#chapter 11 coming....... extremely soon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myownwholewildworld · 13 days

Text

chapter 9 | main masterlist | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 11 (soon)

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now) summary: recovery, if at all possible, is hard work ― but you're not alone. joel is there to hold your hand, through thick and thin. until death do you part. a/n: hello there! c: i hope this chapter puts some of you out of your misery, because it did me lol i'm sorry for the emotional damage you have endured so far, i'm giving you all a hug and forehead kisses 🫶 hope you enjoy this one! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you all so much for the warm welcome this series has gotten so far! love y'all 💖 p.s. there's a second a/n at the end of the chapter 👀 warnings: 18+, mdni. angst. being sick. references to suicide and navigating grief. mentions of blood and murder. description of wounds. joel takes care of you. a bit of fluff. reader talks briefly about her past with her family. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n. joel’s and reader’s pov. dividers by @saradika-graphics w/c: ~5.8k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t do this to me, not yet, please―”, Joel’s voice faltered as the lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him.

Panic was running so high, he couldn’t even hear his own racing thoughts. His shaking hands hovered over your cheek before cupping your chin. Your eyes were shut, your lips slightly parted, your hand still resting across his chest. To unknowing eyes, you just looked asleep, but your skin was burning so hot that Joel could only touch your forehead for a few seconds at a time.

“No, c’mon, wake up”, he whispered as he sat back up on the bed, holding your frame between his arms.

Fear froze him in place, his muscles cramped. Joel knew what was about to happen, but he had had no time to digest it yet, to wrap his head around the fact that you were going to die. He couldn’t lose you ― not you too. His heart shrunk painfully in his chest, oppressing his lungs to the point where it was difficult to breathe. The panic he had managed to keep at bay was overtaking his senses, setting in quickly.

Joel forced himself to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale ― until his heartrate dropped to somewhat normal levels. He could still feel his blood rushing through his veins in waves, but at least his chest had stopped hurting a little.

He looked down at you, burning in his arms. A fleeting thought crossed his mind ― why were you having a fever so severe? He had not seen anyone come down with a temperature when bitten, although he never stayed around for long enough to find out, so what did he know?

But it didn’t really matter how it was happening, but that it was happening. Joel was not ready to let you go, even though he promised he would murder you when the end was near. You had taken it back, but once he accepted, there was no turning back.

Joel Miller was many things, but he was not a quitter nor a liar. He would be true to his word.

He caressed your cheek as you shivered so hard that your teeth chattered together, brushing his mouth against your forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here”, he mumbled, although he was not sure if you were listening.

His heart flipped again at the realisation that he needed to make a decision about the when. Letting you suffer like this, when the end was inalterable, was cruel of him. Extremely cruel, especially because you were not able to stop your own suffering as you had wanted.

One hour, one hour and then I’ll let you go, he pledged to himself as he enveloped you in his arms.

This time you trembled so hard, you ran your elbow into his ribs. Joel mouthed an exclamation as he held you in place. He might be cruel, but not so insensitive to let you hurt like this. So he laid you down on bed and got up to run to the en-suite bathroom.

He almost sighed with relief when he saw a big bathtub. Praying for running water, he opened the tap and almost thanked God for the miracle. Joel let the water run for a few minutes until it came out clear. He tested the temperature, and it was so cold that the hairs on his forearm stood up.

Joel returned to the bedroom and sank a knee on the mattress to pick you up. You whimpered something, but your words were so slurred he couldn’t understand what you had said.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you”, he reassured you, his lips gently pressing against your temple.

Lifting you off the bed, Joel walked towards the bathroom with you curled up in his arms. Your bottom lip was quivering because of the effort your body was making to generate heat. But you didn’t need your core temperature to rise up but to come down and Joel knew that.

Sucking in his breath, he stepped in the bathtub, the cold water a shock to his body. But he was not going to leave you alone, not when you needed him the most. He would crawl through living hell on a path full of broken glass for you, so a bit of cold was not going to kill him. He slowly sat down, keeping the balance, and set you down between his legs, your back resting against his torso.

“Fuck”, he whispered while his body acclimatised to the cold water.

You suddenly groaned and Joel’s alertness went through the roof. He held you in his arms as you stirred, trying to get away in your haziness.

“Cold, so cold”, you mumbled, your eyes fluttering open for a brief second, your trembling hands looking for something to hold on to.

Joel captured both of your hands in one of his so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

“I know, I know, baby, but I need to cool you off. You have a fever”, he reasoned with you, but your neurons were firing up so much with pain that your brain could not really register his words.

“Joel, it― it hurts, please make it stop”, you begged, more unconscious than awake.

The lump in his throat grew bigger at your plea. He knew he had to do it but couldn’t find the strength. Was he a coward? Was he so afraid of solitude that he would put you through such hellish torment?

“I will, darlin’, I will. Just gimme a minute, please”, Joel murmured against your temple, holding you tight, his breath shaking with anticipated sorrow.

He did not want to say goodbye. Joel was fucking scared of bidding you farewell ― his heart racing so fast, the pain in his chest returned worse than before.

Joel remained still in that bathtub with you in his arms for half an hour, until his skin was desensitised. Your shivering calmed down to the point it was almost non-existent now and you had stayed quiet for the last five minutes, your chest rising and falling in a steady pace.

His movements were slow and smooth, not wanting to wake you up as he stood up still holding you. Stepping out of the bathtub, Joel grabbed a towel nearby, walked you to the bed again and carefully laid you down on the bedsheets. With light touches, he dried off your damp skin, ensuring he did not wake you up at any moment. You looked so peaceful, so painless now, he didn’t want to disrupt you too much.

With pursed lips, Joel gently removed the wet bandage protecting the bite and concernedly inspected the gnarly wound on your forearm. The teeth marks were so clear, he could count a full set of adult teeth. The lesion was still festering, blood and pus oozing out from time to time. But, weirdly enough, it seemed to be better than a few hours ago. It was less reddened, less swollen and, overall, less hideous looking.

You had to be a trooper if your body was really trying to heal that, because, from what he knew, there was no coming back from being bit by a clicker. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as Joel feebly patted the wound with the clean towel and replaced the bandage with a fresh one.

He then clothed you and as he was putting on your foot the last sock, your eyes opened for one second, full consciousness still evading you. You were in and out, catching brief moments of lucidity.

“Joel? I love you”, you managed to whisper before dosing off again.

“Me too, darlin’”, but you were too far gone again to hear him say it.

One hour turned into fifteen. Joel had gone through all five stages of grief in that time, and now was back to square one.

Denial.

This could not be happening to you ― you did not deserve to die like this. You were a very bright light on the shore, the lighthouse who guided him home when he thought everything was senseless, pointless. You had managed to teach him how to weather the worst tempests, how to keep the boat afloat even though the waves were bigger than him. Joel had been able to touch the sand for the first time in what felt like a lifetime of loss, all thanks to you. You were a beacon of hope, of positivity, and you deserved so much better than this.

Why you? Of the thousands of people walking this damn earth, why you? Destiny was laughing at him, snatching you away when he had just let himself feel the love you had so sweetly offered.

Anger.

He pinched the bridge of his hooked nose while the fingers of his free hand nervously played a melody on the arm of the chair he was sat on. Joel was pissed off at himself, for allowing himself to feel, to doom you the way he always did the people he loved.

One look at you, curled up on bed, was enough to make him hate himself for what he did to you. He might not have been the one who bit you, but he was the one who put you in harm’s way first. Had he been more attentive, less in his head, he could have prevented it from happening.

A shimmering but fading rage consumed what remained of his broken soul. Like a city burnt down to its foundations, only a barren wasteland prevailed inside his empty carcass.

Bargaining.

He got up from his resting to aimlessly walk around the bedroom, his sight never leaving you, worry distorting his features.

If he could, he would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Damn him, he would sacrifice countless people in your name if that meant you could remain by his side. You were worth more than a thousand lives in his eyes. Joel would kill for you, would commit atrocities for you if that meant you could be with him.

He probably was a selfish motherfucker for thinking that way, but his pain was blinding his judgement. And you would hate him for it ― he could hear your voice in his head saying, “I’m not worth that much, Joel.” But you were, yes, you fucking were.

The thought of not having you by his side brought overwhelming anxiety upon him, one he thought long forgotten.

Depression.

His demons caught up with him in the end.

With a heavy, trembling sigh, he sat down on the bed. Tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear, his gentle touch lingered on your neck. Your heartbeat was strong, and Joel wondered how long it would take for it to slowly die out. And at that moment, his would wither away too.

He just didn’t have it in him anymore ― Joel felt defeated, purposeless. Life would eventually become meaningless, and he would destroy himself, just like Tommy had predicted. His brother would be better off without him too, so there was no point in looking for him and his new-found group. It still pained him how quickly Tommy had ditched them, as if he could not wait to get rid of them, of him.

When he lost his precious Sarah, Joel deemed the world an inhabitable place. Darkness became his most trusted companion at the most dreadful hours of his existence. Until you shone a light which scattered the gloom away.

Acceptance.

It is what it is, Joel thought, conquered by the dreary circumstances.

He was no god, so couldn’t change the past. Your fate had been attached to his the moment you two met. And like a moth attracted to light, Joel could not stop but fall for you. You had showed him what true romantic love was and he should be grateful for the time he had with you. And he was but was greedy too ― he had wanted more. So much more, even in this post-apocalyptic world.

Joel bent down to kiss your forehead, realising your fever had subsided when his lips didn’t burn like before. At least he had done one good thing for you. Joel laid down beside you, wrapping you in his arms one last time before he would become, once again, the ghoul. Your ghoul.

Just one more minute to pretend, he told himself. Joel had finally come to terms with what was expected of him.

And then, as promised, he stood up and stilled in front of the nightside table where the gun had been resting for hours now. Two bullets were all he had left, but it was more than enough for what he intended. This time round, you would not be there to stop him ― it was almost poetic that his goodbye to you was a mirror image of how you two met.

Surprisingly, when Joel reached for it, his hand was steady, his finger wrapping around the trigger with a determination he did not really feel. His mind had gone blank the moment his palm caressed the grip.

The faster, the better, he coaxed himself as he checked the magazine one last time.

As if his soul had left his body, Joel watched himself from afar turn around to face you. The barrel of the gun delicately kissed your forehead. He wouldn’t look away ― if he was strong enough to kill you, he should be too to watch you die at his own mercy.

A blur of memories impregnated your brain, so vague you could not differentiate them. Or were they just a product of your imagination? You were not sure. You were a baby, but you were also a teen at the same time ― the chronology was so mixed up you could not tell the different versions of you apart.

You felt like your brain had melted inside your skull and were not able to produce logical thoughts. It really felt like mush after all the hurt you had endured. You barely remembered anything except for the searing pain that had consumed you, overwhelming all the nerve endings in your body to a maddening point. But after being surrounded by a blanket of coldness, you felt substantially better.

As time went on, your thoughts had become clearer, but a crushing sense of tiredness rendered you bedbound. Your limbs felt like jelly, your eyelids were glued to your globes, and your throat felt so dry that if you tried to pronounce a word, the effort would tear at your vocal cords. So you let yourself be swayed by the gentle waves of your imagination, drifting away into a realm of soothing possibilities. A place where nothing bad could ever happen ― a place where you had your happily ever after with Joel.

The passing of time escaped you ― for all you knew, it could have been days when you started to feel better. Your body had almost fought off the ailment that plotted your demise, although it still had a few battles ahead. Even if you had begun to come back to your senses, you were lucid enough to understand you could not push yourself into normalcy just yet.

Suddenly you felt a cold touch on your forehead and slowly wrinkled your eyebrows. Joel’s lips were usually warm when they brushed your skin, not icicles numbing your feeling. It took you a few attempts, but you were finally able to flutter your eyelashes enough to see.

And what you first saw once you regained consciousness was the barrel of a gun pointing at your forehead. Holding the firearm was Joel’s hand, gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. You had to blink again to clear your sight, cloudiness still fogging the edges.

“Joel?”, you called out, focusing your eyes on his for the first time in what it felt like ages.

He did not respond. The silence was so dense, so filling, you could listen to both of your hearts pounding hard against your chests, as if they were trying to escape and reunite, soothe one another until they calmed down.

“Joel”, you repeated, your voice raspy and hoarse.

You saw the doubt, the fear, dancing freely in his pupils. They were so dilated you could barely see the beautiful brown of his irises. Joel’s eyes were slightly widened, his breathing so agitated his chest moved up and down quickly. But the gun never left your forehead, his hand balanced.

“Fuck me, now I’m seeing things too”, he whispered so low you almost didn’t catch his words.

As the hefty mist dissipated in your brain, you understood what was happening.

You had asked, he had committed. Joel was about to put an end to your suffering, just as you requested. But there was no more suffering within you, not to the point where you wished yourself dead. Now it was… manageable.

He really was going to do it, even if it meant killing the last remnant of humanity within himself. Such act of selfless love brought tears to your eyes. You truly had to love someone to be able to let them go. To be the executioner’s hand ― the sacrifice was even bigger. Joel willing to forego his own being for you meant so many things, it was difficult to put them into words.

“Joel, look at me. Look at me”, you mumbled controlling your wavering tone as you gently pushed down the barrel by caressing his hand, your thumb gently rubbing his skin.

Even though he had been watching you, he was not really seeing you. But your request seemed to finally pervade, because you saw the change in his eyes ― a spark lightened, the brown gaining ground to the black. They broadened while focusing on you for the first time.

“Baby?”, his voice broke on the second syllable, the gun falling on top of the mattress.

You nodded, teary-eyed, as you tried to sit back up on bed. But you were still weak, dizziness overtaking your sense of balance, making the room go round you in a dangerous spiral.

Joel felt your light-headedness as his own, because he quickly sat down beside you, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders to keep you close to his torso.

“What― How― How are you feeling?”, Joel stammered for a second, not letting his hope win against dooming reality.

“I― I feel better.” You looked up at him, his gorgeous eyes pulling you in so fast. Your surprise was reflected on his pupils, none of you really understanding how it was even possible. “I don’t know, but I do?”

“Promise me.” He requested, not demanded, while his fingers traced the outline of your jaw, subtly caressing the skin behind your ear.

You turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand before glancing up at him again.

“I promise, Joel.”

He sighed so hard, you felt his relief pouring out. And so did yours, although you didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case this was the crash before the falling. You had not had an experience close to death before, but it surely wouldn’t feel like this. The agony your body had gone through, although still lingering, was not even half of what it had been some time ago.

The pain had receded, but the overall ill feeling still remained. Your immune system was up in arms, and you could literally feel it fighting off the infection. Your forearm, where you had been bitten, itched like hell. Unaware, your fingers tugged at the bandage, looking for some relief to the uncomfortable feeling.

Joel’s fingers laced with yours to prevent you from scratching yourself.

“You’re gonna make it worse, sweetheart”, he mumbled before a big, heavy pause. “I don’t know if this is supposed to happen, if this the calm before the storm or― I don’t know, but I’m honestly grateful that you’re awake.”

You felt the uncertainty smearing his words. But you did know this wasn’t normal.

“It’s not like this. People start fading away, becoming unresponsive, twitching, you can see their souls leaving their bodies. And you try to talk to them, reason with them as they get closer to you, you ask them to keep their distance and… and they just can’t control themselves, even if you beg them. Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes days, but they only get worse, never better…” You explained, memories of a far-away life flooding back. You kept the tears at bay.

Joel cupped your chin, forcing your head up so he could examine your expression. His lips formed a flat line, his jaw clenched, because he felt the affliction in your explanation.

“Who?”, he simply asked.

“My brother. He… he got infected first. Mom and dad, they… had to snatch him off me. They both got bit in their trying to save me.” You choked on your own words, that moment was too painful.

But it was the pain what reminded you of your love for them.

It was the pain what, for now, kept their memory alive.

“My dad had to… you know, shoot him so he would stop coming for me.” Not being able to contain it anymore, your eyes welled up with thick tears. And Joel wiped away each one of them with his thumb as they ran down your cheeks. “Then mom went first. It took her like ten hours to completely lose herself. And then dad… he endured it for a day and a half. Towards the end, the agony was so great, he just couldn’t take it anymore.” Your voice became a whisper as you buried your nose in Joel’s chest, his hand gently running up and down your spine.

As you closed your eyes to keep the tears away, the loud noise of your father’s rifle ricocheted in your imagination. You couldn’t save him. He had asked you to go outside, to leave your family’s home, but you couldn’t just quit on him, on the man who shaped you into who you were today. So as the bullet fired and a thudding noise broke you, your knees gave way as your fingers tightly wrapped around the doorknob.

Joel kissed your temple, a comfort you had learnt to crave. “I’m sorry I asked.”

You shook your head no, not wanting him to apologise. And as you tried to reply, the back and forth of your head brought upon you a sudden feeling of vertigo.

The room spun around, the walls closing in, crumbling on top of you. And then you felt it ― acid rushing up your throat, the bile burning as it went up. Bending over yourself, you missed the mattress by an inch and threw up on the floor.

“Shit”, you heard Joel mutter as he held your hair back in a ponytail, his free hand rubbing the small of your back. “It’s okay, darlin’, it’s fine”, he reassured you, keeping close to you, his mere presence comforting you.

Luckily you had not had much to eat, so you emptied your stomach rather quickly. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you straightened your back and Joel immediately hugged you tight.

“I’m sorry”, you apologised, mildly embarrassed although there wasn’t much you could have done to prevent it.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” He dismissed your apology while wiping the pearly sweet off your forehead. “The fever has not returned, but you should rest, you’re still weak.” Joel scooted over to the edge of the bed so you would have plenty of room to lie down.

You smirked at his concern but happily obliged. You were indeed very tired, albeit you had perked up since this morning. This morning. You had just realised it was dusking again, the twilight colours pouring in and painting the walls in its beautiful warm hues.

“I’ll go see if I can find a bucket and something to clean up.” He kissed your forehead before exiting the room.

The quiet peace in the room were so calming, you involuntarily shut your eyes. All your muscles ached, product of fending off a very high fever, as if you had spent a full day working out. You might not have lifted a finger in hours, but it truly felt like you just had had a marathon session in the gym.

Suddenly you heard a noise and startled awake. Joel had left a glass of water on the nightstand, and was down on his knees cleaning the sick off the floor.

“I was just resting my eyelids, I swear I wasn’t sleeping”, you said jokingly, a soft smile on your lips, as you reached for the glass and downed it to quench your sudden thirst and rinse your mouth.

Joel chuckled ― the first sign of laughter you had heard from him in what it felt like forever. Your heart made a little backflip in your chest.

“Sure thing. I think you should keep on resting your eyelids, you do need it.”

“But I just woke up”, you pouted, not wanting to fall asleep again. Not wanting to leave him alone.

