even if it was unlikely for anyone to figure out what had truly been going on between them. They’d already been separated for a century, Wild balancing on the very edge of death and her princess fighting to keep the embodiment of hatred from destroying the entire kingdom. Being thrown into another adventure had been reopening a wound that had only just started to heal to tear them apart once more.

Not even Warriors snoring was loud enough to drown out the thoughts she found herself being drawn towards. She tortured herself with imaginary sensations of her lover's fingers combing through her hair, commenting through a smile about how long it had gotten. How she never flinched away after touching the myriad of scars that branded her skin when the princess herself possessed nothing of the sort despite fighting for far longer. How her voice rang in Wild’s ears when reading a new book out loud, desperate to share her most recent fixation with the one person who was delighted to listen.

It was impossible to lure her thoughts away even when the backs of her eyes started to burn, no attempt at distracting herself would last for more than a few seconds and she very easily gave up on trying, but she knew that she couldn’t carry on her session of wallowing for much longer before there was going to be consequences. And though the rancher could sleep through Warriors snoring directly in his ear without a single issue, she was sure that Twilight would snap awake if she even sniffled. He seemed to have an extra sense for whenever someone was even mildly distressed.

Perhaps it was a good idea to get some fresh air.

Even though the room was pretty large and could fit eight heroes in it pretty easily, it didn’t leave a whole lot of floor space between them. The slight anxiety of tiptoeing between each slumbering body momentarily delayed her insomnia-fueled spiral of yearning, at this point, it would’ve been pretty inconvenient if Four woke up because of a slightly creaky wooden floorboard next to his head.

At least the door was quieter, as long as she turned the nob at an unbearably slow pace. She resisted the urge to rush her exit knowing it would make too much noise, but only barely.

The moment she was confident in her success, she padded over to a nearby tree, paying no mind to the fact that she was barefoot, only focusing on the chirping of the crickets hidden in the foliage. She leaned against its trunk and slid down until she had landed in a sitting position on the cool soft grass.

The sheikah slate flashed to life in her hands as she instinctually swiped to a familiar screen. Her gallery of photographs. She ignored the stunning landscapes and the, in her opinion, hilarious images, one of which was Wolfie trying to pick up a Stalnox bone that was far too large for his mouth. She tapped on a recent image that she always found herself being drawn to.

Zelda had just cut her hair, she couldn’t stop grinning about it. She had to agree with the Great Deku Tree on this one, her princess's smile was easily comparable to the sun. It almost blinded her but she never even considered looking away. She was blessed to witness it, and even more blessed to capture it in the memory of the slate, knowing that her own could be unreliable.

It was a beautiful image, but Wild didn’t spare a thought at the natural lighting of the sunny day, or the backdrop of the hills behind their home, not the spring flowers blooming all around her or the vibrant glimpse of blue from their pond. She could only see Zelda’s freckles, a feature she had developed since spending every daylight moment outside if she wasn’t holed up in Purah’s lab. Her sparkling green eyes that Wild swore had flakes of gold in the right lighting. How ethereally gold her hair was, as if she was forged by the most skilled Gerudo artisan.

Ever since she’d been freed from the Calamity, she’d resolved to abandon nearly every responsibility of royalty, becoming someone free from the burdens that had nearly drowned her before, knowing that even attempting to rebuild the empire that fell was not the job for a teenager who wasn’t even quite an adult yet. Perhaps that was something she could devote her time to later.

Wild could admit, the wind in her hair and the machine oil staining most of her clothes were far more charming than stuffy dresses and heavy jewelry. But it was really the fact that she smiled and laughed far more often that really made her appreciate the decision. It was easy to forget that though Link was the Hero of the Wild, her counterpart was also deserving of the title, it was where they both thrived after all.

Zelda would likely say something about how every action there was an equal and opposite reaction, which is what looking at the photograph while being so far away in time from the subject felt like. She loved her princess with such force that the, hopefully temporary, loss of her was just as debilitating. The perfectly warm soft memory of holding her princess in her arms was just as much a source of comfort as the lack of the action being unable to be repeated after months of wandering was soul-crushing.

She forced herself away from the image and back to the inventory screen. She tapped the icon for her beloved's favorite flower. In a flash of ancient swirling blue light, a silent princess appeared in her hand. She wiped a bit of moisture with her sleeve before it could escape her eyes, squeezing them together in a failed attempt to keep it all in.