He put the bucket with water and the cloth aside, his hands resting on his knees, and gifted you with one of his perfectly raised eyebrows.

“I ain’t going nowhere and I need you rested, so go to sleep now. Don’t drive me mad already, you just woke up”, his tone was somewhat serious, only softened by the grin transforming his mouth.

“I like you a little mad”, you confessed a universally known truth.

“I bet you do.”

Joel leaned over and tenderly kissed your lips. The faint, loving caress of his mouth was all medicine you needed, you longed for. So you scrunched the neck of his shirt in your fist, holding him in place, as you deepened in his mouth. Just a tiny taste, you thought to yourself.

The dancing that ensued was soft, undemanding. But then it gradually changed, the stroking of your tongue against his growing in intensity, your quick breaths becoming one as if you were sharing lungs.

Joel groaned and broke contact.

“No, sleep. You won’t distract me”, he rasped, clearing his throat.

Pursing your lips, you huffed, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“Sleep, I said.” This time it did sound like an order.

Was he afraid you wouldn’t wake up? Fucking yes, he was. From time to time, Joel would check on your pulse ― his lips subtly ghosting your artery to ensure it was still rushing under your cool, velvety skin. The fever had completely subsided too, which was a fucking relief. With light fingertips, he lifted your bandage just one inch ― the wound had stopped festering and, in fact, seemed to be healing.

He still couldn’t understand how you were recovering instead of succumbing to the bite. Were you immune? Because if so, a whole new world of danger would be lying in wait if someone discovered your secret. Most people would fear the unknown, would label you a freak ― a monster. Joel had gotten to understand human nature far too well in the last year, so he was already anticipating the worst-case scenario.

He could be mistaken though. Albeit the possibility was slim, very slim.

An uncomfortable groan slipped out of his mouth, trying to adjust his posture. With his arm under you, your nose nudging the center of his chest, Joel felt a tingling sensation running up his forearm. In his attempt to awaken his dead limb, you perked up at him, all sleepy and groggy.

“Sorry, can’t feel my arm anymore”, he apologised as you stirred against him, giving him the opportunity to free his arm from your weight. “Should go have a look outside, see how the bridges are holding up.”

You squeaked and pulled a face in your languor. “Mhmm, okay. But come back soon, I rest better knowing you’re here.” Your sincerity caressed the rough edges of his healing heart.

“You won’t even notice that I’m gone”, he vowed in a sough.

The silken linen draped around your waist, so satiny you thought you were surrounded by the soft pillows of a cloud. You felt rested, although still achy.

Pins and needles in all your muscles, every time you moved your flesh would protest. But despite the exertion every inch of your body had sustained, you felt infinitely better than a few hours ago.

With your train of thought coherent again, questions invaded your mind. So many, a cacophony of inner voices echoed in your brain. You grunted heavily, just wanting another moment of peace.

“Just shup up”, you told yourself, in the hopes that your internal narrator would heed the warning.

The heel of your hands buried in your eye sockets, forcing yourself awake. With care to not feel dizzy again, you sat back up on bed, your back against the cushy headboard. The room was silent ― so well isolated from the outside world you couldn’t hear how the city of Chicago was roaring.

What a rollercoaster the last two days had been. So much had happened you barely had time to take everything in. Your own calamity had eclipsed the tragedy of losing the people you allowed yourself to love.

But maybe it was better this way ― less emotionally draining. Maybe your heart couldn’t assimilate any more misfortune. Maybe you just should be grateful for being alive, even if it pained you ― even if survivor’s guilt chipped at you.

Feeling a knot in your throat, nothing to do with being sick this time, you slowly got up, testing your equilibrium. Once you felt safe standing, you walked towards the dresser in the room. You had sweated so much battling the fever, your clothes were patchy with perspiration. After rummaging through the belongings of the kind donor of the flat, you found a pair of jeans, a tee shirt. Your heart stopped at the sight of a measly Christmas jumper.

Then it hit you. You had spent Christmas Eve curled up in a bathtub with Joel, fighting for your life, and there were only a couple of hours remaining until Christmas Day was over.

Tears sprouting, the jumper wrinkled between your shaking fingers. If life was to be as expected, you would now be in Joyce’s living room, exchanging presents. You had traded some food stamps to get Joel an acoustic guitar.

Upon your arrival to Chicago, which now seemed to be an eternity away, he had told you how much he liked music, how soothing he found it to be, how his old man taught him when he was just a kid. You had asked him what his favourite song to play was, snuggled in his arms, and he had undoubtedly replied: Helplessly Hoping by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Joel had said, ghosting your lips with his, how much that song reminded him of you, but specially of himself.

That had tickled your curiosity. You had never heard it before so did some research into it ― but couldn’t find the lyrics nor the melody. By gifting him the guitar, you were hoping to listen to it from his fingers for the first time.

Now it would never happen, not unless you found another guitar, which was an almost impossible task. You had spent weeks looking for someone with a guitar they were willing to part with.

With a heavy sigh, you changed clothes and shuffled around the room, looking for bits and bobs that might be useful.

The sound of someone bursting in woke you up ― you had nodded off unintentionally on the couch. Your heart jumped out of your chest, racing so fast you almost threw up again. Joel turned the corner of the corridor, and you gasped.

His white tee shirt was soaked in thick red, green and black. It was obvious he had run into trouble and had to fight his way out. You got up, heart on your tongue, and closed the distance to reach him as he lunged himself forward towards you.

“What’s happened?”, you asked breathlessly. “Are you hurt?”

“Shit is coming down real fast. We need to leave the city. Now”, Joel whispered as he approached, but stopped before hugging you, realising all the dirt, blood and guts on his tee shirt.

You didn’t care. You wrapped your arms around his waist, your ear flat against his chest. The rhythmic pumping of his heart appeased you. Just a bit.

“Joel, are you hurt?”, you insisted, worried sick, as you looked up at him.

He shook his head no, cradling your face.

“I’m okay, but we gotta go, sweetheart. We can’t stay. The bridges have been overrun; the clickers are this side of the river now. If we stay, we die.” His words were infused with a sense of urgency.

“I’ve packed some bits while you were gone, in case we had to leave”, you remembered, pointing at the two backpacks on the sofa.

“What would I do without you?”, Joel praised you, pressing a faint kiss on your mouth. “I know you’re still not feeling great, but we don’t really have any other options.”

“I’m fine enough, let’s go.” No, you didn’t feel one hundred percent, but you would have to.

In less than a minute, you both were out the door and running down the stairs.

“I’ve got a car in the garage in the basement, running won’t get us far”, he said, tugging at your wrist to guide you down another flight of stairs.

“A car? How?”

“Don’t worry about it”, he answered quickly. Too quickly.

You all had to do what you must to survive. How he had obtained that car ― it didn’t matter.

Running towards the Jeep, you jumped in and so did Joel. The wheels screeched as Joel reversed and then pressed on the gas pedal. The doors to the garage burst open as the front of the car hit them. You held on to the handle as well as Joel’s forearm as he focused on dodging any obstacle in the way ― living or dead.

Looking through the window, you saw herds of people running. The screams filled the air, impregnating it with death and mayhem. It was dark, but if you had paid enough attention, you would have seen the devastation, the destruction.

Buy you didn’t want to see. You had already been witness to the end of the world. You didn’t need the reminder.

So you looked away, Joel’s rugged face being your focal point. You scrutinised his expression, the lines forming between his eyebrows and on his cheeks. How his lips pursed with worry, how he clenched his jaw. He hadn’t said it, but you read his body language too well. He was doing a great job managing his anxiety, but you knew it was there, flaring under the calm surface.

You glanced at the road ahead. A sign reading “Rockford” told you Joel was taking you west.

Whatever cardinal point he chose, it would be alright. As long as you had Joel by your side, you both would be just fine.

a/n (again): AHHHHH 🚨 the cat is out of the bag 😫 soo yea, reader is immune, been dying to tell you for ages now, THE RELIEF lmao but there's a reason to it (and it's hiding somewhere in the chapters!)! is anyone of you able to guess why? 🧐

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

@harriedandharassed @thepalaceofmelanie @eternallyvenus

115 notes · View notes

yearningagain · 2 months

Text

it's enough (to make a girl blush): chapter two

HELLO!!! welcome to chapter two! i'm amazed at the traction that this has gained with just the first chapter, and it's giving me so much motivation to continue this!

i've also decided to open up my ask box for suggestions for rambles and ficlets, so please shoot me a message if you feel so inclined!

and of course a huge thank you to @kayleeofcamelot for betaing and helping me so much!! without further ado!

also on ao3!

part one | part three

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

Steve loved Robin more than he thought he could love anyone. She was the peanut butter to his jelly, the rock to his roll, the yin to his yang. He doesn't know how he managed as long as he did before meeting her, and he frankly doesn't know what he would do without her now.

That being said, sometimes she does make Steve want to give himself another concussion.

Lunch at the deli had been uneventful. They had eaten their sandwiches while nestled in the window booth in the back corner, turned to look out onto the streets of Chicago. Most of their conversation was driven by judgmental comments about passerby’s, ranging from jabs about interesting color choices on someone's tracksuit to monologues about wearing a faux fur coat with cheetah print leggings (“It’s the principle, Rob! You wouldn’t get it”).

After finishing their meals, the pair made their way across the street to the record store. Upon entry, Steve was surrounded by deep earthy scents, old vinyl and incense mingled with the fresh flowers growing in pots littered about. And that brought them to their current situation.

Robin was making a complete and utter fool out of herself. She was bright red in the face, and Steve couldn’t tell if it was from pure mortification or her complete lack of breathing for the past five minutes. As soon as a little blonde omega, introduced as Chrissy, emerged from the shelves to greet them and show them around, the alpha had not been able to stop her mouth from running and running. Now, normally in these situations, Steve would insert himself into Robin's one sided conversation and slow her down, purely to rescue the other person from being roped into a woven tale of at least six subjects at once. But after one look at Chrissy, and the adoration and attentiveness in her expression, he decided to leave it be.

At the back corner of the shop was a small gathering of armchairs, a loveseat, and a small wooden coffee table. Plopping down into the comfiest looking chair, leaving the girls to their own devices, Steve pulled out his phone to start tackling the sea of messages he had received during the night.

Dusty

12:58 AM: STEVE

STEVEN

12:59 AM: STEVEN HARRINGTON

STEVEN LOUISE HARRINGTON

1:01 AM: do you even love me anymore

1:08 AM: if i were dying i'd be dead by now

1:14 AM: ☠️☠️🩸🩸

1:27 AM: okay whatever goodnight steven text me when you’re alive again ig 🙄

11:39 AM: Jesus Christ kid

That’s not even my name

11:40 AM: Did you die?

11:41 AM: no

11:41 AM: So what was so important?

11:43 AM: before i say anything i want to remind you that i know all of your secrets and also you love me sooo much and you’re the best babysitter ever and you owe me for letting my mom hire you at the shop

11:44 AM: Dustin. What did you do.

11:44 AM: nothing!

i didn’t do anything i swear on my mother

11:45 AM: Okay…

So…?

11:46 AM: my favorite band is playing here next month but its an 18+ show

mom would never come with me, she’d have a heart attack i think

so i need you to take me

11:48 AM: i can pay for your ticket if you want!

11:50 AM: steve?

A loud crash echoed from within the shop, followed by an extremely disheveled Robin popping her head into the nook. "I need your help."

—

Leaving the girls was both the best and worst decision Steve could have made.

In the ten minutes of inattentiveness, the alpha had managed to talk for seven of them consecutively. After realizing she had been talking herself in circles, she tried to reign it in, which ultimately ended in her accidental confession of attraction towards Chrissy. That then led to a kiss-turned-make-out, in which Robin had tried to push the shorter girl against a wall for more leverage. However, blinded by her circumstances, she pushed the omega into one of the shelves, effectively knocking it and its contents to the ground. They were old antique shelves that had been modified with basket-drawers to store records and other miscellaneous objects, they were heavy .

Steve would be upset, but the dark blush and lovesick smile never quite left Robin's face.

With that mess dealt with, he was finally able to respond to Dustin. He shot a quick 'Sure. Just LMK the deets ' text and slid his phone back into his pocket. Chrissy led them both back to the nook, bustling about and making sure they were comfortable.

"Steve, I am so incredibly sorry about that! Please sit here, let me go grab something and I'll be right back!" She dashed off down a small hallway towards the back of the building.

Steve shook his head at Robin, sighing loudly. "Couldn't keep it in your pants?"

The alpha huffed and looked away. She huffed again, this time more of a sniff. And then again.

"Steve, are you fucking with me or something?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, he followed suit in her actions by taking his own sniff of the air. "What? What's going on?"

She continues sniffing, seemingly following the scent. Standing from her spot on the loveseat, laser focused on tracking, she walks right over to Steve.

"Your scent, it's changing. I knew it was different this morning! I know what you smell like, dingus. And you don't smell like you anymore. Well, okay, you still smell like you! But it's like you're roasting apples in the woods on a camping trip. And you've always smelled like apples, so I'm glad that's the same, but now it's different. Has anything weird happened lately? Have you felt different at all? Do you have a fever?" Her curiosity morphs into concern and she starts placing her hands over the omegas face, seeing if she can tell the temperature. "I've never been good at this. Should we go to the doctor? Do we need an ambulance? Shit, did you get poisoned?"

Steve grabbed her hands firmly, guiding them to his chest and taking a deep breath. "Breathe. I'm not dying, Robs. I think I'd know if I was." He takes a few more measured breaths, pulling her down into his lap for a hug.

After he was sure she was calm, he relaxed his grip, but didn't let go. "I was actually meaning to ask you about something. Nothing bad, I promise! I just... I had this really weird dream last night and I woke up convinced it had actually happened. I was so convinced there would be physical proof, but there wasn't any. But I could smell the alpha in my dream. Have you ever had a dream where you could smell the other people?"

Robin looked at him calculatingly, a crease forming in her brow at the thought. "No, never. I didn't think it was a thing that happened."

"Exactly. I could smell him, birdie. I could feel him. It was real . Until it wasn't. I woke up heartbroken. For no real reason." He sighed once more, lowering his gaze to his fingers rested in his lap.

"Okay, I am so sorry once again, and I had no intention to eavesdrop whatsoever, but I want to help." Chrissy emerged from the hallway with a plate of mini cupcakes, a sheepish expression.

Steve waved her off. "It's all good. If you don't think I'm crazy, I don't mind suggestions."

She set the plate of cupcakes onto the coffee table and sat down on the loveseat. Robin quickly scrambled off of Steve to sit next to the other omega, shooting him an apologetic glance.

"So, basically, I read this book once, out of pure curiosity, that was about fate and the universe and all that. It had a whole section about how, years and years ago, alphas and omegas were randomly going through what seemed to be second presentations. It started with scent changes, and apparently a lot of people experienced some sort of initial mental connection. These changes were way less severe, and oftentimes not noticeable until a random heat or rut was triggered. When that would happen, it was always a pair at a time, one alpha and one omega. The moment they would smell the other for the first time is the moment their respective presentations would complete. They'd come out the other side bonded and, most often, pupped. Their bodies were preparing."

Steve stared at Chrissy, mouth agape. "Preparing for what, exactly?"

"Their soulmate!"

67 notes · View notes

lokideservesahug · 6 months

Text

For How Long!?! -Extras

Extra 1: Y/N Y/L/N - Timeline

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x fem!driver!Reader. Oscar Piastri x reader (platonic), Arthur Leclerc x reader (platonic), Mick Schumacher x reader (platonic)...

Warnings: None that I can see.

Notes: This isn't a SMAU (sorry). Also this could be added to/altered. And I hope to put out the next chapter pretty soon...

Also!!! I got way too far into writing this before finding out that a driver can only win F2 once (or rather after they win it, they can't return)....so for my own sanity, that rule doesn't exist or if it does then it came into place after Y/N won 5 championships😅

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

2012- Age 11

Y/N Signed with Red Bull Racing for them to sponsor her in her karting career. This was a part of the Red Bull Recruiting Scheme (RBRS).

2017- Age 16

Y/N becomes the first woman to race in The F3 European Championship. She goes on to come second in the drivers championship.

2018- Age 17

Y/N meets F3 rookie Oscar Piastri and the two become friends (they still are to this day). She wins the F3 championship and recieves an offer to move up the ranks and into Formula 2. She runs into Logan Sargeant, he asks her out and the two start dating yet don't tell a soul.

2019- Age 18

Y/L/N Moves Up to Formula 2 into the newly established Red Bull Racing Formula 2 Team. The RBRS terminates any connection with lower leagues of racing but establishes a Formula 2 team. Y/L/N is the first woman to ever enter F2. She also signs as Red Bull's F1 reserve driver. Y/N even stood in for (and came 3rd in) a race after Pierre Gasly became extremely ill. This makes her the first woman to ever get on the podium in an F1 race and also one of the youngest drivers to ever start a race.

Y/N meets driver Mick Schumacher and the two become good friends despite their different teams. Y/N went on to come second in the championship, narrowly missing Nyck de Vries for points. She is also awarded the Anthoine Hubert award.

2020- Age 19

Y/N once again, comes runner up in the Formula 2 championship by loosing to her good friend Mick Schumacher by a few points.

Red Bull Racing renew a contract for the next 2 years to be a team in Formula 2 and they sign Y/N's new teammate, Liam Lawson. Y/N continues to race for them and for the third year in a row, she comes second in the Formula 2 championship due to a technically issue with the car causing her to DNF (huge scandal in the F2 world). The media also sees Y/L/N "meeting" rookie Logan Sargeant and the pair become extremely close...

2021- Age 20

2022- Age 21

Liam Lawson swaps teams to race for Carlin with Logan Sargeant. Y/L/N once again comes second in the F2 championship. People are confused by her lack of wins or lack of moving to other motorsports categories (especially with her F1 podium in the past). Y/L/N is unable to win due to the amount of races and points missed by driving in F1 (as a reserve driver). She does however score many more points and podiums in F1.

2023- Age 22

In mid December, Y/N receives a call from Aston Martin F1 executives. They invite her to have a meeting about possibly racing for them that year. Y/N goes to the meeting and leaves having signed for Aston Martin Aramco F1 team for the 2024 season. This is because Lance Stroll dropped out for undisclosed "personal reasons"

Y/N meets Arthur Leclerc. The pair become very good friends - this is aided by Logan Sargeant and Oscar Piastri's Formula 1 debuts and subsequent exits from the F2 scene. Y/N wins the F2 championship finally, making history for women in motorsport. Not long after, Red Bull announces the retirement of their RBRS programme and they pull out of junior motorsports to "focus on the current success of [their] Formula 1 team"

2024- Age 22 (not yet 23)

It is publicly announced that Y/N Y/L/N is replacing Lance Stroll to race at Aston Martin for the 2024 season...

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading. As always likes, reposts and especially feedback is greatly appreciated.

Please don't copy, translate or steal my works without permission.

Taglist: (I didn't know if I should do this or not because it's not a chapter but oh well)

@nikfigueiredo

@mysoulispainted

@leclercings

@hiireadstuff

@a-beaverhausen

@d3kstar

@nichmeddar

@lozzamez3

@stinkyjax

@littlesatanicassholebitch

@insanedeathwish

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #logan sargeant #f1 fanfic #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant fic #f1 x you #logan sargeant x reader #ldah's writing

90 notes · View notes

weeeeeekly · 3 months

Text

quarter life crisis – ot5 tomorrow x together x afab!reader

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

blurb !!! Reincarnation can bring soulmates together despite their time apart. Being a huge fan of TOMORROW X TOGETHER helped you get through the struggles of entering early adulthood. You would thank them personally if you ever could but when you possibly get the chance it’s more than what you could ever hope for.

info !!! txt are still idols, reincarnation au, soulmates au, polyamory, throuple²… they’ll all eventually date each other, mc has mental health struggles, universe assigned lactose intolerance, team no kids, glasses wearer, lives in the middle of fuck nowhere but still a city (just go with it), pet names used are “our love” and princess, & not edited.

wc: 1.7k

WARNINGS !!! NSFW, MDNI, 18+, extremely self-indulgent, soft yandere!txt, mentions of mental health & self-harm (nothing graphic) for entire series

author’s note !!! This is fiction!!! this is made up!!! I do not condone breaking in, stalking, and other ulterior motives to get close to someone you are romantically interested in.

why are there not more ot5!txt x fem/afab or gender-neutral reader… mandatory note that i do not think txt act like this in real life. I also cannot come up with a blurb for the life of me, so please peep the info tags.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

CHAPTER THREE

TXT could not just be friends with you – their soulmate – the one person left on this Earth to complete them. Someone made for them. Their last love from their previous life.

They could play the long game with you. They had all the time in the world now that you were back in their lives.

They watch from the peephole to figure out your schedule. After Taehyun’s first accidentally run in with you, he made sure to go to the gym early in the morning, but soon realized that you didn’t leave for work until 7 AM. He learned that when he was walking back to the apartment the next day when you greeted him while locking your door. Soobin learned that you got home around 4:30 PM when he went out to get snacks. Kai learned what car you drove and your designated parking spot when he was sitting on the balcony, strumming his guitar. Beomgyu learned that your room was on the other side of the thin wall of their kitchen when he heard you talking to a friend at 11 PM every night. Yeonjun learned that your roommate worked as an ER nurse and would be working all day Friday when he overheard them on the phone in the laundry room.

You were still shy and nervous around them, which they found absolutely adorable, but you would remember everything soon. Even if they had to help you.

When Friday rolled around, the guys made sure to be awake by 6:30 AM to watch you leave for work with your roommate. They wait until they see your car drive off before they go next door. They climb over the railing of their porch to yours and crack open the sliding door that you never locked. Once inside, they beeline to your room.

The door was closed but not locked. Soobin opens the door slowly to your safe space and the closest they’ll get to you for now. Once they get over the shock and excitement of the posters and merch you have of them, they get to business.

Beomgyu flops down on your bed to inhale the detergent you used, clutching one of the pillows. Yeonjun opens your closet to peruse and maybe take a clothing item or two – for safe keeping, of course. Taehyun takes pictures of your calendar for your schedule for the rest of the month and anything else he deems important to know. Kai goes to your vanity to smell, and steal, your perfumes as he gets the travel spray from his pocket. And Soobin has to keep calm as he looks at your TXT shelf. He can tell that you love and care about their group.

As the others finish their side quests, they all gather around Soobin. Your adorable self has collected all their Korean albums. By the window is a white shelf under a collage of ripped out photos from their albums, the top shelf sits a binder with keychain plushies of their representative emojis, the next shelf houses their albums in release order, and the bottom shelf is their light stick and other merch. The twin shelf has albums from other groups, but they can’t be bothered to care when you have a whole shelf dedicated to them.

Kai sighs in content, “She was perfect before, but now she’s the most perfect person in the universe.”

The rest agree as Taehyun takes a picture.

“We should leave soon. The protocol team keep spamming the group chat asking for a video call.”

Staying in their soulmate’s room was cut short as Beomgyu accepted a phone call from a staff member as the guys make sure everything in your room is in the exact same place as before.

“Thank god you finally picked up! Why are you not in LA?”

“Um, we had some issues with our connecting flight.” Beomgyu tells staff as he hears the protocol team talk over each other through the speaker while he climbs over the railing to the neighboring porch.

“It’s been week! We can’t keep pushing back the In the Soop filming at the retreat house. What hotel are you in? We’ll just book the next ticket to LA from NYC.”

“There’s no need. We had a change in plans lol sorry. Manager-nim is watching over us as we film content here. Talk to you soon, bye!” Beomgyu hangs up as shouting starts and turns his phone completely off. The other members look at him as he shrugs.

“Is Manager-nim enjoying their cruise?”

Soobin shows the spam of photos their manager sent them yesterday while they were docked in a city in Europe. They made sure the free cruise they offered their manager had no wifi on the boat and paid for VIP treatment so they would be off their phone for the rest of the month as they cruised across the world.

“We should be good for another 3 weeks of peace.”

Yeonjun goes back to his shared room with Beomgyu and Taehyun to study English pick up lines, Soobin and Kai decide to watch an English movie to study their English, and Beomgyu and Taehyun head to the gym.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

Honestly, things could be worse.

The universe is somehow on your side while simultaneously being against you. Your favorite musicians, that you have major crushes on, moved in next door to you for some reason that you’re still searching for. TXT are acting like this is normal for them while you’re constantly trying to stop yourself from screaming, crying, throwing up, and other emotes whenever you see them.

You try to close your eyes for a second to resituate yourself before working on another spreadsheet, but the current state of your desk makes you rethink. Random inclusions from albums decorate your workspace – postcards and mini posters stuck to the whiteboard with magnets, fan made freebies displayed, and a TXT calendar from their season’s greetings for the year. You decorated your space with your other interests, but all of your coworkers knew about your love for TXT.

Speaking of coworkers, every time you made eye contact with one, they would send you a sympathetic look after the hiatus news came out. You’re 1000% sure that everyone knows that you cried in the bathroom after their sympathy “party”, but you were going to ignore that thought.

The rest of your day went by smoothly – well, as smooth as a day can when all you think about is world famous international sensation boy group TXT are your neighbors when they’re allegedly on hiatus. You give up on trying to jump through hoops to make sense of your very niche predicament.

roomie working overtime again

roomie going to our dream vacay fund

Getting ready to show up to an empty apartment, you triple check to make sure you saved your work and clean your desk space for tomorrow. The drive home is mundane as always, but ever since TXT moved in next door, you can’t bring yourself to listen to their music. You never acted like this unless your post-concert depression was really bad.

You may not be able to bring yourself to play your favorite songs, but you can get answers from the sources themselves.

Before you’re able to knock on your neighbor’s door, the door opens to have you facing Kai.

“Hi Kai. Can I come over?”

He mumbles your name as he steps aside to the view of Soobin napping on the couch, Yeonjun reading a magazine, and Beomgyu and Taehyun playing some video game, bickering in Korean.

Apologetically, you announce yourself, “Hey guys, sorry to barge in last minute.”

Beomgyu and Taehyun whip their head in your direction and drop their controllers at the same time. Yeonjun lowers the magazine from his face to make eye contact with you only to then cartoonishly fumble it in his hands, then trying to play it cool to read the upside-down magazine. And Soobin is rudely awoken when Kai pinches his nose.

“I have many questions, some that I know you’ll probably never answer, but please,” You kneel down and clasp your hands together, “Please answer my questions.”

You didn’t realize that your plea would send the guys into shock as Kai and Beomgyu barely function to help you on the couch. You switch places with them as the calm down standing up.

“What questions do you have?” Taehyun asks.

“How did you and Yeonjun get so good at English?”

Yeonjun’s face turns cherry red and causes him to hide behind his hands as Taehyun stares at you, taken aback.

“W-well, we had English lessons. We just watched English movies to improve.”

“You two are basically fluent.”

“Thank you, really.”

You grin is reciprocated by the duo as you twiddle your fingers, dreading to ask the next question, but you selfishly needed to know.

“Is TXT really on hiatus?”

Yeonjun looks back to the rest of the members as Soobin nods, turning back to Taehyun, he nods as well.

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you continue, “It’s not forever, right?”

Soobin walks closer as he speaks up, “Just a break. We need a break.”

You refused to check social media after the announcement. Basically, a break from social media despite it being forced so you don’t spiral. Thankfully, the only people in your life that brought it up was your work but even then, that didn’t feel real. You silently thank your roommate for not saying anything to you.

“I have a question.”

“Go ahead, Kai.”

“Do you feel…” Kai leans over to whisper in Taehyun’s ear.

“Uncomfortable.”

Kai nods as he tries again, “Do you feel uncomfortable around us?”

“Am I uncomfortable around you? More like are you uncomfortable around me! I’m a fan.”

Beomgyu kneels in front of you as his hands gently hold your face, “Our beautiful MOA.”

If someone would feel your chest, they would feel your heart beating fast enough to power a car engine. Your eyes grow wide as you stare into Beomgyu’s. The rest of the guys’ heart swell as they watch the scene that reminds them of the past. You loved it when they caressed your face.

With shaky hands, you reach up to gently take his hands off you as you abruptly stand up.

“I need to go. Bye.” Running out, slamming their door and then your door as you lean against the wall.

You were certainly going to have trouble sleeping tonight.

masterlist | previous | next

#txt x reader #txt x you #tomorrow x together x reader #tomorrow x together x you #txt fanfic #txt smut #ot5 x reader #soobin x reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader #yandere txt

61 notes · View notes

therealcocoshady · 8 months

Text

Recovery - Chapter 11

Eminem x FemReader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Em wonders what he should do for the diss track mentioning Y/N when an unexpected threat comes along, involving old pictures.

Tags : Angst, Comfort, Fluff

CW : Mention of nude pictures ; Panic attack ; Anxiety ; Mention of nudity

You looked at him, confused. The two of you were standing extremely close to one another and his hand was still on your shoulder. His eyes were focusing on your lips, as you were nervously chewing on the bottom one. You could tell he wanted you. Not a doubt in your mind. And clearly, you wanted him just as much.

Marshall…, you whispered.

Y/N…

You gently grazed his forearm with your hand, prompting him to get even closer. You were chest to chest. He looked you in the eyes, though he seemed lost in some sort of haze. The two of you said nothing, he simply let his hand fall to your hip and you placed a hand on his chest, gently clutching at his tee-shirt. Your faces were inches away, and all you had to do was to get on the tip of your toes. But you didn’t. The silence was comfortable. Nothing was happening and yet, this was intimate. You could feel his heart beating in his chest, his breath on you. His fingers started digging in your hip, through the soft fabric of the tee-shirt. You ached to feel him on your skin. Your chest was softly heaving, lessening the distance a little bit with every breath. You looked at his face, but couldn’t decipher what he was feeling. He brought his hand to your face and gently stroked your cheek, his thumb grazing your bottom lip.

Stop biting your lip like this, he ordered softly.

Why ? You hummed.

Because it makes me want to do the same, he whispered. I could be the one biting it.

You felt a knot form in your stomach. This man was something else. Barely touching you, just with his voice, he managed to drive you crazy. You couldn’t manage to hold a whimper as soon as the words left his mouth. Right when you thought it wasn’t possible, his eyes got a shade darker before he closed them. He cupped your face and his lips almost grazed yours. You started to lean in for a kiss before a knock on the door pulled you out of your transe.

Hum… Marshall ? You heard Paul say. Are you guys coming or what ?

Shit, Marshall muttered.

He suddenly took a step back, staring at you in shock, as if he just came to his senses.

Coming, Paul, he said louder, not taking his eyes away from you.

Suddenly, just with a step back, he seemed so far away. It was as if your heart had dropped in your chest. You looked at each other in a silence that was no longer comfortable. You grabbed your soaked tee-shirt and walked through the door.

Thanks for the tee-shirt, you whispered.

You went back to the couch in the studio, trying to keep your composure. Jamal was staring at you. Even though you tried to keep a straight face, you could tell he knew that something was wrong. He knew you too well anyway. Still, you tried to smile. Marshall came in a few minutes later and you tried your best not to look at him. Instead, you grabbed the laptop in your bag and started working.

You don’t eat the rest of your food ? Jamal asked.

You can have it if you want, you said with your eyes still on the screen.

You barely ate, girl.

I have to work, you said. That dissertation isn’t going to write itself, you know ?

Yeah, we should work too, Marshall pointed out.

Have you decided what you want to do about that diss track ? Jamal asked.

No, Marshall said in an annoyed voice. What do you think ?

I mean, the guy’s an asshole, that’s for sure, your friend replied. He got a lot too personal for my taste, coming for your family and friends. Especially Proof. And I don’t like that he called Y/N a bitch, of course.

Y/N, what do you think ? Porter asked you.

I don’t have an opinion, you said.

You could feel the guys staring at you, but you kept on writing a paragraph.

What do you mean you don’t have an opinion ? Jamal asked. Y/N, the man insulted you.

Yeah, Royce said. He said… What was it again ? That you’re a tiny bitch in a shiny dress and… Something about your tits ?

Yup. “Big ass tits”, Paul recalled. And how he wants to, uh… You know. Fuck you in Marshall’s place.

Aren’t you mad ? Porter asked.

Couldn’t care less, you said honestly.

Really ? You’re going to let someone talk about fucking you on a diss record ?! Jamal asked, suddenly getting heated.

You rolled your eyes and stared at him.

He doesn’t talk about fucking me, he talk about fucking Em’s girl or whoever that is.

That’s the same thing, he pointed out. You can’t be serious.

It is not the same thing, you said as you put the emphasis on the negation. Whatever… I’m starting to think that the rap game’s really cute.

Cute ?! Royce interjected.

They were all staring at you in shock.

Yeah, you said with a soft laugh. This guy just wants to be noticed by you. I mean, when you think about it, people throwing disses at each other is just a way to get attention. Like when you’re teasing someone in high school, and it’s actually because you really like them ? So yeah,… Cute. And that JJL person that gave you friendship jewelry ? Cute too.

This caused the whole group to chortle. Marshall stared at you with a grin.

LL Cool J, he corrected with a smile. And it’s not friendship jewelry.

You guys act all tough, but you’re just a bunch of softies, you teased. You just have your twisted ways of writing love letters to each other, I guess. If he didn’t think that you’re great, he wouldn’t come for you. So really, it’s a diss, but I feel like it’s some sort of compliment too, at that point.

That part is kind of true, in that case, Royce said.

Don’t you dare say we’re softies, though. I mean, we are, but it’s a secret, you know ? Porter said with a wink.

You chortled.

Plus, there’s the obvious thing, you added. He can write a diss on Marshall because he’s got some info or so he thinks. But we don’t know anything about him, do we ?

She’s got a point, Paul said.

Can you look him up ? Marshall asked.

You didn’t respond, just handed him the computer.

Just do it, Royce said. By the time Em understands how the computer works, we’ll all be in a retirement home.

You chuckled and searched for the guy’s name on Google. Of course, there were already a bunch of headlines about his diss track. The guy had a massive following on social media and was apparently known to put out disses to every rapper out there, though most people didn’t bother responding. You didn’t tell the guys, but you thought he was good-looking. He was about your age and definitely your type. He could have been one of your celebrity crushes, if he hadn’t been an asshole and had actual talent. You shared what you found with them.

What do you want to do ? You asked Marshall.

I don’t know, he said. I’d gladly destroy him, just for sport. But I also don’t want to make him bigger.

Technically speaking, he’s not even good, Royce pointed out.

And lyrically, Porter began…

…even I could come up with a better diss, you continued.

They all chortled.

Really ? Marshall asked with a smirk. Let’s hear it. What would you say if you had to diss me ?

Well, I…, you hesitated, realizing you probably got ahead of yourself.

You can’t come up with anything, now, can you ? He asked cockily.

I uh… could say it’s ironic that you call yourself a Rap God when you have such a dad bod ? you chuckled.

The others burst out in laughter as Marshall looked at you amused. “Bitch”, he muttered gently. This prompted the group to try and find actual good, original disses to throw at Marshall, who responded by dissing them back. It was fun and entertaining for you to see them go back and forth and come up with the craziest bars. You probably weren’t very objective, but you were blown away by Marshall’s talent. You spent the afternoon working and laughing at boys, who did not get actual work done, too busy making fun of each other. At the end of the day, Marshall decided not to respond to the diss. As out of line as it was, he thought it didn’t deserve his attention, and everyone ended up agreeing, though Royce seemed a bit disappointed.

When you finally got home, you were greeted by the smell of your favorite dish : Talia’s signature Masala Chicken.

Hey, you said shyly as you entered the kitchen to say hi.

Hi you, she said as she turned to you.

You were shocked by the sight of her. She had scratches on her arms and face, as well as a black eye. Her lip was pretty swollen too.

Oh my god, Talia, what happened to you ?! You asked in a panicked voice. Jamal, come here !!!

I’m fine, she said. Don’t worry about it baby.

What happened ? You asked again. Who did that to you ?

Don’t freak out, she sighed. I… paid a little visit to Cassie at her hotel last night.

You what ?!

Jamal came into the kitchen and sighed.

I told you she’d freak out when you’d tell her, babe, he said.

You knew ?! You asked him in disbelief. And you didn’t tell me ?

Well, she told me last night, when she came back, he sighed. And she made me promise not to tell you before therapy.

She won’t bother you anymore, baby. I made sure of it, she said

Your eyes opened wide.

What… Is she the one who did that to you ?! Cassie ?! You asked.

You should see her, she grinned. I just planned on confronting her, but one thing led to another and… Well. You see.

You didn’t have to do that for me, you whined. I don’t want to see you get hurt.

I did that for the both of us, really. Cassie and I… We had some preexisting beef. I should have handled that a long time ago, she explained.

What beef ?

Before uni, we went to the same highschool. Back then, she was already the meanest girl in the class. She hated me. Then, we went to uni and she spread a bunch of rumors about me… Before getting my boyfriend to sleep with her. So, really, she had it coming, she said.

Why didn’t you tell me ?

Because you were already friends with her when I met you ! And as much as I hate her, I didn’t want you to get into it. As far as I knew, she was a good friend to you, so that’s what matters, right ? She explained.

Tears were starting to well in your eyes. Talia really was the best person you knew. She smiled at you and brought you into a hug.

I love you, baby, she said. I’m sorry I was so hard on you. I just… I couldn’t bear to lose you, you know ? You mean so much to me.

I love you too, you whined before giving her another hug.

Anyway, I made your favorite food, because you deserve some props for being 24 hours sober, she said with a smile. I am so proud of you.