She hoped that her exponentially building sobs were being drowned out by the lively nighttime sounds, but she was never that lucky.

The grass rustled with the nearing steps of someone she was definitely not expecting. Her head snapped up to the intruder, maybe Time had spotted her through his bedroom window, or she hadn’t been as successful at sneaking away as she had thought and Twilight had come to investigate, but it was neither of them. The pale light of the moon reflected off of a disheveled head of blonde hair with a distinctive streak of pink. It was easy to imagine him wearing a long floppy sleep cap, with an old brass candle holder that has a little handle only big enough for a single finger, on top of the nightgown he wore to sleep when they weren’t paranoid about the possibility of a midnight ambush.

“Champ? You okay?” The veteran’s groggy voice was only barely loud enough to be heard over the natural night sounds.

For a moment, she considered lying, dismissing his concern knowing that he was the least likely to pry into her mess of feelings. But she had been holding it in for far too long, and she knew for a fact that he would understand. Perhaps if it were in the daylight, when she could fully see his face, when she felt far more exposed, she wouldn’t have said anything. But the nuances of her expression were hidden in the darkness, and the exhaustion from the day wore on her judgment.

“I miss her.” She started simply but once she took the first step, she found herself tumbling down the metaphorical stairs. “I thought… after a hundred years, it would be over. We would be together and we wouldn’t have to hide anymore. We would get a chance to figure out what we wanted to be without the meddling of fate, but I guess I was being too optimistic. If dying couldn’t get destiny off my back then why would the defeat of some monster.”

“I know that it’s more likely than not that she’s safe and healthy and it’s far from accurate to say that I’ve lost her forever, it’s not like she’s dead or anything. She’s just so unimaginably far away that not even letters can reach, and I miss her. It feels silly to worry about that when there are mutated monsters trying to kill us at every turn, but no matter how much I try, my thoughts always return to her.” Wild continued, deliberately keeping her gaze away from Legends.

“For the record, I don’t think it’s silly,” He sat alongside her, joining her in resting his back against the tree, its curvature keeping them from having to look directly at each other, it was much more comfortable for both of them that way. “But if I knew how to help you I would probably be a lot more mentally healthy myself.”

“I wasn’t really expecting some uplifting pep talk, you’re not Twilight. I’m just tired of pretending that I’m fine all the time. It’s worse here, I didn’t expect to be jealous of the old man reuniting with his wife. They’re just too cute with each other, I can’t stand it.” A fraction of a smile found its way onto her face, though it had no correlation to how happy she was.

“I bet he’s cuddling her right now, the selfish bastard,” Legend spat, causing a surprised huff of laughter from his companion.

“How dare he, just look at the way he openly adores his wife! What an asshole!” Wild matched his mock outrage, folding her arms indignantly, the sheikah slate sat abandoned on her lap.

“The audacity of some people, honestly. Who gave him the right to be happily married within my view.”

“There should be laws against this. We should talk to his Zelda about it.”

“I’m sure she’d hear us out, I doubt they’re even less shameless in front of the queen. It’s probably annoying to her too,” The veteran reasoned.

“It is decided, I’ll write the proposal in the morning.” Wild slumped her head on Legend's shoulder as the exhaustion of the day left the stage of depressive spiraling and into actual weariness. The sensation of heaviness on her eyelids far outweighed the feeling of developing tears that had overcome them only minutes before.

She unfolded her arms and lifted up the glowing flower into her direct view again. The silent princess lazily spun between her fingers, its luminous pollen sprinkling off into the gentle breeze like fairy dust.

“Can you… not tell anyone about this? I don’t want to worry anyone,” The champion muttered after several minutes of blissful quiet.

“Just as long as you don’t tease me for being a softie again.”

“Then stop pretending that you don’t curl up and use Wolfie as a pillow every other night.”

“Shut up,”

In the morning they would be found unmoved from their spot under the tree, the silent princess would be braided into her hair, and the tears would’ve long since dried.

By the time Time awoke and would decide to check on his incarnations, and thinking of a fun way to wake them up, he would notice a blanket covering the separated duo, and he would decide to allow them a few more minutes of sleep. Though it wasn’t entirely out of the kindness of his heart, he knew they’d both complain about soreness when they woke up from sleeping in such an odd position.