And just like that, your bestie was back. The three of you had a lovely evening, until you got a call from none other than… Simon. He told you he broke up with Sarah and wanted to see you. Some part of you wanted to say yes, as you were feeling a bit guilty for the things you said the last time you had seen it, but you didn’t feel ready yet. Before hanging up, he asked if the rumors of you going out with Eminem were true. You didn’t respond and wished him goodnight.

The two following days were uneventful. It was business as usual. You were working on your dissertation at the studio, keeping the guys company. They all had a solid work ethic so the atmosphere was somewhat studious. It was just what you needed. You didn’t really talk to Marshall, seeing as the two of you were busy. You joked around a bit but didn’t have your usual one on one conversation, whether it was via text or in real life. To be fair, you didn’t quite know how to feel about that. Part of you wanted to hang out with him as you usually did, but after what happened in the office - or rather might have happened if Paul hadn’t knocked on the door - you weren’t too sure of how to act. So the contact the two of you had was greeting each other, small talk and eating with the others.

On Thursday morning, however, he texted you to ask you to come to his office as soon as you arrived at the studio. Your heart was pounding as you knocked on the door.

Come in, you heard him say.

Hey, you said shyly.

Hey, Y/N, he replied before giving you a side hug. How are you today ?

I’m good. You wanted to see me ? You asked, as your heart started racing.

Yeah. Paul will join us in a minute.

The atmosphere seemed a little tense. Part of you thought he asked you to come in to clear the air about the other day. Why was Paul getting involved in that ? That didn’t make sense. You both sat on the couch and waited for the manager. When he came in, there was concern all over his face.

Is there something wrong ? You asked. Am I… in trouble ?

We just need to clear the air about a few things, Paul said. We got an email last night. About you.

About me ? You asked. Is that about the pictures ?

Oh, it is about pictures, Marshall said in an annoyed voice.

Both men seemed rather uneasy.

What about the pictures ? I thought you said we wouldn’t address the topic, Marshall, you said sheepishly. The press and people on social media will get tired eventually, right ?

Haven’t you been on social media in the last few days ? Paul suddenly asked.

Not since we checked the rapper who made that diss, you explained. Otherwise, no. I’ve been working on my dissertation. Why ?

Y/N, Marshall said as he gently took your hand. The guy leaked your name and Instagram account.

That’s not right, you said. I don’t know him. I’ve never met him. How the hell could he know my name or my Instagram ? That makes no sense. It’s probably a fake one.

It’s not, Paul said. We checked thoroughly.

He handed you his phone and showed you screenshots of posts on Instagram and Twitter where the guy mentioned you by name and shared your account : “Check @yourinstagramname on IG. No pics of Em. Even she is ashamed of him.”

Oh my god, you said before checking your account.

You had thousands of new followers, plenty of unread messages and a bunch of comments under your pictures. Some of them were asking about your relationship with “Em”, others commenting on your physical appearance, whether it was to call you “hot” or deem you “too ugly for him”. Jury was still out, apparently. You sheepishly turned off your phone.

I don’t understand, you said.

That’s not all, Y/N, Marshall said in an angry voice. Paul, show her the rest.

He proceeded to show you another tweet, in which the guy was threatening to leak some of your nudes if Marshall didn’t respond to his diss by next monday. Both of them were looking at you with annoyed looks.

You guys know I don’t know him, right ? You asked. I never heard of him, how could I send him nudes ?

I’m not saying you sent him pictures, Paul said. But he has some pictures of you. He sent them via email last night, probably to prove he could make good on his threat if Marshall doesn’t respond.

That’s probably some Photoshop, you said.

That’s what I thought at first, Paul replied. But…

He showed you the email, which contained dozens of pictures of you. There you were, in several lingerie outfits, posing for the camera. Some pictures looked rather innocent, while some of them were more suggestive. On the last one, you were only wearing lace panties, your breasts clearly visible. These were actual pictures of you, taken years ago. You were absolutely mortified.

That’s you, Marshall said.

It wasn’t a question. Merely an observation. He had seen enough of your body to know that it was actually you in the pictures. There was even your tiny heart tattoo on your hip to prove it.

Oh my god, you said as you felt your anxiety levels rise. I can’t believe it. It’s not possible. Please tell me it’s a joke. I-It can’t be.

I wish I could, Paul said. But it’s not.

Why… Why would he do that ?! I am nobody, you said as your breath was heaving. I’m not even your girlfriend, Marshall !!!

Tears were starting to stream down your cheeks. Marshall brought you into a hug.

I know, Y/N, he said. I am sorry. It doesn’t make sense.

Oh my god, this is so embarrassing, you whined. Paul, you’re a lawyer, right ? There has to be something you can do !

It’s… complicated, Paul said. If you’d been a minor when the pictures were taken, he could face up to 20 years for sharing them. But it’s not the case. We can take action and contact the authorities, but these procedures take time. Especially since that guy is based in NYC.

You kept on crying on Marshall’s shoulder. He gently held you and stroked your hair. You felt trapped. You were in a room with two grown men confronting you about some old nude pictures that a total stranger was threatening to leak for the world to see. It was so wrong, on so many levels. You felt embarrassed and angry, but panic was getting the best of you. Everything was starting to get blurry and, as seconds went by, their voices were reduced to echoes.

You need to breathe, Marshall said softly. Remember the breathing exercises ?

I can’t, you whispered. It’s a nightmare. I’m going to die. Oh my god…

He gently shushed you and kneeled by your side. He placed your hand on his chest and reminded you of the breathing exercises you had done. But this time, it wasn’t working. If anything, you were hyperventilating.

You’re safe, he whispered in your ears. It’s just a panic attack. You’re going to get through it.

I can’t, you cried.

Of course you can, he said gently. How about we try something else ? Try and name three things you can see ?

T-The desk… And the award shelf and… Paul…, you said as you slowly came to your senses.

Yes, he encouraged you. You’re doing so good. Now, try and…

…Oh my God, Paul saw me naked, you whispered.

This thought was enough to send you back into panic mode. You were shaking more than ever. Marshall was trying to talk to you, but you couldn’t even make sense of what he was saying. You could only feel him gently stroking your shoulder. You were desperately trying to think of something else, but your mind came on coming back to the pictures.

Should we call 911 ? Paul asked after a while. She doesn’t seem to calm down.

No, you begged. No hospital. No drugs, please…

Don’t worry, Marshall said. I got you.

You were sweating bullets and it felt like you were in the desert. Tears kept on flowing and your eyes were burning.

Paul, get me an ice pack, a wet cloth and some water, Marshall ordered.

Paul left the room and came back a minute seconds later with everything Marshall had asked. They helped you lay on the couch and Marshall made you hold the ice pack in your hands while he applied the wet cloth to your forehead. The sensations were soothing, but you were still too hot.

Paul, leave us alone, please, Marshall demanded.

Are you sure ? The manager asked.

Yes. Go wait outside. Tell the others I won’t be back for a little while, ok ?

Paul nodded and left the room. Marshall kept on stroking your hand with his.

I figured you’d feel more comfortable if it was just us, he said gently.

Thank you, you said almost inaudibly.

Anytime, he replied. What do you need ? Tell me.

I can’t breathe in these clothes, you whined. They’re too tight. Too hot.

Ok, he whispered. I’ll help you undress. Is that ok ?

You nodded and he gently helped you take the clothes off, leaving you in your underwear. Unlike the other day, there was nothing equivocal to the situation. Sex was the last thing on your mind anyway, and you were thankful Marshall didn’t read into it either. His moves were gentle and he made sure that you were comfortable.

Better ? He asked.

You nodded and laid back on the couch, holding the ice pack against your bare stomach. You made a mental note to remember how soothing you thought it was.

I’m sorry, you whispered. I don’t mean to flash you.

I know, he said with a chuckle. Don’t worry about it.

He was sitting on the floor next to you, holding your hand and stroking your hair. You managed to breathe a little easier.

I’m so sorry, he said in a sad voice. It’s my fault. If you weren’t linked to me, you wouldn’t have to endure that. I managed to avoid that kind of unwanted attention for my partners for the last fifteen years, but now, it has to be on you, of all people… I’m so sorry, Y/N, you have no idea.

And I guess that now is too late to put out a statement, you said.

I’m afraid so, yeah… I asked Paul this morning, but he said no one would believe it. And even if they did, there’s no telling if the guy would leak the pictures or not.

I just don’t understand, you said. How can it get so personal ?

That’s a first, even for me, he mumbled. I thought it was as bad as it could get when someone mentioned Proof, Hailie or my ex. Guess I was wrong.

He sighed and held your hand.

I can’t have these pictures leaked, you said as you felt a new tear roll on your cheek. With the media attention you get, everyone would see these. It could destroy my career. No one in research will take me seriously if they see my tits…

I know, Y/N, he said softly.

The others… Do they know about the pictures ? Have they seen it ? You asked with worry.

They’ve seen the tweets, he said. But we haven’t shown them the pics. We’d never do that. Don’t even worry about it.

It’s bad enough that you and Paul saw them, you sighed.

We’re not judging, you know ? He assured you. We don’t think less of you because of these.

I want to die, you whined.

Don’t even say something like that, he scolded you.

You gazed into his eyes. You were thankful for his ability to make you feel safe when you needed him. He smiled and kissed your forehead.

You don’t seem too hot anymore, he pointed out.

Yeah, I’m better… Thanks for helping me manage, you said softly. How come you’re so good at handling these attacks ?

I had them a while ago, he explained. Especially when I got off the drugs. Plus, my eldest was diagnosed with anxiety when she was a teen. So I have some experience dealing with that.

I’m lucky to have you, you said. Thank you.

Mmmmh, I don’t know about that, he said pensively. If you didn’t have me, no asshole would threaten to post your picture…

It’s not your fault, you know ?

Yeah. But you shouldn’t be the one who has to deal with that. I’m fair game. Everyone else in my life is not, he said. You have no idea how… How many times I wanted to give it all back. I’m fine with people coming for me. I’m coming for them too, so I don’t mind. I can make peace with the attention I get and people constantly asking for pictures and autographs. But if I’d known the people I love would end up being casualties…

Don’t get in your head, you said as you ran your fingers through his hair.

He hummed and closed his eyes.

How about you get dressed and we get Paul to come back here ? He offered.

You nodded and put your clothes back on.

Are you feeling better ? Paul asked when he came back in the room.

Yeah, you said. Sorry you had to see this.

It’s fine, he said. I’d probably freak out too if it were me.

Fortunately, no one wants to see naked pics of you, dude, Marshall joked. If anything, people would pay us not to leak your nudes.

This prompted you to giggle and relax for a second.

So… Is there something we can do ? You asked. Should I message the guy directly ?

I wouldn’t recommend that, Paul advised. This could give him the feeling that he has the upper hand, both on Marshall and on you.

I don’t care what it looks like for me, Marshall groaned. I just want for Y/N to be left alone.

I know. But seeing as you’re linked in the eyes of the public, we can’t take chances, Paul explained. Although, this raises a few questions. Some of it feels personal. Y/N, I hate to ask, but are you sure you’ve never met him ?

Never met him, you replied. I’ve never even set foot in New York.

Never messaged him online either ? No DM, no dating app ?

Man, leave her alone, Marshall groaned. She says no. What else do you want?

Sorry, Paul said. But we have to know how he got his hands on these pictures.

I don’t know, man, Marshall sighed. Isn’t that one of those cloud leak things ?

I never put that on the cloud, you said. They weren’t even taken with my current phone. They’re from at least three years ago.

Do you remember when you took them ? Paul asked. Were you dating anyone ? Do you have a list of people you sent the pictures to ?

Oh God, you whispered.

You distinctly remembered who had seen these pictures. Suddenly, it all clicked. You knew who was responsible.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers headcanons #recovery fanfiction

95 notes · View notes

lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 8 months

Text

Pairing(s):Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader, Jacob Black x Witch!OC

Warnings: this will be the second to last chapter of this series, some spanish (i know a little but thanks to being extremely white washed i still had to go to google translate 🙃), really sorry this took so long :(, i'll try to get the last part out in a timely manner but no promises

Words: 3842

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38

Screams coming from Sam's home has your paws picking up speed and Evita's hands tightening in your fur so that she could hold on. The others were at your heels, uneasiness clouding the pack telepathy and only thinking of the worse. Surely, today couldn't get any worse, right?

Once in the backyard, no one cares that you three wolves are stark naked. Evita didn't bat an eye having grown accustomed to the pack's frequent nudity.

Nearly ripping the backdoor off it's hinges, all of you crowd into the kitchen and rush through to the living room where Bella and Nadege are screaming, but not in pain in horror. Their outburst is one of pure delight when you catch the sight of a perfectly made ward clutched in Bella's hand.

Tension flees from you and you too pull Evita forward as both of you squeal in delight.

"You did it!!" Sliding onto your knees in front of her, you beckon for Bella to show you the ward. Evita's curls bounce with excitement as she says something in Spanish to Nadege.

Bella's eyes are large and there's the telltale sign of glossy tears that are on the brink of following over her bottom lashes. You'd never seen her smile that wide. Her hands are trembling when she hands it over to you for inspection.

"All the wards are finished." Evita gleefully announces to the others in the room that had gone unnoticed in the moment.

Seth, gleaming over Nadege's shoulder, rises to his full height to address Jacob. "Sam?"

Difficult to pull his attention away from Bella's ward, he reluctantly looks up at Seth and Emily who lingered near the hallway. "He'll be at the Cullens for a while. They have Irina there under some sort of sleeping spell."

You catch the younger wolves grumble about missing it but one silencing glare from Leah, they settle down and merely fold their arms. Quil and Embry, sitting next to them, are grateful that it's not them for once on the receiving end of Leah's deadly gaze.

"We need to disperse these wards as soon as possible." Evita says while searching through her backpack for a rolled up piece of printer paper. Inked on it was a map of the Forks-LaPush area. "They don't have to be placed at these exact coordinates. Just as long as they're in the general area."

"I'll go get the other wards." Emily nods and retreats to the bedroom she shared with Sam, deemed the most secure place in the house.

Back and laying out the rest of the wards on the coffee table, there's the question of dividing the pack into groups to scatter them in their appropriate locations.

And much to your shock, their eyes all turned to you.

It takes you a moment to realize everyone was staring at you. You were still congratulating Bella while the others spoke.

When you find their attention solely on you, it causes your face to warm. "What?"

"Well. . . since the older members of the pack are at the Cullens. . ." Jacob takes the lead since no one else was saying anything. "And you and Sam have been spending a lot more time together-"

"You're the closest thing to an alpha we have at the moment." Leah finishes for Jacob since he appeared to be struggling with an explanation.

Nadege and Evita possess toothy grins as they glance from you to your packmates.

"Me?" Voice squeaking, you feel your palms grow clammy.

Embry's warm eyes happens to calm your nerves as he gives you an encouraging grin. "Well, alpha?"

Taking a deep breath, you nod your head. "Okay."

Ideally you'd want to wait for the sky to darken a little more to better hide the massive wolves moving through the woods (and even having to cross a few public streets) to get to their given pinpoints.

You and Evita stay behind as you watch the other duos disappear in the weaving web of the forest trees. Brady and Embry to one direction, Quil and Colin, Seth and Leah; the only pairing you questioned slightly was Bella and Jacob. Perhaps they could use this time to make up as well (not like you were one to talk. you had yet to even mention what happened to him). Nadege would take the last one and shift to her bird body. She much preferred an aerial view opposed to you and your packmates navigating by scent and memory.

Phasing back to your superior wolf form, Evita easily swings herself onto your back. Her fingers slightly pull at your fur as she makes sure to get a good grip. The first time she'd been a passenger on you, she'd fallen without much help staying on you. Learning her lesson, she now used your fur as handlebars, being as gentle as she could while also affirming that she would not be flying off.

You and Evita would be the group to go the furthest out. You'd have to travel to the border of where Forks meets the Elk Creek Conservation Area. Doing your best to keep away from the public eye and keeping to the wilderness.

Trying not to stumble, you realize you're impatient to get this whole thing over and done with. No more of the black overbearing cloud that were the Volturi looming over your heads. Irina was subdued. Victoria was long gone. The Volturi were your only obstacle left. And then. . .

You might be able to have a chance to finally breathe and enjoy your budding relationship with Edward. Live a life of a young lady in love. Was that too much to ask for?

Awkward was not quite the word Jacob would have chosen. Tense, perhaps cringe inducing were the more appropriate terms. Instead of shapeshifting like the rest of his pack, he chose to use his motorcycle and have Bella on the back of his seat. Her hands cling onto the front of his shirt from behind. Jacob had noticed the lack of strength as she gripped onto the fabric. He'd overheard from Dieufel how using magic could drain one's energy. Especially those who are just beginning in the practice. Making that ward must have taken a lot out of her.

Irina had destroyed much of his garage including his beloved Volkswagen. But his motorbike survived.

They drove in silence to the northern most part of Forks.

Actually, not complete silence. Thanks to the slight auditory enhancement he possessed with his human body, Jacob could hear the rapid fluttering of the cardiac muscle that resides in her chest. Swore he could even feel it too against his back as Bella clung to him.

While he felt incensed for what (y/n) had down in spilling the beans, he knew he'd omitted the truth to Bella and ultimately was the cause for her hurt feelings. He'd wanted to apologize before hoping onto his bike, but time was crucial more than ever.

"This should be good enough." Jacob says once the engine of his bike is silenced.

Bella pulls off her helmet and puts it in the spot behind Jacob. She looks around at the barren area where they'd stopped at. Nadege instructed her that all Bella was required to do now was simply dig a small hole and bury the ward. The witch doubted the Volturi would even be aware of what the ward was if they came across it. Better safe than sorry.

From the small backpack, Bella grabs the two necessary items for their mission: the ward and a small handheld spade.

She couldn't mess this up.

She wouldn't mess this up.

Her fingers have a stranglehold on the items in each of her hands. Jacob watches her curiously while scanning his eyes around their surroundings every so often.

Dirt flies as she makes a hole deep enough to properly cradle the stone smooth ward. Covering it back up, she flattens the earth back into proper alignment to not draw attention to what is buried underneath.

"Done." Her smile is hopeful when she walks back to Jacob. Her helmet is almost on her head before Jacob interrupts her.

"Wait, Bella. . ."

Hesitantly, Bella lowers her arms along with the helmet and arches a slim brow up.

"I'm sorry about what happened the last time we hung out. I'm sorry about a lot of things, actually. I should have at least told you about the imprinting. But, I was in denial about it. I didn't want it to be on someone I didn't know. I always hoped that you would somehow be my imprintee." Jacob chews on his bottom lip. "You didn't deserve that though. You're my friend. Probably one of my best friends but don't tell the others."

"I just wished you would've let me be there for you like you've always been there for me, Jake. I can't imagine what you were going through all that time. Didn't understand why you were acting like an-"

"Asshole?"

"Yes."

Both laugh.

"I forgive you." Bella says with a smile still on her face. "How are you feeling about the imprinting now? Still in denial?"

That has his expression sobering up. "Can't really deny it anymore. Plus I feel better knowing that Leah's imprinted on that Dieufel dude."

"Wait- really?"

Jacob nods. "Yup. Neither Dieufel or Evita know about it. Sam instructed the pack not to let the witches know of the imprinting until after this ordeal with the Voltur is finished with."

Their gaze lingers back to their buried treasure. Bella encouragingly tells him "Well, that day may be sooner than you thought. If she's worth the wait, which I think she is, then you just have to bear through it."

Bella holds his hand. it wasn't even that long ago where this kind of contact would have him getting butterflies in his stomach. Now though he sees her as a sister.

That's when he sees the exhaustion on her face. "You tired?"

"Magic, as I am now learning, is a lot more energy draining than I imagined." With the weariness was contentment though. She glowed thinking of all that cramming paid off. "This makes me feel like i can right some of the mistakes that have come from my involvement with Edward"

"Want me to drop you off on the way back?" Offers Jacob.

She declines. "No. I want to see this thing through."

"Quit moping." Leah scolds him through pack telepathy.

The skin of Seth's muzzle furls into an ugly snarl that shows his front teeth. "I'm NOT moping. Why didn't you tell me you imprinted? I wouldn't have judged you for it or anything! I'm your brother-"

She turns to snap her jaws at him. The pouch that hung around her thick neck swings from the sharp movement. There lay their ward that they are to bury. "I didn't want ANYONE to know. I wished it had never happened!"

Seth flinches away, ears flattening against his head and tail moving between his legs.

Taking her temper down a few notches when she feels the hurt radiating from him, Leah internally sighs. She shouldn't be picking fights, especially not with the pack. Enough fighting will be ahead. There shouldn't be any interpersonal fighting within the pack.

She loved her brother and since losing their father, she didn't want to lose anyone else in her small family.

They begin walking again though Leah noticed Seth was further behind.

"I was scared, Seth. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. I panicked. . ." Hating admitting that she felt fear, Seth acknowledged her apology as genuine.

Quiet passes for a few minutes until Leah could feel Seth beside her once more; his paws emitting gentle pitter patters over small twigs and crunchy leaves. "No. . . it's alright. . . from (y/n) and Jacob. . . imprinting doesn't seem like a good thing."

"Hopefully when you imprint it won't be as complicated." Leah adds with a small lilt to her thoughts that makes it sound like she's smiling.

Doubt crept in. He hadn't seen anyone positively impacted by their imprinting thus far. Even Sam and Emily started on a rocky start. Imprinting became something terrifying to the younger wolves. He'd spoken with Brady and Colin, neither happy or looking forward to finding their soulmate. In fact they continuously hoped that it would never happen to them. Being a wolf was hard enough.

To change the subject, Seth goes about finding an appropriate dig spot when they reach their destination. His long claws are useful pulling up dirt.

Leah's back in her human skin, pulling at the chord around her neck to open the pouch. She holds the stone in her hand. Warm to the touch. Waiting for Seth to finish, her attention is completely enraptured by the small rock that would ultimately save so many lives. They were putting all their faith in this thing.

She heaves a heavy sigh, placing the stone into the ground, murmuring a silent pray she wasn't sure anyone would hear.

"Do you think anyone else from the pack will imprint soon?" Brady once again asks Embry and he has to refrain from groaning. The leather pouch strung around his neck bobs as he merely shakes his head to emote his ire. "I wish I had imprinted on Nadege. She's so hot."

If he were in his human body, Embry certainly would have rolled his eyes. "Focus Brady. This is important and we can't fuck it up."

The younger wolf whines. "I know it's important. I just want to lighten the mood. Everything has been so. . . life or death lately."

Embry felt for Brady. He really did. Poor kid was the youngest in the pack. Not even fifteen yet. Brady wasn't allowed to act like a kid his age normally will thanks to this whole werewolf shit.

Reading his thoughts, Brady flicks an ash brown furred ear. "I'd rather be a wolf then some boring teenager."

"You think that for now." It had been all fun and games for Embry too until (y/n) imprinted on Edward.

Thoughts are interrupted by the loud screeching of a bird from overhead. Brady's body lowers to the ground, lips parted in a snarl as his eyes shoot upwards. Embry too digs his nails into the ground, preparing for any kind of air assault that may come their way. This bird didn't sound like any they'd encountered in the wild before.

Familiar colored feathers flurry around in a storm when a giant falcon dives to the ground. Nadege is flushed, panic striking her eyes. "Bury the ward and get out of here. I just saw two cloaked figures traveling down the mountainside. They must be your Volturi."

She returns to her hawk form, allowing the boys to pick up speed and hurry up all while shooting the message down the pack telepathy.

"Stay calm you guys." They can hear Leah's voice. "Just get it down and get out of there. Like Nadege said."

"Evita said once the last ward is in place, the entire thing will activate." (y/n) says. Since Embry has known the girl since childhood, he picked up on the nervous tremor of her thoughts. She was rightfully worried about them encountering members of the Volturi so soon. "We've already buried our's. Evita got a text from Bella that they've buried their's as well."

"Our's is buried too." Quil replies.

Nadege follows them from the sky, partially leading them to the area they were supposed to be in.

"Maybe if Brady hadn't been mooning over Nadege-"

"Shut up Colin!"

"Both of you shut up!" Leah and (y/n) command in unison.

Phasing, Embry yanks open the pouch hastily while Brady starts to dig a hole with his giant paws.

Another ear splitting cry from the treetops, cutting through the forest. Nadege. The Volturi were even closer, uncomfortably so. Her bird body lands on a branch, sharp talons piercing the bark for support. Feathers ruffled in agitation.

Kicking dirt back into the hole, Embry successfully grins. "Done!" He pivots to Brady. "Lets get the hell out of here!"

Brady wasn't looking at Embry though. Frozen to the spot and fur spiked up, slowly his snout furls into a snarl. Nadege releases a high-pitched whistle, sharp and penetrating scream.

"So, these are the wolves Irina told us about."

Without his heightened wolf sense, their scent had passed by him. Embry feels sweat prickling at the nape of his neck despite the chill in the air.

"Turn around, boy."

A throaty growl rumbles from Brady who dared to take a step closer to Embry. Embry simply tried to shoot him a look that hopefully read 'stay where you are' or 'don't move'.

He does so, knowing the rest of the pack was on their way. And that the wards were in position. To test it, all the Volturi had to do was try and pass over it to get to Embry and Brady.

Embry holds his breath, staring into two pairs of blood red eyes. Eery and reminding Embry of the newborns they'd faced off with two weeks prior.

One of them chuckles. "He's nothing but a mere child. The other also seems like just a pup himself."

They creep closer and Embry has to resist glancing down at the ground at the fresh pile of dirt that hid the ward. Instead he waits while his heart is ramming against sternum, threatening to break free from it's confines. These two. . . they felt different from the newborns he'd faced off against.

"Where are the others in your pack?" The taller of the two cock their head to the side. His foot steps over the threshold, a few inches away from Embry. Immediately there's a sizzling sound before the Volturi guard shoots back as if electrically shocked. He hisses in pain, scarlet eyes glaring at Embry. His companion eyes him questioningly before Nadege swoops from her perch and in another flurry of feathers switches back to her human form to protectively stand next to Embry.

He hisses "A witch. More unnatural creatures."

Recovering from his pain, the other one bares his teeth. "Aro will be pleased to know about this. He'll enjoy wiping all of you off the face of the earth."

"I'd like to see him try." Nadege fiercely barks back. Her height matched that of the taller Volturi member. She was a commanding beauty who wouldn't back down. Not when it meant the lives of those she had befriended. "You Volturi are ignorant of the world around you. If you truly aim to rid the world of other beings like us, you'll never achieve it."

That statement outrages the vampires.

Not more than the thundering of large paws that makes the earth tremble. Back up had finally arrived.

A horde of snapping jaws and snarling faces. Bella is seated atop of Jacob's russet brown wolf while Evita is atop of (y/n)'s back. The human girls glare at the ruby eyed vampires. Bella recalling their identities with a scowl.

"Miss Swan."

"Demetri." Her pale lips spit out. Fingers curl tighter into Jacob's fur.

Demetri's companion hisses. "Traitor. You have gone back on your word."

"The situation has changed."

Edward, flanked by a newly returned Carlisle and Jasper, emerge from the trees on the side of the Volturi guards.

"Explain this heresy." Demetri turns to them while Felix keeps his wicked gaze on the wolves. "Why have you allied yourselves with these beasts? Not telling the Volturi of their existence would be considered the highest of crimes."

"Like Edward said, the situation has changed. They helped us fight Victoria's newborn army. They are not the werewolves which the Volturi exterminated throughout Europe centuries ago." Carlisle simply explains with that calm demeanor of his. Perhaps Jasper was using his ability on their side to soothe the tempers of Demetri and Felix as the rigidness of their posture slackened.

"One of those wolves just so happens to be my mate too." Edward proudly announces which only sends disgust through Demetri and Felix.

Felix laughs bitterly "So you traded in a human for a mongrel?"

The wolves growl in indignation for their packmate. (y/n) simply flicks an ear, uncaring for what they thought.

"Easy there." warned Carlisle. "Right now you're trespassing on their territory. I would change the tone if I were you. If you'll just follow us back to our house-"

"What and talk it over a nice cup of tea?" Demetri lightly mocked. "No, this can't be resolved that simply."

"Demetri, please-"

"You've aligned yourself with these savage animals. Not just them, but mortals who possess the powers of a supernatural. They have no place in our world."

"Que hombre tan tanto. (What a stupid man)"

Evita's eyes round at the two newcomers entering the forest. A fearful tremor in her voice. "Mama?"

As if taking a leisure forest stroll, Alice and an older woman stand side by side. Alice looking so petite and pale compared to her companion whose dark, wild curls had strands of silver that would catch on the light. A burgundy shawl is wrapped around her shoulders, covering the cream colored blouse she wore.

Evita's mother scowls at her daughter on the other side of the ward's protective embrace. "Evita, estas en un gran problema. ¿Aquí es donde has estado? (Evita, you're in big trouble. This is where you've been?)" Her eyes, while being the same lovely color as Evita's, had the tell tale signs of aging. Also much like Evita when the pack first met her, there's that tangy scent of magic that wafts through the air that clung to the older woman.

At the slight threatening tone in her voice, Evita pales.

Switching from Spanish to English, Annalisse huffs and turns to address Demetri and Felix. "You two feel like big men? Threatening children?" They open their mouths like their about to protest, but Annalisse silences them with a slash of her hand. Whether that was due to magic or just her intimidating air would be a mystery. Either way it did the trick.

Almost comedic how they shrank away from her as she struts straight up to them despite Alice and the other three Cullen males trying to stop her. This woman was fearless and had the pack staring at her in admiration. Witches were made of much stronger stuff than the regular human. Even Nadege almost leapt into action once the Volturi duo arrived.

"If you want war, the only losers in it would be the Volturi. Only a handful of your kind possess special abilities. Unlike us. You think immortality will save you? That your massive coven will be enough? You're outnumbered even now."

A few quiet seconds pass, Demetri and Felix exchanged glances, a hint of uncertainty flickering in their eyes. They were used to asserting dominance, but this woman exuded a power they hadn't anticipated. Reluctantly, Demetri spoke up, his tone begrudging. "Carlisle, show the way."

Please let me know what you guys would like to see in the final chapter :) I'm interested to hear how you want things to end.

TAGLIST: @saltedcoffeescotch , @dangerouslittlefairy , @burn-crash-rqmance , @casedoina , @avadakadabra93 , @daryldixonstorm , @blue-aconite , @xanniestired666 , @esposadomd, @godinho11 , @alexizodd , @melaninsugarbaby , @lyeatoalinatoheaven , @ronwownsme , @itsmytimetoodream , @afro-hispwriter , @mutandis-extremis993 , @hxgemxscles , @nightly-polaris , @corrodedcoffin-slut , @ellesalazar , @itgetzweird08 , @crybabyatthediscooffandoms , @sassyandclassyx , @scarlet2007 , @theroyalbrownbarbie , @jennyamanda8 , @stevenandmarcslove , @biancaindaeyo , @loversjoy , @turningtoclown , @vixorell , @xxthackerybinxxx , @daredevilonmyheels , @dumbbitch-juicee , @southern-bell-give-hell , @nat-the-gemini , @imdoingathingmom , @emmettcullenswife , @yoong1c0re , @daddykylokenobi , @minjix , @magical-spit , @krismdavis , @arin-swear-rose

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twilight #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen fanfiction #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen fanfic #edward cullen

94 notes · View notes

yiga-hellhole · 4 months

Text

TFTK CHAPTER 20: ENDURING RESOLVE

Ganondorf has gone into hiding. His two most loyal servants guard the desert in his stead. Hyrule approaches, knowing not what kind of death awaits them, deep beneath the sands. Zant tests out his blade.

FINALLY DONE! sooo sorry my beloved tumblr readerbase. this update has been available on ao3 for a little over a week now, but i had to steam through a pretty bad art block to get this promo image done exactly how i liked it. so without further ado, here it is!! i have a real doozy for you all today! again, thanks so much to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading the chapter! there's a couple secret languages in this chapter again... thanks very much to @unironicallycringe for helping me with figuring out Akkadian. as for the translations, well... you go puzzle it out!

content warnings this chapter for: graphic violence, animal death, medical gore, domestic violence/physical abuse (for lack of a better term)

ao3 mirror

They rose before the sun had even fully set, thieving their love-nest of its purpose hours too early. Any preparations they could do, save donning arms and armor, would have been too late in this final moment before battle, but they had to be ready to defend themselves at any moment. The air was tense, dead-silent so as not to alert any potential enemy scouts. But in that deep silence, every nervous sigh, every jingle of chainmail, grated the ears from miles away.

So sat Zant in his chambers, eyelids still thick and heavy with sleep, but nonetheless perched at the edge of his bed, gazing out into the night sky. Ghirahim lied where he’d left him, sunken into his pillows and layers of sheets. In this companionable silence, there was as much to be said, as there was a lack of words to convey them. Indecision to what topic could suit the last hours before this all-out battle, they spoke of nothing at all. Yet there was deep understanding in it, a bond between them that only needed a glance of the eye to be conveyed.

Pacing anxiously was unnecessary. Ghirahim lay comfortable; to him, nothing enriched the soul like battle, and he was ready to rise every minute of the day. No need for armor, for food, for a minute to come to his senses. He could jump up the second the warning horns blared.

Thus, he dozed, his eyes on the tense Twili beside him until they wandered to the portrait above him. When had he moved it above his bed, he wondered? To think a man so reserved could be so vain. The gold of its canvas glittered in the weak light, egging on the stars in the sky beyond with its own splendor. Ghirahim felt a smile creep up on him and his eyes drew to a close.

He didn’t quite keep track of how long he lay there simply sifting through the favorite contents of his core, before that line of thought was interrupted, and a warm static forced itself through his mental imagery. It started deep in his chest, washing over his every extremity in waves. His skin tingled, his breath hitched. A contented sigh dragged out from him and joined the warm air in the room. This feeling, how long ago it was since he last felt it. It could only be…

Sat on the carpet beside the window was Zant, the Demon Scimitar before him. Moonlight could not hope to pierce the deep black of their blade; their masterpiece was a shadow among shadows. A vibrant teal glow pulsed throughout the veins in its fuller, like light beneath the ocean waves. That glow slowly grew richer, occasionally interrupted by the stroke of a cloth across the blade.

Ghirahim shuddered. There was the source of that odd feeling, that sent shivers up his back and caused his face and stomach to flush an embarrassing red. Soon Zant caught him staring at him past the mound of sheets and met his eyes – glowing, giving him no choice but to witness them – with a smile.

“Pardon me. Did I disturb you?”

“Disturb is a strong word,” Ghirahim said, unable to suppress a shuddering groan. From fingerguard to its point, the cloth rubbed away every speck of dust and smudge of oil.

The sound that escaped him piqued Zant’s interest immediately. Eyes that should pay attention to the razor-sharp edge of their sword widened at him. “You can feel this?”

Taps of powder against the blade. Puff, puff, little clouds of white dissipating in the gentle breeze. “To some degree, yes.”

Bright, amber eyes narrowed. “What is it like?”

Adjusting comfortably, Ghirahim sank back into the sheets, hiding half of his face. He stared him down no lesser, though. “There is hardly any equal to this feeling, Zant,” he hummed, pleased by the sensation of gentle polishing. “But if I had to describe it… Something akin to having my hair brushed, or hands stroking my back, I suppose.”

Zant’s eyes turned to the sword, now carrying a certain spark. He beheld it in a different light. “I see. How fortunate to know.”

Ghirahim shifted, curling himself in the mass of sheets to get a better look at his machinations, but without abandoning the glow of their joint warmth. Their companionable silence returned, the quiet room filled only with the whisper of cloth against metal, and the gentle churning of his core. Warmth buzzed through him in waves, like fingers with long nails tapping and tracing the features deep in his chest. That so-abstract sensation turned ever warmer, more squeezing, when that familiar smell of cloves arose, and Zant turned to oiling the blade. Ghirahim cocked his head, watching intently. “Tending to it again? So soon?”

Zant only glanced at him before returning to his focus. “Our sword is in its infancy, Ghirahim. It has to be nourished in its first year.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Ghirahim smirked.

“You hardly gave me any choice, Ghirahim-hasir,” Zant smirked right back.

Another honorific! He laughed fondly, ever-so-amused by Zant’s habit of slipping into mother tongue. “That one is new! What nonsense are you up to, this time?”

“No more than usual,” Zant hummed, a touch of cheer in his voice. “Now get back under the covers and leave me to do my bidding. We must be in top shape before dawn, you and I,” he crooned, stroking the cloth down their blade in emphasis.

Ghirahim smiled, sighed, and complied.

That morning, Hyrule conquered the southern settlements in a matter of minutes. The market streets the pair had grown so familiar with, committed to memory through the smells of spices, pastries, and smoked meat alone, decimated at once. Not that they’d made it particularly difficult for their adversaries; a minimal amount of monstrous troops were stationed there. This was their bait. A little trick tucked in falsely heightened morale, to fool the Hyruleans into thinking them weaker than they were. Besides, the locals stationed within sight would surely be healthily enraged by the sight of their beloved settlement being torn to the ground. Zant had planned for a bloody start.