It’ll serve them right for talking behind his back.

***

Sometimes it was easy to tell where the portals had taken them, they were a group of well-traveled heroes so there were many ways to determine when they had ended up. Whether that be from obvious landmarks or foliage only recognizable in one era or even just stumbling across people one of them knew directly. Hero-ing came with plenty of opportunities to network after all.

This was not one of those times.

Even if any of them could see further than a few feet ahead of them in the dense blizzard, it wouldn’t do much use. The snowy mountains all looked the same and not a single rock formation was enough for one to pinpoint their location.

Normally the group's goal would be to find civilization and ask about strange happenings, but right now, their main objective was to avoid freezing to death. Their resources were already spread thin, not all of them had been prepared for the extreme change in climate.

Four and Wind rode on Epona's back, accepting that the snow was far too deep for them to walk in without much in the way of protection from the elements. Legend and Hyrule had given up bundling themselves up separately and now shared both of their blankets in an attempt to retain whatever heat they could in the storm. Warriors scarf had migrated from his neck to being wrapped around his mouth and nose, and his hands were firmly being pressed under his armpits in an attempt to keep them from growing too cold. It turned out that fingerless gloves were only practical in more temperate environments.

Even Time had to forego his heavy armor in favor of as many layers as he could dig out from his pack, his jaw set stubbornly in place to keep them from chattering together in the unyielding chill of the wind. Unfortunately, it was a battle he would end up losing, though he put on a valiant effort.

Wild led them from the front of the group, as what naturally tended to occur when the world around them was treacherous and unknown. Though they were all seasoned adventurers, she had an instinct for wilderness survival that had saved their lives on many occasions.

For several hours she had feared that she had led them in circles, the eternal blinding fog from the storm made it feel as though they had stayed stationary the entire time. While they hadn’t made many turns it felt as though the boulder they had passed was the same one from an hour ago.

At first, they tried to spend the trek amusing themselves in one way or another, Wind tried to teach them a sailor shanty he had learned and was lucky enough not to understand the full meaning of, Hyrule started a very short game of i-spy that fizzled out once he realized that the only thing they could see was snow and the occasional tree. Four tried to quiz them on all sorts of knowledge but it turned out that what he knew was very different than what everyone else knew.

By the end of the day they traveled silently, quietly begging for even a hint that they had made any progress in their journey, and like a trail of light from the goddess herself, they were given something even better.

For a moment the blizzard eased up enough to see the valley they had just begun to enter. They were at the top of a familiar slope lined with balls of snow that had once been used to solve a puzzle. It took only a single glance for Wild’s hope to be reignited.

“Good news boys! I know where we are!” She forced more enthusiasm into her voice than she had energy left in her body, “There’s a cave at the bottom and it’s not even a boring one!”

Wild forced herself to slowly make her way down the valley to keep everyone in her sights, for the first few cautious slippery steps she was excited. She was home! She was finally in the same time period as Zelda, theoretically. Time travel could be weird but they never appeared just outside of anyone’s eras. Yet. So while recognizing a snow-covered slope wasn’t complete confirmation that Zelda was finally within arms reach, Wild decided to remain hopeful. Until she remembered how far away the hebra mountains were from Hateno. Or even just anywhere that her princess was likely to be. She couldn’t just expect that Zelda would remain stationary just because Wild wasn’t there to follow her around.

Her heart sank in parallel with the group's descent into the ice. She had no idea where Zelda would be, the shrines had been offline for a while, it was still several days hike to get to any form of civilization and it was more than unlikely that the first people they came across would just have happened to have seen the princess wandering by.

It was best to focus on her current task instead of letting herself hope like that. Get everyone to safety. Get out of the storm. Attempt to transfer all her useless emotional energy into something she can actually use, like cooking an astronomical amount of food, or hitting something really hard with her sword. She could pretend that exhausting herself in one way or another would help but knew deep down that it probably wouldn’t.

Soon the rectangular manmade opening was visible through the snow, Wild stayed at its edge to count each Link that made it there, hoping to Hylia that no one got lost in her haste to get to safety. Two on a horse, one leading the horse, two in a bundle of blankets, one trying to give his sailcloth to another who was shivering pretty hard, and one at the end making sure no one fell behind.