The two of them were thoroughly locked away in the North. The Gerudo Temple Complex was a dark and swirling thing, a monumental goliath of sandstone and brick, its dimly lit corridors designed to trap anyone outside the clergy in the bowels. Deep within, it hid the Coliseum. A holy ground to desert peoples, later desecrated by Hyrule and turned into an executioner’s oubliette. Better known as, ‘The Arbiter’s Grounds’. Since its reclamation by the Gerudo (according to Zant, one of the few good things brought on by shattering the Mirror of Twilight), Hyrule was to never touch it again. The labyrinth would guard it for as long as it stood.

In other words, it was the ideal place to watch the battle unfold from afar. Their intel detected signs of three commanders: Link, the Goddess’ favored hero; Lana, still missing her counterpart; and an unfamiliar Sheikah warrior. Knowing the Hyruleans, they likely had more tricks up their sleeves. They needed caution above all.

Zant was eerily silent for most of their stay, retreating within his helmet. Had Ghirahim not known any better, he would have suspected him of sleeping on the job again. On the contrary, the Twili could not have been more alert. The ace up their sleeve was heaving and buzzing restlessly deep underground below their feet. The Twilit Bloat, Queen Mother of Zant’s favorite pets, spent days spewing forth countless Shadow Insects, which he’d hidden away in every nook and cranny he thought would make a decent vantage point. They were acting as his eyes in the field and to keep track of them all required his utmost concentration.

Until at long last Zant withdrew from meditation, the segments of his helmet squeaking as he straightened himself and turned toward his co-lieutenant.

“They are inching closer to the oases. While they busy themselves there, now is the best time to start our preparations,” he said, beckoning him with a wave of his hand as he made his way through the keep.

Ghirahim, glad to finally have something to do, grinned. “You mean to set up the… Shadow puppets, you mentioned, yes?”

“I have told you of my plan,” Zant agreed, scaling the steps to the decrepit altar at the center of the Coliseum. His visor rolled up to reveal a grin. “But not yet of its execution. It should be most familiar to you, however,” he turned, his hand outstretched and palm facing the skies.

Ghirahim smirked and followed, taking his hand to have him lead him further up the steps. An arm curled around his waist, and he rested his on Zant’s shoulder in return. “How courteous of you, Twilight King. Won’t prancing about distract you from your own casting, though?”

Zant smiled in turn. With a small pull at his waist, they quickly sank into a rhythm, waltzing under the sunbeams that peeked through the stone walls. “We must enact our spell in utter synchronicity, Ghirahim-ili. This is the best way.”

A pulse coursed through him. Diamonds rose from their footprints, flickering with signs of their blooming magic. The beating of their feet and chiming of his core accompanied their dance like a dozen tambourines. Through their joined hands, sparks of power crossed into one another, melting together until the pictures in their minds became clear as day, a single being.

“I shall be the source, and you, my conduit. My power is yours to steer, puppeteer of mine,” Zant’s words echoed, but Ghirahim couldn’t be sure if they came from his lips, or snuck into his mind without his notice. How cheeky.

And soon, that power manifested into being. Rising from the shadows, Ghirahim’s second pair of eyes came into view – or rather, he came into its view. A second Ghirahim took shape, its features growing more defined by the second. Terrible vertigo struck him, causing a temporary lapse in his steps. There was a disconnect, a duplication of his sight, but no identical one. He could see through his own body but through his double’s, too. His core swirled as he looked himself in the eye, standing in the sand with its muted colors and stiff stance.

“It’s easier if you close your eyes,” Zant whispered with a low croon, “try not to think. Let me lead you, my Blade.”

Easier said than done, he’d say, did it not make such a drastic difference. Ridding himself of his second-sight made it all the easier to at least gather his bearings without the spinning surroundings there to distract him. But reaching this double somatically remained a challenge. It was like trying to steer a phantom limb. The tether was weak, but undeniably there, and getting it to move was akin to timidly pressing the keys on an old harpsichord. All the while this buffoon requested him to dance.

But that was the trick, wasn’t it? Channeling their magic? He was no stranger to their bodies becoming one, in many senses of the term. It wasn’t just his own magic he had to focus on, but the force linking its fingers with it, too.

Synchronicity. The picture through the eyes of his double became vibrant and clear as day.

His double twitched its fingers until they were veritably his, then took a stumbling step. Then another. Then more, stably, rolling its shoulders and bouncing on its heels. The shuffling of dancing feet was soon nothing but background noise, far removed from where his mind settled. Housed in this spectral clone, Ghirahim grinned, braced his fingers, and snapped.

The desert heat felt like room temperature. Or rather, like nothing at all, in this doubly-false skin. Having teleported himself, he stood a ways from the Southern Oasis, surveying his surroundings. Friend nor foe had spotted him yet, concealed as he was by the heat shaking the sights of their surroundings, but they’d have no choice than to witness him soon. He sprinted across the desert, intending to snicker to himself, only to find not a sound passed his lips.

A gap in their illusion. How embarrassing it would have been! What if he had attempted to taunt their foe, only to be caught missing his voice? He quickly suppressed the urge to scold Zant for failing to inform him of this flaw. To cause dissonance between his two selves would collapse their plans like a house of cards. Which, obviously, he couldn’t afford, as he was already perched on the walls of the Oasis Keep, staring right into fiery red eyes that pierced into him with malice.

The Sheikah man would be his first opponent.

His perch high up above did nothing to deter this stranger whatsoever. A long dagger whistled through the air just past Ghirahim’s ear, missing him only thanks to his own last-minute dodge. Ghirahim hadn’t yet the chance to righten himself before his adversary took a running start and leapt against the corner wall, kicking himself off to clamber up and meet him at eye level. It hadn’t even taken him five seconds to get to him.

This was going to be interesting. Ghirahim knew he couldn’t lose his composure so early in the battle, but a warrior so quick and nimble made the stars dance in his core. The Sheikah was upon him in a split second, a long knife in each hand, eyes red and full of death. His strikes were lightning-fast and precise, but not fast enough to break past Ghirahim. This man was an entirely different territory from that white-haired dog. Where Impa combined her tremendous speed with heavy blows, her replacement depended entirely on the fleetness of his feet. And it carried him well. The two of them danced across the walls, locking blades like a pair of cats fighting atop a fence.

But, truthfully, Ghirahim was only humoring him. Against another human, the slashes of the Sheikah’s knives would have been lethal. But to Ghirahim, razor edges struck his sword with gentle taps at most. He had to put this boy in his place. Hilt in both hands, he boldly raised his blade to bait him with an opening – swung down quickly, to bait a crossing of knives, and catch his sword in between.

The Sheikah were a near-ageless folk, living potentially centuries longer than Hylians, if they so chose. This very moment, the Sheikah proved his youth, his inexperience, despite his prodigal martial skill. He acted exactly as Ghirahim predicted.

Now locked, Ghirahim shot him a grin, before pushing his bulk into his sword and tossing him sideways. The Sheikah shouted in surprise, stumbled. With the assistance of a showy flip and roll, he dropped off the wall and down into the dirt, quickly righting himself in fear of being ambushed.

Not a second too late! Ghirahim leaped for him, point of his sword aimed for the heart. Or, rather, aimed for the dirt, as the Sheikah darted away quickly. The pair exchanged blows, barraged each other with throwing knives, but their mutual bulk and speed resulted in nothing more than superficial injuries.

Ghirahim couldn’t outspeed him. So, he’d just have to surprise him, instead. With only a small chime to announce his departure, Ghirahim disappeared into diamonds and landed himself square in the Sheikah’s way. The boy gasped in surprise, only barely managing to stumble out the way of the obsidian sword that flew toward him in a pitch-black streak. Now, all bets were on discombobulating his foe. The Sheikah was forced to face him more carefully, locked in a fierce combat. For every escape, every attempt at sprinting away for another trick, he was punished by the phantom that appeared in his shadow and threatened to rend him to pieces.

Dark blue Sheikah armor tore to show flashes of skin and bleeding gashes, staining a deeper red every second. But Ghirahim found himself not as unscathed as he’d normally be – this puppet was fragile, meaning even the small enchantments on this warrior’s knives could hurt him. It wasn’t the same pain as he’d feel on his surface when injured. This was a magical, conjured pain, manifesting as a headache and stuttering of his core. But, injuries or not, he was winning. The Sheikah was slowing, growing into an easier target for his thrusts and merciless cleavings with every pace. And there he darted off again, some desperate manner of escaping! Of stalling time! Blood hung in the air, its particles catching delectably on his lolling tongue. He chased its source hungrily, wishing so it was his true self instead who would get to kill this wretched little thing, a mere pup in comparison to his superior. Ghirahim ached to run him through with this blade! Just a few more paces, another leap –

There was a track in the sand. In the corner of his eye, he spotted another. The Sheikah stopped at the joining of lines, readying something curved and golden.

The harp. The harp! His eyes shot to the Sheikah, who grinned at him with a squint, fingers at the ready over his blasted holy implement. Ghirahim looked back to the ground, where he now spotted an outline… And himself spot in the middle of it. An ominous hum, a faded glow, resonant below him as fingertips tensed the strings. Ghirahim turned to flee, but a second too late. With a mockingly cheerful tune, the magic glyph was activated, and a blinding field of light magic launched him out the gates of the Oasis Keep.

He skidded to a halt, clouds of sand trailing his heels as they coursed through. In his concealment, he was fortunate to find his first flaw; a black patch, crackling on the surface of his puppet. Their illusion was falling apart.

Now is the time to flee.

They thought it simultaneously, with Ghirahim immediately annoyed by Zant’s meddling.

Shielded by this cloud of sand, he turned tail and fled. Soon enough, fleeted feet dashed through the sand a little ways behind him.

Just like he wanted! Bloodlust made blind!

The next phase of their plan was imminent. He had to cross the sands to get to the cliffs, where he could funnel this little songbird into its cage. This seemed easier said and done, because the Sheikah’s tendency to make pot-shots at the enemy made it increasingly more difficult to conceal the black cracks left on his surface. He kicked up as much sand as he could in his sprint to keep himself shielded from prying eyes.

It was a mad chase. In short bursts, his adversary seemed to be faster than him, leading him to blink around to get away from the scatter of needles flying his way. A haphazard, zigzagging trail of metal pins traced their trajectory. Yet, the Sheikah seemed to be letting him escape, at least a little bit. Did he hope he was fleeing to some kind of hideout, and lead him straight there? Oh, if only he knew!

It was a good thing he didn’t. They crossed into the Cliffs Keep, revealing a dead end. Realizing it’d been a trap, before the Sheikah could fully turn, the gates slammed shut behind them.

The enraged eyes of a cornered animal met with a dark grin. The two men flung at one another, daggers in hand. But Ghirahim felt weakened – the magic holding this form together barely persisted through its many cracks, and it was slowing his reflexes. To save himself some power, he dismissed the false cape, at once revealing the web of deep black fractures spreading across his skin.

This staggered the Sheikah for a moment, but baited him all the same. Daggers crossed, he lunged forward, and drove the tips towards his core. They tangled, tipped over, and landed in the sand, Ghirahim pinned between steel and soil.

For all this man knew, this was how a Sword Spirit died. The daggers sank into his chest, and Ghirahim let the illusion crackle into shards with a pained groan.

But not before leaving his parting gift. The Sheikah choked out a breath, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Ghirahim had driven a dagger right into his side.

He didn’t have the privilege to see if this caused his opponent to collapse or not, for his eyes caved into dust soon after this deceitful blow. Then followed the rest of his body, leaving only a cackle to fade on the wind.

Deep black turned into an outrageously bright light. With a gasp, Ghirahim came to, finding himself held up by Zant’s arms. Never before had he felt this unsteady on his feet, this jittery like a newborn foal. His shadowy double was gone, which left him to deal with the dizziness of returning to his body. How convenient that this animate coat rack of a man was there to assist him in doing so.

Ghirahim patted Zant on the sleeve, wobbling to righten himself. “Deliciously dramatic timing, Twilight King.”

“Thanks. I thought so too.”

Zant laughed, patiently assisting Ghirahim through the last seconds of his vertigo. Once Ghirahim collected himself, Zant parted from him, again turning his gaze meditatively to the skies. “We shall let them struggle with this predicament for a little while. Then, I will take your place on the battlefield, Ghirahim-ili.”

The battle unfolded just about how they expected it would. The gates they so merrily left open were breached by opportunistic troops zealously at first, but with the imprisonment of their Sheikah general, anxious caution took the wheel. Nevertheless, critical movement took place: Lana, who had been moving through the desert, succeeded in capturing the Northern Oasis; while Link, having first guarded their home base in the Bazaar, crossed the southern sands to attempt a rescue mission.

This was their cue. While their demonic troops clashed against Link’s brigade, Zant hopped back on his feet, extending his hands.

“Care to assist me once more?”

Locked again in dance, they watched as a shadowy form knitted into being by their pedestal. The illusory shape of Zant, darker and more muted than usual, readied itself for its host. Much to Ghirahim’s chagrin, Zant was clearly more adept than he at shifting his consciousness, as his double was up and moving in mere seconds.

“You close your eyes too, Ghirahim-ili.”

“Then who will keep watch of where we’re putting our feet? Moron.”

Ghirahim jested, but nonetheless allowed himself a brief respite, and did as he was told. Behind his darkened eyelids, he saw (though subtly) the world through the eyes of Zant’s shadowy double. He briefly worried if Zant had been spying along with him, too. Then, he felt some smug satisfaction in the knowledge, as he thought he’d made for a riveting battle just then.

Not a second longer did Zant let his puppet stick around and promptly sent it away. Just in time for Ghirahim to spin the both of them around and prevent them from tumbling off the altar.

Ghirahim’s impressions of this battle were vague, bestowed upon him in flashes through Zant’s incomprehensible sense of sight. The world was a blur of overly saturated colors in the Twili’s eyes, splitting into sharply defined contours at every moving object. Of course, the rapidly approaching emerald green and blue was then clear as day, as was the glowing blade that cut through the air towards him.

But Link could not land a single hit on the Usurper’s false shape. Zant blinked himself across the sand and clapped his hands pompously, a playfully mocking tribute to Ghirahim’s favored spellcasting. At once, every gate in the battlefield slammed shut, isolating the three generals in their own death traps.

Wrathful Gerudo, Bulblins, and Stalfos poured from whatever crevice they could force themselves through to descend upon the now-isolated warriors. Whether they would surpass the Hyruleans in martial prowess remained to be seen, but surely, they’d leave not a shred of their morale untouched.

Yet Zant led the Goddess’ little hero away from the onslaught, seeming to prefer a one-on-one duel, though there’d be nothing honorable about it. This battle was an absolute waste of time, drudging Link along through the scorching desert to chase after his constantly teleporting apparition. Even if his opponent couldn’t hear it, Zant couldn’t help but giggle. With such a jovial mood, one would expect victory, but aside from Zant’s violent retaliations, his health rapidly failed him. Not only was his double on the verge of collapse, but nearly every hack and slash it endured bore down on its host. Dancing with a smile, blood gushed from Zant’s nostrils with every hit he took. Ghirahim doubted whether the desperation on his double’s part was an act – it contorted, stomped, flailing its arms and hurling wild bolts of magic at whatever blue banner-bearing shape it could see. But Zant seemed at peace, even as his puppet raised its arms to ready a bomb of pure, hexing shadow, only to find itself ran straight through by the Knight’s holy blade.

At once, the tether to their puppet was gone.

“... That’s it… Our first ruse is up,” Zant mumbled, before slumping forward, just barely caught by Ghirahim’s frame. The blood trickling from his nostrils was worrying still, so Ghirahim allowed him to collapse, lowering him carefully to sit at the edge of the pedestal. Yet, Zant declined any fussing over him, preferring instead to retreat into his mind again and survey the damage they’d done. With his ‘death’, every single gate in the battlefield flew back open – save for the Temple complex. Sitting side by side, Zant relayed what he saw through the eyes of his countless insect servants. Among the Hyruleans, there was relief, rallying cries spreading through the battlefield as they once again rushed forth to seize new territory. Their own forces still held fast. The defeat of their Lieutenants sowed seeds of anxiety, which their captains and commanders did not allow to sprout among the common infantry. Though the full plan of today was relayed to very few, every officer of repute knew not to lose hope when all seemed over.

They’d seen the captured beasts in their chains, after all, and had yet to see them surface in this battle.

One unexpected problem remained. When the gates to the Sheikah commander’s imprisonment were opened, he was already long gone. The trail of blood scaling the cliff wall toward the Temple clued them in where he could have gone. He was trapped in here with them, somewhere. Zant seemed to take nothing but amusement in that thought.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for a surge in confidence among the Hyruleans that would raise their might and lower their guard. If this took mere minutes or hours, then the blood spilled to tip the scales would simply have to be an acceptable sacrifice. Time ticked away mostly in silence. On occasion, Zant orated an update from the battlefield with his vacant, manic gaze. Ghirahim stared at the man beside him, bloodstained as he was, and wondered how far the gray blight had crawled up his arms today.

Zant perked up sooner than Ghirahim expected and turned to him. “Their bases are almost settled. They are transporting their goods. Now is the time, Ghirahim. Will you do the honors?”

Ghirahim grinned. “Gladly.”

Within a blink, Ghirahim disappeared from the Arbiter’s Grounds and materialized far below the earth. Deluge streams of sand poured down from above – he found himself in an underground cave, discovered long ago by the Gerudo when digging for water reservoirs. Quicksand pools from above fed this ever-filling chamber with gold, like an hourglass that would never tip. Behind him was a nearly-buried gate leading to the old waterways. In front of him were cages. He didn’t want to keep the beasts inside waiting any longer; he’d kept them unfed a little too long. They frothed at the sight of him, spurred on by Zant’s blood caked into his suit.

“You’ll find something far tastier on the surface, my dears!”

One, two, three showy snaps of his fingers, and the chains bearing the monsters down disappeared. With a flex of his hands, his fist cloaked itself in glowing, purple magic. He took a running start, heading straight for the back of the cages (where the monsters’ eyes hungrily followed him), and launched himself at the massive lever that stood there. With one solid punch, the old mechanism screeched back to life, and past all its rust, the switch was flicked. A rattling that could only be produced by a machine at the end of its life echoed throughout the room. Tugged upwards by heavy chains, the cage doors were lifted, and out stormed their inhabitants.

But before they could make for the little creature that stood antagonizing them, a cascade of sand cued them in on the blue skies above. A ring tunnel of diamond magic pried open the quicksand pitfall in the ceiling and allowed these beasts the first glimpse of sunshine they’d seen in weeks.

Not to mention, the smell of fresh carcasses.

The Manhandla, a four-headed, man-eating plant; threw itself against the wall and clambered up through its web of roots. The Molduga, the very giant sandworm Ghirahim had stolen away scarce a month earlier; took to the skies and flew through the opening. The Lanmola, a cyclopean centipede; swam up the stream of sand.