“Ready to see a really big skeleton?” Wild patted Time’s bicep as they entered the ice cave.

“Is it prone to reanimating?” The man grumbled, and the champion nearly laughed.

“Nope, it’s just a leviathan. Apparently, they used to be gods, but I think that anytime people see something big they say that.” Wild moved to help Wind off of Epona, normally he could jump off himself, but the ground was a little slick and it would not be fun to slam into it.

“That is a pretty big skeleton…” The old man's eye widened microscopically, for some reason, it was hard to impress him. She hoped to manage it someday.

“Link?” almost in unison the whole group turned their heads towards the voice, but none faster than Wild. She probably could’ve snapped her neck at the speed her head spun. If she had been holding anything, she would’ve dropped it without a thought.

Between them and the great skeleton was a modest campsite, only consisting of a fire and a bedroll, a little stool to hold a modest notebook while a white horse stood nearby, though it was none of those things that caught Wild’s attention.

Dressed in a mix of her royal wintery whites and insulating Rito fabrics, was the one person she had been yearning to see since the moment she left. Who, only moments ago she was mourning the lack of likelihood of being able to see again any time soon. Whose absence she had cried over and whose presence followed her wherever she went in the slate that sat at her hip.

Without making the conscious decision to, Wild was suddenly running, in moments that passed so quickly it was hard to tell if they happened at all, she had landed in her girlfriend's arms. The momentum caused them to stumble a bit but Wild somehow managed to keep standing, despite the weakness in her knees that wasn’t there a couple seconds before.

“Hey princess,” her voice was hoarse, and she was acutely unaware of the fact that she was surrounded by her brothers. It was like they had just disappeared and she hadn’t even noticed. She could only focus on the warmth in her arms and the smell of Zelda’s hair and nothing else existed or mattered.

“I hope you haven’t been getting into too much trouble,” Her princess teased quietly in her ear, Link could feel her smiling against her skin.

“I think you know better than to hope for that,” Wild backed away and loosened her hug, but only a little bit. Only enough for Zelda to squirm her arms to cradle her lover's face before pulling her in.

Her kiss was magic, or maybe it was just her. Link had spent so long holding onto the constant quiet sadness of missing her that it felt like a miracle when it evaporated from her being. She could hardly imagine knowing what sorrow was now. She could just be being dramatic, but her love for Zelda was enough to defeat a great beast made of hatred, it was a reasonable assumption to make that it was a powerful thing.

Link was so caught up in the euphoria of seeing her princess again that she had nearly forgotten that she hadn’t come alone. Thankfully when she was able to drag her eyes away from Zelda, her brothers had all made an attempt to give them some privacy. Some of them were better at pretending to set up camp than others, Twilight just stood at Epona’s side and smiled in the way he did that made her nervous about what stories he had in mind to embarrass her with.

At least while Hyrule was working on building a fire, he only let his curiosity draw his eyes toward them a couple of times. The others were somewhere on that spectrum of trying to give them a moment while also snooping with various rates of noticeability. Warriors was definitely just fidgeting with one of the bags on Epona’s back and not planning on actually unpacking. She could tell that Wind was just itching to meet Zelda and tease Wild about their obvious PDA.

She would’ve been nervous about their reactions, but she had hinted about her relationship for a while and they always seemed very casual about it. It had gone from agreeing with some of the others that girls were pretty, to practically stating outright that she was in a relationship with a woman. Though she never discussed it very in-depth, she still struggled with holding onto her emotions a little too tightly.

Wild took another lengthy moment to enjoy Zelda’s closeness before she’d have to start introductions and explanations, but for now, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Zelda’s gloved thumb whipped a tear from her face, with a look so fond she just might have gotten a cavity from it.

“You missed me that much, huh?” The princess's voice was borderline teasing but there wasn’t a hint of genuine malice in it.

“What can I say, I’m tired of being taken away from you. For some unimaginable, crazy reason, I’m just happier when you’re around.”

“It’s almost like you love me or something…”

“How absurd, it’s not like you’re the smartest, most beautiful, not to mention most strong and ambitious, princess in the history of forever. Now that I’ve done some time traveling, I can actually confirm that fact.” She tried to sound serious with her voice perfectly level but she was a little too high on emotions to have that kind of control. Thankfully Zelda didn’t seem to mind that she stumbled over her words a little or that her voice was a little hoarse.