But that was merely the first wave. This was the Southern Desert’s treat: the North would get its very own collection of nuisances. His next teleportation took him to the mesas in the northeast, where six pairs of eyes furiously eyed him down from within their cave prison. The caverns in these rocky mountains were straightforward tunnels, opening right into the deserts. After opening the cages, all he had to do was give them an incentive to break free.

So, naturally, he brought the entire cave to a collapse. As soon as the beasts panickedly rushed out of their prisons, Ghirahim snapped his fingers and perched himself on the Mesa’s edge, overlooking the monsters’ exit holes.

The first to break free were the two Dodongos, bulky, rock-clad lizards; curled up and rolling, shot out like cannonballs. Then came the Helmaroc King, a giant prismatic bird; shrieking wildly and leaving a storm of feathers in its wake as it beat its wings and flew off. Finally, poking out one head after the other, came the Gleeok, the three-headed dragon; with stout little legs and clumsy, serpentine necks, it sauntered to the mouth of the tunnel somewhat timidly. But at the first sight of prey below, it roared viciously and spread its draconic wings, and set off in pursuit of violence.

Ghirahim returned to his post at once, finding Zant just as vacant as he’d left him, but with far greater amusement sketching his face. The Twili didn’t appear to notice him as he sidled up next to him, hands in his sides.

“Satisfied by my handiwork, Twilight King?”

“More than, Yima Zeeioitneit,” he responded. Zant had cleaned himself up a bit in his absence, but was looking no less gaunt. “Would you like to see the fruits of your labor?”

“Gladly, I would,” Ghirahim said, keeping his apprehension about Zant’s intrusive, meddling magic to himself.

Zant shook himself out of his daze, at once standing with his eyes bright and glowing. “Then allow me some time to recuperate. I will share my clairvoyance with you in the meantime, Ghirahim-ili.”

Before Ghirahim could utter a word of questioning or protest, Zant’s shape turned pitch-black, becoming no more than a silhouette with shining eyes. A rustle sounded as the shade before him ducked down and turned into nothing more than a smudge, and, shockingly… Melted into the floor. Just like that, Zant seemed to have crawled into his shadow. There was the alarming presence of magic, certainly, but otherwise, he felt not a thing of it. At least, not until Zant fulfilled his promise. Ghirahim then learned, intimately, just what he meant by ‘clairvoyance’.

A sudden burst of droning visions took over his sight, shaking him into an unsightly stumble. Each flashed by for mere seconds before Zant flicked him over to the next, all blurring into the same haze. Only after sitting there, hands in his hair and groaning audibly, did he piece together just what he was looking at. It seemed that Zant had planted more of his Shadow Insects on the skulls of their monsters, and thus, allowed the both of them front-row seats to each individual rampage.

To the north, the Helmaroc crested to dizzying heights, carefully eyeing its companions. Yards below it, the Gleeok was circling the desert, scarcely avoiding flurries of arrows from piercing its wings. It found its point of interest in a line of provision wagons, which already had its many hands full with the giant lizards besieging it from both sides. Claws extended, it swooped down in an instant, plowing through the line of them with its razor-sharp talons.

Now out of a meal, the twin Dodongos sought their fortune elsewhere. They turned straight to the oasis, where they expected to rake in the biggest rewards, only to find the place heavily guarded. Grimoire in hand, Sorceress Lana nervously eyed down the two approaching beasts. She was a nimble woman, swiftly evading raking claws and blazing fire, but she did not take well to being surrounded. From the eyes of this Dodongo, she swooped in dangerously close. Just as the massive reptile thought to swallow her down in one gulp, a large, translucent cube was lodged in its gullet, and with the touch of the Sorceress’ hand, electrified. It shrieked and convulsed, reflexively clamping its jaws hard enough to crack its teeth, and just like that, collapsed.

This Dodongo was down for the count. But before its Shadow Insect died with it, it captured just a few more seconds. From the sound of blazing fire and the screams of their opponent, the beast’s twin appeared to hold fast.

The southern desert was similarly infested. The Manhandla had dug its roots throughout the sand, sprouting additional heads across the desert to drown it in a poisonous haze. Soon, only the dead could wander here, and the very bold. Those who dared approach the floral menace disappeared quickly past its massive teeth. Monitoring this monster led the pair of lieutenants to begrudgingly note that one of its four heads seemed to have gotten hacked off somewhere along the way. Though, they doubted they minded. If the victory was all too crushing, there would not have been any honor in it. Much less satisfaction.

This next vision was fully dark, until it burst with sudden light. How the fragile insect managed to cling on to this creature through all the sand was a mystery. From the shrill bellowing, these could only have been the sights of the Molgera, soaring through the skies in pursuit of prey. And what a target it had chosen! Skidding away from the sandworm, bow and arrow boldly drawn but visibly alarmed, was their favorite green-clad menace, his blue scarf long lost in the scuffle. He had felled the Lanmola in record time. From the look in his eyes, that wouldn’t be his only trophy of today. Whether he would fulfill that ambition was another question. The Molgera roared and dove for him, but shrieked when an arrow pierced it someplace unseen, and veered off course. It burrowed beneath the sand once more, plunging their vision in darkness. Through the roaring of sand surging past the giant beast, there was a sound; footsteps, hurrying away. The Molgera homed in on its source and launched for the surface.

It breached, it opened its maw. A scream was heard, then muffled by the resounding clap of the Molgera’s jaws snapping shut. As the Molgera twisted itself through the air, not a trace of the Hero of Legend remained.

Cackles and shouts of triumph and astonishment echoed through the Arbiter’s Grounds. Had the Twili stood beside him, rather than lie hidden in his shadow, Ghirahim would have embraced him and thrown him around the arena for good measure. What an undignified end for the little Hylian! Ghirahim was ecstatic. Already he swell with pride over the thought of informing their Master of this victory. The pair of them sang praises of this magnificent sandworm. Even after they’d treated it so cruelly, it hadn’t let them down in the slightest. Whether it could hear their words conveyed through the Shadow Insect, wasn’t their concern.

Amidst their celebration, the Molgera suddenly groaned. Shuddered. Slowed in its flight. It contorted itself, squeaking in pain, until it tore its mouth open in a shriek. The Shadow Insect lost all functionality. Its host could only be dead.

What happened? It was in the air – how had it perished!?

Zant apparently had the same questions. He frantically browsed through the Insects still alive, until he found a proper view of the events through the eyes of the Manhandla. The Molgera fell from the skies, its spiked belly slit wide open. A rain of blood and guts splattered onto the ground before its multi-ton body hit the sand, sending forth an explosive dust cloud to shroud the battlefield from all.

Surfacing from that shroud, visible through the makeshift sandstorm by a glowing silhouette, was a newcomer to today’s battlefield. Fi, doll-faced as ever, but her blue gemstone surface now tainted with viscera, had surfaced from the Hero’s blade, and freed her ‘Master’. Offering her wing, she stuck herself halfway into the Molgera’s eviscerated stomach to pull Link free, soaked in mucus and blood. The morbidity of it all seemed completely lost on her gentle smile, as she stood watching him gather himself.

Ghirahim grit his teeth. “It seems they’ve taken a page out of our book, Twili… They’re hiding commanders!”

“And where there is one, there may be more. They think they have us for fools.”

With the appearance of Fi, a Hyrulean war horn sounded in the Southern Desert. The troops in the North responded. Surfacing from Lana’s shadow was none other than Midna, who immediately clenched a keratin fist around the head of an ambushing Bulblin commander. A sense of fury bubbled forth from his shadow, and lingered somewhere in Ghirahim, too. But as much as the arrival of the Twilight Princess spelled trouble, something about her appearance soothed Zant’s mood into a bubbly giggle.

She was an imp again.

The war horn sounded in the North. Two responded; one from the Western mesas, and one from the South. Through the eyes of the Helmaroc King, a far more alarming sight poured into the desert. The troops they had fought so deftly to thin out were filling their numbers again. Vast swathes of Zora and Gorons arrived through glowing portals and raced to assist the overthrown Keeps. Only to then clash against equally large numbers of frothing demon forces, pushing each other back and forth past a faultline of trampled steel. This visceral desperation of gnashing teeth and battered armor only left the frontlines in stasis for so long. The Zora Princess, her arrival announced by a tidal wave sweeping along her own troops in massive schooling, forced an opening through the simple measure of washing away everything in her path. She came out the other end of the first line of infantry clad in silvery armor, spear in hand, looking back at the dizzied and drowning mass of demonic forces behind her. This very measure would carry her to the northern desert, where she quickly joined Lana’s side.

Lana startled when the Dodongo just in front of her was sucked into a maelstrom and launched across the sands. When she turned to find Ruto, some sort of sentimental conversation was surely being carried out. Watching from the Gleeok still soaring above the keeps, neither Ghirahim nor Zant cared to hear it. Their despairing, confused prattles were far more interesting.

The Gleeok swept in closer, ducking out the way of an impending lightning bolt sent from the Sorceress’ grimoire.

“I don’t understand, Ruto,” Lana cried. “Ghirahim and Zant were defeated, but their armies haven’t slowed down whatsoever!”

Ruto intercepted an incoming belch of fire with a watery shield, bursting it apart in glittering projectiles as she dismissed it. The Gleeok shrieked when one of its many eyes was pierced. “Desperation, it must be. It takes a pair of cowardly men like them to rig such posthumous traps!”

“Are we sure it was really them Sheik and Link defeated?” Midna cut in, surfacing from Lana’s shadow to glare down the limping Dodongo in the distance. “Like you said. They’re cowards! I’ll bet my entire treasury that the foes we saw were nothing more than illusions!”

A troubled expression dawned on Lana, which soon turned to anger. She burst out in front of the Zora Princess, spellbook at the ready, and sent out another burst of lightning. Though, this one was different. It broke apart like fireworks, each spark lighting its own deadly branch, that darted in zig-zags through the air. The Gleeok, hopeless to dodge such a flurry, lost one of its wings to countless tears and perforations and then crashed to the ground.

Before the beast could stomp its way inside the keep, Lana blocked its entrance with a crackling barrier and whipped around to look at her companions. “Then- The real Ghirahim and Zant… They must be hiding somewhere, commanding from afar!”

“Oh, they can’t be that far. Those two draw to carrion more than a common fly,” Midna grimaced, squinting to peer out into the scorching desert. “Just so happens, I got just the trick up my sleeve to get to the bottom of this. Ruto! Cover me!”

Ruto nodded, readying her spear to join Lana’s side. Lana’s barrier did not hold much longer. Every passing second, the Gleeok was driven to madness by two voices balking commands into its triplet minds, and could only think to throw itself at the magical wards harder. Finally, it burst through, and wasted not a moment to start snapping at the two warriors in its way. Lana fought grimoire in hand, turning scattered parchment into razor-sharp projectiles, while Ruto threatened every impending bite with a thrust of her spear.

While the Gleeok was rapidly losing scales to the combined assault, Midna stretched out her hand, readying a spell amidst the chaos. A gap tore itself through the fabric of reality, manifesting as a spreading shadow on the ground, soon thrumming and glowing with runes.

Stepping out of the shadows was a little girl, no older than eleven, who curtsied under the protection of her parasol. “Agitha has waited patiently as you ordered, Miss Kitty! How can she be of assistance?”

Lana was almost as disturbed by the girl’s appearance as Ghirahim and Zant, but clearly for different reasons. “A-Agitha? But… The two of you can’t just go out there alone. There are still giant monsters alive!”

The Zora Princess glanced over her shoulder, the second of distraction nearly costing her a fin to the jaws of the Gleeok. “Sorceress, if you wish to accompany them, We will hold down the Oasis.”

“Ruto, are you sure? In this weather, the Zora-”

“Do not doubt the resilience of Our people,” Ruto interjected, jabbing her spear between the plates on one of the dragon’s jugulars. “We know where their limits lie. Place your trust in Us. Now, go! Waste no precious seconds!”

“My, what a shame,” a voice echoed from the dragon. “They’ve become aware of our little plan quicker than expected.”

Zant figured to broadcast his mockery through the Shadow Insect still perched on the dethroned creature. Bleeding heavily from one of its throats, its still-living heads contorted their faces into toothy grins, the Gleeok puffed out its chest and stanced imposingly. The spread of its wings blotted out the sun above the keep, casting it in shadow.

Ghirahim found it a fine idea. “Then let them come find us! We’ll finish them off right away!”

Thus, precious seconds were wasted. By some incomprehensible measure of lollygagging, Midna stuck around while Lana and Agitha made for the desert. The pair of girls slipped past the Dodongo only thanks to Midna’s uncouth taunts, who sent wolves yipping and nipping at its front legs. A little of Zant’s own hatred for the Twilight Princess must have leaked into it, then, because the beast took the bait hook, line, and sinker. So focused it was on the hounds and the woman cheering them on behind them, that it failed to notice its remaining surroundings. Its maw opened wide, readying a blazing inferno, and aimed straight for its annoyance.

Only for said target to dodge out of the way at the very last second, dragging the Zora Princess out of the trajectory along with her. Instead, the hellfire launched across, square into the chest of the already wounded Gleeok and melting everything in its way. A weaving path of coarse glass glittered in the sand, tying the two monsters by a thread of aggression. Their dragon could not resist retaliation and lunged for its treacherous comrade.

Thus, in the Oasis, two of the beasts were tearing each other down. In the sand wastes, one last beast made itself useful. The King Helmaroc, contrary to its name, was an obedient creature, and soared as high or hovered as low as they needed it to. Through its eyes, they saw Midna had joined the pair a little after her charade of chaos.

From this vantage point, Ghirahim and Zant quietly observed their desert trek. At least, until Zant clicked his tongue, seeming annoyed. “I see now why they brought the girl. I should have expected this.”

“Somehow, even when we share the same thoughts, you manage to puzzle me. Get to the point.”

“Look closely. They have a Goddess Butterfly. It will lead them straight to us, and the labyrinth will not keep them.”

Once again, silence fell between them. Less time wasted in the labyrinth meant fewer opportunities to whittle down their strength. With this many enemy commanders, such a head start was crucial.

Even so, the thought of their plan failing ever so slightly, filled Ghirahim with a strange sense of excitement. “An unfortunate twist, but… Frankly, I was getting bored. I’m itching for a fight.”

Then, as if Zant had taken note of his excitement, he felt the warmth of a smile inside his mind. “Ghirahim-ili… When they arrive here, let us fight our hardest.”

Of course, the Helmaroc understood nothing at all of such banter. It was far more focused on the triad of two-footed creatures zipping through the sand sea. To a bird, this entourage of warriors must have looked awfully like a line of ants.

It dove down for them, talons outstretched, as if they were.

The first to react was not the Sorceress, nor was it Midna. Instead, the young girl turned a pouting face to the sky and popped the cork off a glass jar.

In an instant, a massive, emerald beetle appeared from thin air and swung its horn full-force into the Helmaroc’s gullet. Their eyes in the sky shrieked. An explosion of feathers obscured their vision as the panicked bird flailed its wings, knocked entirely off balance by the throttling of this massive bug. Zant’s quiet marvel for the adversary’s familiar was drowned out entirely by Ghirahim’s rage. How preposterous! This massive bird of prey, knocked out of the sky by a mere insect!? He took the reins immediately.

The beetle now dismissed, the Helmaroc King chased after the girls on foot, pouncing at them with its claws and jabbing with its beak. But just as it started to get the drop on the group, the Temple complex was in sight, and the doorway they slipped through would never fit their bird.

When the Helmaroc was left behind them, squawking and pacing indignantly at the gate, the trio chased the little glowing insect through the Temple’s ever-twisting halls. Following this journey proved to be a pain. Zant had only set up Shadow Insects in so many corridors, and tracking their trajectory was a dizzying flurry of different angles and crowding soldiers. Yet, Zant managed to follow them in glimpses. Hyrulean and Demon soldiers alike had swarmed the place, fighting pointless battles in corridors leading nowhere. Undead gaolers were already scavenging the heaps of dead and injured, either locking those still breathing in chains, or ripping the bones from the freshly deceased to replenish their own limbs. Thus, the pair of women led a child over this carpet of corpses. The girl’s fighting ability mattered very little here – they were under the protection of Midna and her wolves, but even then, little ‘Agitha’, as they’d called her, looked too stunned to do anything but keep running.

Along the way, found tearing the talons of a Dinolfos to replenish his throwing needles, was the Sheikah warrior. He had forfeited his turban to use it as a makeshift bandage for the wound in his side. The group swiftly urged him along. Striking down whatever station guards stood in their way, they reached the deeper bowels of the temple, where lines of defense grew more and more scarce.

The three eldest of the company grew more skeptical with each step. Midna leaned closer to Agitha, whispering something the Shadow Insect could not perceive.

“The Goddess Butterfly is never wrong, Miss Kitty,” the young girl assured. She seemed to have full confidence in the butterfly’s sense of direction, and faltered not even a second in chasing after it. And that confidence was well within her right, for Ghirahim recognized these corridors. They would reach their location in no time flat.

Soon, the ground beneath the group’s feet turned sandier and sandier, until the stone tiles were completely covered. They reached a dark chamber, lit only through the cracks of ventilation slits above the massive stone door across them. The butterfly fluttered across without a care, landing on the dusty surface of the door, and fanned its wings in rest. Agitha was about to tromp right after it, but the Sheikah stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. He pushed her back, right into Lana’s protective embrace.

Painfully slow, annoyingly cautious, the Sheikah inched into the clearing of the room step by step. He could check for traps, he could listen for mechanisms and dowse for curses or enchantments, but he would find none. Instead, something found him.

A stinger, tall enough to almost scrape past the ceiling, shot out from the sand, and jabbed at the intruder. Its menacing needle missed only by the grace of the commander’s reflexes, pushing the tail out of its trajectory with a talon dagger, but failing to crack carapace. Shaking itself out of the sand, the final bastion had revealed itself. The Moldarach, a massive scorpion of centuries old, screeched and chittered a word of warning. Its pincers snipped menacingly, tendons tight and fierce. Yet, under the threat of its lightning-fast stinger, the little girl was least afraid of them all.

Agitha looked up at the Moldarach in awe and rummaged in her basket, not taking her eyes off the creature once. “Ohh, I’d hate to hurt such a beautiful bug… I’m sorry, li’l one! But I don’t have a big enough bottle to keep you in!”

From it she retrieved an armful of glass jars, brandishing them as if they were explosives. Her entourage backed away hastily, clearly knowing far more about the contents of those jars than the Moldarach could. She tossed the jars with a sweep, racking them on the scorpion’s hard carapace at first impact. Out swarmed dozens of glowing, spectral butterflies, that headed straight for the first sign of soft flesh they could find: the Moldarach’s eyeball. The beast recoiled, pawing at its face in an attempt to shake the pests off, but it was fruitless. It could now only depend on the eyeballs hidden within its pincers, but in doing so, it revealed the soft tendons holding its claws together. Midna and the Sheikah exchanged a look, seemingly sharing an idea.