“That’s not fair, you know I’m bad at taking compliments you…hero…” She patted Wild’s grinning cheek as a replacement for bumping her partner's shoulders or giving her a light playful punch to her perfectly solid biceps, but her limbs were being squeezed in a hug so the best she could do was pout and slap her cheek with only a few inches of built-up force behind it.

“You could also work on making up better insults for me, but I guess we both have our faults,” the hero laughed, her princess was easy to catch off guard when it came to sudden bouts of nice things being thrown her way, even more so when it was so clear to her how genuine Link consistently was about it. Zelda was trained to always search for someone trying to manipulate her or have ulterior motives, and it didn’t help that she spent so long without much kindness being granted to her at all.

“One of yours being that you’ve been ungracious to your travel companions,” the princess turned to the group of eavesdropping heroes, “I truly apologize on Link’s behalf, I’m sure she didn’t mean to neglect you all.” At the prompting, Wild loosened her embrace and allowed the princess to free herself, though she still kept an arm wrapped around her waist, it still felt too soon to completely let her go.

“Fine,” Wild rolled her eyes, “Princess, these are my spiritual predecessors, Link, Hylia’s first chosen hero,” She pointed at Sky, who managed a little wave, “Link, the small one,” She pointed at Four, “Link, the hero of time, I think it’s his dark counterpart that Kilton was obsessed with, I think he’s the only one with such dramatically middle parted bangs like that…” She gestured towards Time, who raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.

“Link, my favorite person to get lost with,” She pointed at Hyrule who smiled at his description, “Link, the pink one with too many titles and weird adventures so we just call him the Veteran,” She passed over to Legend.

“Link, the one whose horse I legally share custody of due to magic timeline weirdness,” She gestured toward Twilight, knowing that she would have to give her girlfriend much more information on that one, but it would have to be later. There were still secrets that should be kept.

“Link, the sailor who would be a pirate if he was less of a wuss and would let me peirce his ears,” Her smile towards Wind was not well received.

“Well, maybe if you wanted to do it with something other than the dagger you use to skin rabbits I’d be more interested!” He defended himself valiantly, but Wild just grinned as she moved on to their last member.

“Finally, we also have Link, the only one I don’t think we have records on but I’m still pretty sure he’s in the late era of myth.” Warriors performed a dramatic bow when Wild’s outstretched finger finally reached him. “Everyone, this is Zelda, the genius who is somehow crazy enough to put up with me. Now that that’s all dealt with, what do we want for dinner?”

***

For the first time in months, when Wild was able to settle down in her bedroll, she was fully at ease. She knew she would sleep easy and that she wouldn’t spend hours awake, desperately trying to lose consciousness. She was glad to not have to rely on pure exhaustion to get her to succumb to the darkness, that she wouldn’t have to find some quiet way to spend as much energy as she could whenever she wasn’t allowed to take first watch.

For once, she couldn’t wait to settle in and not be afraid of the potential nightmares that rejoiced in haunting her. Zelda had that kind of effect on her, erasing the recurring terror that refused to leave her mind, comforting her when no other person could. When normally she tried to hold out on sleeping as long as possible, she was nearly excited to lie down on a bed that was little more than a cocoon of cloth on a surface of ice and stone.

Zelda’s skin was smooth beneath her fingers, her hands had wedged themself between the soft warn tunic that she used as a nightshirt as if mere contact with her was a healing force. Though, Link supposed, it very well could have a power like that. It certainly felt like it.

The bedroll was large enough to fit both of them, just as long as they were cuddled tightly together, which would’ve only been a problem if they were stuck in Gerudo Desert or Death Mountain. But sharing heat was no issue, quite the opposite.

Their legs were intertwined like a messy braid, their bodies offset slightly so Wild’s head rested comfortably on her princess's chest. Short nails grazed through her hair in a calming rhythm that caused her to melt into Zelda’s form even more.

“I missed you Aryll.” her voice was soft, hushed enough to keep the name from reaching anyone else's ears. It was like a secret between them, her true name. It wasn’t as though she didn’t like the ones she was more openly called, Link or Wild, she was happy sharing a name with the heroes. She loved how it connected them and how it turned her from a person to a force of nature. It united them and showed that no matter how different they looked, they were the same in the ways that mattered.

But Aryll… that was the name that had long died off, that only a select few had the honor of knowing. It was who she was without the baggage of being the hero, free from the chains of fame, it was the name that wasn’t whispered among gossiping townspeople below the castle who scoffed at her accomplishments. There weren’t many people left who knew of her true name, a few Zora who still used the hero's name despite knowing she had another.

Link was the name of someone great, someone powerful and courageous that people would tell bedtime stories to their kids about, she was proud to be one of them, she wore the name like a badge of honor when it was once a row of chains. Link was the name of someone blessed by the love of the goddess and born to fight an impossible evil and even though it was a heavy burden, she knew that she could carry it and it was that name that led her to the one she loved most, whos breath she could feel rustling the hair on her scalp.

Aryll was a closely held secret, one she was reluctant to share with even the brothers she had grown so attached to. She trusted them, of course she trusted them with her life, but she already felt different from them, it was nice pretending that she was as much of a hero as they were. Deep down she knew she was separate from them, not just through her gender but through time and her failures, the name was just one more thing proving that she wasn’t really one of them.

She liked being one of them.

“I’ve missed you since the moment I left, it’s nice to be home.” Wild, Link, Aryll muttered into her princess's collarbone.

“We’re still pretty far from Hateno, nearly as far as we could get without leaving the kingdom,” Zelda commented.

“That’s just where our house is, as cliche as it is to admit, I feel more at home with you than some house I bought to keep from being demolished.”

“You’ve always been the sappy one, but I suppose home hasn’t been the same without you getting flour all over it. At least when I’m rambling at you, you usually hum or make some kind of noise to show that you’re at least pretending to listen. Hateno is a little lonely without your voice.” She uttered wistfully.

“That sounds pretty sappy to me. You know you don’t have to hide it, I bet there’s a journal full of poetry of your flowery words about me, I bet you could write about my countless clumsy trips down the stairs and make it sound like the kinds of songs Kass would sing. I know you have a magical way with words that have been lost with all of the bastards who poisoned the court. I’m sure you could make me do anything with those lips of yours.”

“Not in the same cave as your predecessors darling, you’re not very quiet on normal nights but this place has outstanding acoustics.” Zelda smiled slyly above Wild’s reddening ear.

“You know that’s not what I was trying to say… but I guess we should try to find some time alone at some point, I’m sure I could set the boys loose on Rito Village, I don’t think most of them have seen a Rito before. It’ll keep them busy for long enough for me to slip with you somewhere, just like old times.”

“I can’t say that I miss the paranoia of being caught, but I suppose there was a certain thrill that came with it. I’m sure we can find some dark corners to pull each other into.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I’ve also been looking forward to this, to being with you again.” Though she was weary from traveling and the months of yearning left her exhausted when she finally had no reason to do so anymore, though she had finally found an overwhelming sense of peace that weighed her down like a hefty worn blanket, she fought to stay awake, just a moment longer. It seemed like such a waste to spend her time with Zelda sleeping when she knew all too well that it would be limited.

“Close your eyes, my dear hero, I’ll still be here in the morning, if anything tries to take you away from me until then, they’ll be sorry.” Zelda seemed to read her mind, though it wasn’t as if this was the first time Link had remained awake in her lover's arms, as if they were about to lose each other at any moment. Perhaps she just wasn’t that hard to read.

“Hylia help any poor soul that tries to get in your way,” Link huffed a silent laugh, though she still took a moment of hesitation before closing her eyes. There was still a drop of uncertainty. There was still a chance that when she awoke, her princess would be gone. Whether it be because this whole miracle had been a dream, it surely felt like it, or because the pursuit of dark monsters required a more rushed investigation.

“Sleep Aryll, you know you won’t be able to resist for long anyway,” Zelda rested her chin on her swordswoman's head and tightened her grip around her shoulders just a little bit tighter.

Aryll enjoyed a slow deep inhale, relishing in her princess’s aroma that she had longed for, the only faint reminders lingered on the clothes she had brought with her but the scent had faded into nothingness. Now she was here, totally and completely consumed by it and her warmth once again.

She couldn’t imagine wanting a single thing more.

#zelink week 2023 #zelink week #yearning #zelink #fem!zelink #linked universe #lu wild #lu flora #lu legend #linked universe fic

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