Getting up close to this creature proved to be a challenge. Lunging in to take out its claws also meant being subjected to the monster’s lightning-fast reflexes, and Midna found herself trapped in its clutches soon enough. It squeezed, digging the teeth of its claws into her flesh dangerously. They hardly even needed the Shadow Insect for this – they could hear her cries of pain through the door. A little more and it might have killed her, had the Sheikah commander not severed the tender meat in its other claw. Its grip on the imp loosened in its distress and she managed to slip away, evading its gaze long enough for it to lose sight of her. The clash of claw, stinger, and blade continued, though the Moldarach grew more fatigued by the minute. Butterflies continued to eat at its face and attached themselves to whatever nerve opening they could find. Thus the creature slowed, its jabs and lunges losing their accuracy, until at long last it ceased its attacks altogether. They saw no use in waiting until the monster fully died; their little band of foils took this earliest opportunity to flee and push through the door.

The door slid open, grinding down coarse sand of centuries old as it slotted into the wall, and allowed the quartet of Hyruleans into the Coliseum. In the center they saw Ghirahim, lounging atop the Keep’s crumbling walls and examining his nails.

Midna scowled, her fangs bared. She felt at the wounds on her chest, already scabbed over – so quickly? – and glanced to her side, where the child stood waiting expectantly. “Great work, Agitha. Now get out of here.”

At this command, Agitha looked to the Sheikah man with big, glittering eyes, smiling when he met her gaze with a nod. She curtseyed – if Ghirahim didn’t know any better, he’d think it was at him – and, with a dainty clutch of her frock, hopped down a Twilit portal.

“There you are, Demon!” Midna turned to foul, biting language the moment less-matured company was out of earshot. “Just you, huh? Go on. Cough it up! Where’s Zant? I don’t believe we got rid of him back in the desert. Not one bit!”

Ghirahim laughed, once again donning his gloves. Now more appropriately dressed, he hopped down from his perch and landed with a feathery flourish. Now that he seemed to be alone, and outnumbered at that, he decided he could afford a bit of taunting. He hummed, tapping thoughtfully at his chin with a wildly exaggerated gesture. “Oh, who can say? You make such a poor host out of me. All these questions, yet I’ve no intent to answer them!” Resting his hand on his cheek, he turned to Midna with a grin. With a puff of diamonds, he vanished, then reappeared before Midna, leaning down to glare at her with one pair of big, buggy eyes to another. “Say, I have one of my own. You look different. New haircut?”

Midna bared her teeth in a snarl, the fist at the end of her ponytail balling tightly until its fibers threatened to give. She lunged for him, the massive orange hand open and clawed. When his defending sword caught on the curved metal of her bangle, she leaned in with a grin. “Real jester you are! I take it this was your idea, then? That gaudy-masked imp told me to send you its regards.”

Majora. Ghirahim winced. It was getting a little too quiet on the Arch Demon’s front, he’d thought. But to rear its head again and mess with the Demon King’s enemies… There was no telling of its little plans. He turned his blade with a flick of his wrist, threatening to sever her hair at the shackle, and forced her back. “If I wanted you to be cursed, I’d ask someone more reliable.”

His eye flicked to the ground. Where he stood now, the low angle of the light stretched his shadow to that of the Keep’s walls…

Zant emerged from the shadows in an instant, mere inches behind Midna, and swung at her like wings on a windmill. She shielded herself with the hair-clad hand of her ponytail, only to realize within a split second that the Twilight King’s new blade cut right through it. Ducking quickly out of the way, she spun through the air, launching herself to stand closer to her two companions.

“It is a shame about your plight, Twilight Princess. I would have preferred to fight you in a more dignified form.”

When Midna forfeited a reply to glare him down, he laughed, turning to the altar behind him. “Nostalgic, is it not?” Zant waxed, his arms spread as he spun himself to the center of the coliseum. “The birthplace of our people. And perhaps, where the last of us will meet our end.”

Midna then made the grave mistake of taking his poetics as an opening and launched for him, the hand on her ponytail outstretched. The giant fist clenched around empty air when Zant promptly warped out of her way. Placing himself beside her momentum, he swung his scimitar down like a cleaver.

In an instant, magical wards were shattered. Showered in a foreboding glitter of gold, Midna cried out and smacked to the ground. But before Zant could lift his blade again and cleave her in half properly this time, the Sheikah dashed in to intervene. Only to then, himself, be driven to his knees by the daunting force of the Twilight King’s blade. It was two against one; each time Zant had subdued the one foe, the other would step in to try and take him out through his flanks. But Zant was too quick, his blade too sharp. Screeches rang out when the scimitar coursed past the edges of the Sheikah’s daggers, filling their cutting edges with worrying chips. Then, the first of them shattered to pieces completely.

Amidst it all, Zant cackled maniacally, madness tugging at his sweat-drenched brow with each swing of his sword. “Witness me, Ghirahim! We are unstoppable!”

But Ghirahim had very little time to witness. Lana had chosen him as her opponent and did everything in her power to keep him from uniting forces with his co-lieutenant. Frankly, he was a little amused that the Sheikah had not dared to face him a second time. But moreso, insulted, that the Demon Lord was not deemed a terrible enough foe to require backup to challenge. Tongue lolling from his lips in mockery and Annihilation in hand, he decided to make the Sorceress severely regret underestimating him.

Scratches tore through his robes and the strikes that hadn’t broken through his leather mail had surely bruised him, but Zant didn’t seem discouraged by injury whatsoever. Instead, he pushed through, seeking risk after risk and tearing through everything that opposed him. Soon, that boldness was awarded. Midna held up her hair-clad fist to defend herself, and Zant carved through two of its fingers as if it were made of wet paper.

Zant screeched with delight. “Your weeks of bedrest have atrophied your skills, Princess! While you lay there rotting in your own misery, I have gotten stronger!”

Midna growled, ducking behind the Sheikah to conceal herself from his bloodthirsty glee. Ghirahim, though, could see everything. Portals appeared in the shadows and from it surfaced a trio of wolves, each raising its hackles before bursting past the Sheikah and charging at the Usurper.

“Such cheap tricks will not work a second time,” Zant clicked his tongue.

Then, with a gust of wind, he launched himself backward and well out of range of the two warriors. With a single twirl, he drew a circle in the sand with his feet, and raised his arms to the skies. When he parted his lips to speak, every shadow stilled at once, slithering beneath the feet of each combatant, turning the air thick and heavy.

The air grew heavy, stopping every warrior in their tracks. A pale blue light shone from above, but none dared take their eyes off him to look for its source.

One by one, limbs limp and gangly in their descent, three creatures fell from the sky. Upon hitting the ground, their bodies contorted as they rose, each more bizarrely and stiffly than the next. They were massive, gray things, fitted with stone masks upon their faces and a mass of wet, slithering tentacles pouring from their faces.

Without even having to command them, the monsters galloped on all fours to throw themselves at the hounds. They entangled in a mess of rune and shadow, tumbling through the dust in a bestial scuffle. Midna looked on with horror.

Her companion had different concerns. Distracted by the sounds of magic, she whipped around. “That spell… How does he know that spell!?”

Just as Lana yelped, beset once more by the Demon Lord’s blade, Zant scoffed. “Did I not say I have gotten stronger!?” he taunted, knocking another brittle dagger out the hands of the Sheikah.

“Stronger!? And yet you rely on them?” Midna shouted, hurtling herself past her fellow commander to throw herself at Zant in a raging flurry. Where Zant could not parry her, he settled for shooting her from the air at point-blank with his projectiles. “How dare you utter even a word of affection toward our people, when you force their mutilated bodies to fight for your own gain!”

“Make your dogs stop attacking them, then,” Zant said, thoroughly nonplussed. At last, he forced both combatants off of him with a resounding shock wave, rattling even Ghirahim’s core where it rested in his metal.

When the ringing in his mind subsided, a different, familiar sensation took over Ghirahim. A blinking sound deep within him, imperceptible before, now alerted him to the presence of his kin. Fi – and by extension, most likely the green-clad knight tagging along – was fast approaching. “Oh, thank Our Lord, your cavalry is arriving. I was worried it would get a little too easy.”

Lana fell to the ground as Annihilation jabbed into her ribs. Its point bounced off stronger wards than he’d been met with before, and though Ghirahim didn’t exactly break skin, she clutched her chest with a groan either way. All three of their opponents exchanged a worried look, doubtlessly contemplating how to best gang up on them as they were bound to do.

Just as each of the Demon lieutenants took a step forward, deciding whose head to lop off first, new presences made themselves known. Pointing the glowing Goddess Blade forward in dowsing, Link entered through the stone gate, with Fi soon joining by his side. This second of distraction, a spark of hope for Hyrule, was just enough for the lot of them to scramble back to their feet and cluster into tight formation.

“Everyone, watch out,” Lana shouted, grimoire at the ready. “Only those with the Triforce can wield that magic!”

“He still has it?” Midna asked, eyeing Zant with her fangs bared.

Not expecting that reply, Lana turned to Midna, eyes wide with shock. “Still!?”

“Oh, so you remembered,” Zant chimed, making his way to the clustered group without hesitation. “Our Master is quite generous with his gifts. A small piece of that power is all I need to decimate the lot of you, who now have none at all. You would do better not to underestimate us!”

Midna’s eyes darted between her companions. A heaving, determined sigh tore through her. Then, her enraged expression twisted into a malicious grin. Her arms raised, she placed her hands on either side of her helmet. “Doesn’t matter. I could best you then, and I can do it now!”

The Coliseum was bathed in shadow. Midna drew darkness to her like a cyclone. Where Zant’s shadowy magic was warm and suffocating; a pulsing, all-consuming parasitic disease, hers was an eerie chill. From the pitch-black surrounding her feet, three ancient stone artifacts, the Fused Shadows, surfaced and encased her like a tomb.

When the first spidery legs burst forth from the bottom of the Twilight Princess’ stone-hewn armor, Ghirahim found himself beset by his own opponents. Link, drenched almost completely red with monstrous blood, ran for him, aiming right for his chest. Disappointed, almost, that the boy had learned nothing, he took hold of the blade with his bare hand, flicking it aside just in time to be able to step out the way of Fi’s impending kick. They were teaming up against him again, just as their other, more wounded companions were now piling on Zant. Where worry once would have possessed him, Ghirahim was now buzzing with nothing but thrill. The boy was already exhausted. He would get to tug the cords of his life from him strand by strand, and he hardly had to break a sweat to do so.

With that ever-lasting nuance and his dancing blade demanding his every second, Ghirahim couldn’t spare a glance at his battling compatriot. Not even as tendrilous arms, gnarled and glowing like smoldering branches of wicker, scampered around this battlefield, their incessant thumping shaking the rubble off the walls. Dust and pebbles rained down from above, only to be meticulously carved into halves by his sword. Some time ago, the duo of Link and Fi had bested him.

But back then, he didn’t have this blade. Annihilation soared and carved, striking hard enough to make even the stone-faced Goddess Blade wince as he parried her swinging legs. With this power, enemy numbers didn’t matter – he would win.

A twinge of anxiety simmered in him nonetheless. While he could indeed not spectate the battle behind him directly, he caught impressions from the piece of himself, wielded by his co-lieutenant. A screech of metal, a beast recoiled. Hair-coiled fists he so easily carved through minutes past now felt solid as rock. Midna could not find a way through his defenses, and the ground shook as she struggled away from his offenses. Those that dared to try left a taste of blood upon his blade, however slight. Weapons crashed into each other in such a cacophony he could no longer distinguish the flashes of light in his own battle, from the ones imposed on him by Zant’s hands. To any mortal, such a barrage of violence would render them collapsed in the confusion, but to Ghirahim, it was Paradise.

Yet, this could not last long. Caught in bladelock with Link, he swiftly kicked the boy off of him when an alarming sensation overtook him. The part of him resting within the Demon Scimitar overloaded him with visions. With the uttering of strange words, Lana had bypassed Zant’s wards. Metal groaned eerily, then exploded, shrapnel shooting into the sand. An inky-black fist clutched around an equally black steel javelin, then threw it whistling through the air. But Midna didn’t aim for the now staggered Zant – she aimed at the ceiling. Chunks of stone and wispy sands rained down, blinding all who waited below, until the dust cleared. Zant noticed it before anyone else, and burst out into a shriek when sunlight flooded every corner of the Coliseum.

They hounded him like a pack of starved wolves. More blinded than ever and his skin blistering, Zant couldn’t defend himself from the Sheikah’s assault, nor Link’s, nor Lana’s, all the while Fi kept Ghirahim across the arena. His guard dog, forced away from its flock. With every second in the sun, Zant was weakening. He simply couldn’t keep up, not while blinded and in agony like this. With desperate flings of their sword, he only barely managed to deflect the blows that would have otherwise sliced his head off. Blood stained the sand around him as strike after strike tore through his armor like it was no more than air. When his weapon finally fell from his hands, Midna took it as a sign, and grappled his battered body with a tendril for each limb. When he lifted his face, his stare was aimless, but full of malice.

“Sheik, now!”

Lana commanded, desperately eyeing the still-bleeding Sheikah commander. He complied with a nod too serene for such a boyish warrior. A glow gathered in his palms, abstract and foggy at first, until he grasped it, held it before him, and drew the string. Fuzzy sparkles shed from the light-made object, revealing its true form.

A bow. With a single blink, the Sheikah’s eyes turned from red to crystal blue.

It was the Princess! Ghirahim’s body froze over. In Zant’s current state, that single arrow would be fatal. What could stun their Master was deadly poison to his underlings.

An inhibition, once hard-coded into every fiber of his being, now shattered. Annihilation felt feather-light in his hands but crashed into Fi with the force of a stampede. A single facet chipped off her core, and would still be floating in the air when Ghirahim bolted to the center of the arena. Step, after step, after step, pummeling the sand into craters. The arrow nocked and braced, was then released. Ghirahim disappeared. A whistle, fletchings quivered in the air. Ghirahim burst into view in the middle of the Coliseum, arms outstretched. He grabbed Zant by the shoulders, and with a chime of diamond magic, they were gone.

The arrow pierced into the Keep wall. A piece of Fi’s core fell into the sand. Out of the five warriors present, none of them had been able to prevent their escape.

He needed shadows. There was only one place that would suffice. Around them, the world turned monochrome. With the Twili tucked carefully in his arms, he set his sights far beyond the labyrinth and took them both to the Palace. Nowhere would be darker than the quarters of the Twilight King.

Sheets hastily ripped off, bedding drenched in darkening blood. Zant lay stiff and unmoving, gasping like a fish, struggling none as Ghirahim ripped his clothes from him. A decorative fastening pin flew and clattered across the tile floor. Zant’s portrait above them looked on with a smirk.

Hyrulean weapons had gone right through his armor. He was a mess of red-stained wool and torn leather, gaping wounds pulsing fresh blood. Far too much of it. Ghirahim ripped the cork off a potion bottle with his teeth and shoved the glass opening to Zant’s lips, who coughed and sputtered as the thick liquid gushed down his gullet.

“Just this- Just this, and you will be alright. Stay with me,” Ghirahim hissed, keeping a close eye on the Twili’s battered body. Wounds closed up, but too many remained raw and open. Cursing under his breath, he snipped his fingers, keeping one hand – glove bunched underneath his grip – pressed heavily to a gash on Zant’s thigh. And what a useless measure it was. This wound was just one of many that needed his attention. The sheets he tore from the cupboards, drenched in water from his nightstand washing table and spilled bourbon, soon lost their white cleanliness to deep, deathly red.

Needle and thread summoned themselves with a snip of his fingers. Sewing implements, but Ghirahim had little else in his reach. Zant cried and whined when the makeshift gauze was now pressurized by a knee, Ghirahim’s hands too occupied with the needle. Bent into a rounded angle around his finger, sterilized with a flame. He thread the needle and set to pushing it through flesh.

“I’d say your crying brings me misery, Zant,” he grinned, an expression creeping on him purely from his nerves, “but do not stop. At least then I know you are alive and conscious.”

Pierce, tug, tie, and snip. Rhythmic and perfect, Ghirahim mended wound by wound. He knew how to carve flesh, so too, did he know how to sew it back together. Each wound bled with different severity. His midriff, his legs, his chest. There, he’d been carved down to the rib, surrounded by irritated flesh and glowing veins. The body tormented by these injuries cried and cried, but had not the strength to even writhe. As focused as Ghirahim was, his eyes still strayed and flicked to his right. Zant’s naturally pallid complexion helped him absolutely none in telling how much time he had. But his fading patterns did. Their teal glow almost ceased. Another potion. This time, he poured some of it directly on the still-opened wounds, hoping their sizzle would burn the veins shut. Zant was awake enough to swallow the rest of it, but not to protest against the drops that snuck into his windpipe. Only when Ghirahim had turned him on his side to tend to his back did the healing liquid’s magical effect rejuvenate him enough to rasp and hack it up. He shrieked immediately when the sudden jolt caused Ghirahim’s needle to stick him.

“Keep whining, please,” Ghirahim muttered. “If you have enough energy to act childish, then…”

Zant hissed, growled, snarled, every tug of the thread now an affront. His toes curled and his fingers dug in the sheets, weakly, but characteristically, either way. When every wound he could see was stitched, Ghirahim took the cords of lacing out the loops at his back and rid Zant of his final layer. Red, white, black; teal slowly returning, if it wasn’t simply the phosphorescent glow of the room around them. In a few days, this body would be a rainbow of bruises. Should he last that long.

Only then did Ghirahim allow himself to draw breath. Not as a necessity, but as a soothing tic, to come back to his senses and for a second empathize with a mortal man. He slumped onto the bed, his head resting on Zant’s chest. It was in this rest that the full gravity of the past minutes reached him. Rather, it jumped full force onto his back, its weight forcing him into immobility and sinking him into the bed. Ghirahim couldn’t recall when he started weeping; he’d been on auto-pilot from the second Zelda nocked her arrow.

Zant’s heartbeat thumped against his forehead, hard and heavy as it would whenever the Twili had a lump in his throat. Its pace quickened when Ghirahim spoke. “I almost lost you.”

Zant’s hand raised, then dropped onto Ghirahim’s back. Cold fingers stroked him softly. “You may still, Oibedelrik, Yima Daegge Esweteli,” Zant whispered hoarsely, forcing his words out with the nigh manual contracting of his rib muscles. “Odowuni kem idzidiy Iya, ee Iya-” he murmured, his eyes rolling to the backs of their sockets. His eyelids fluttered shut, then shot back open, revealing darting pupils as if he’d just remembered where he was. “I am not yet bandaged,” wheeze, “and when my blood returns to me,” wheeze, “I may yet fall to fever.”

“Shut up.” Banish the thought. As if he would be so negligent! A doctor, he was not, but as much as he could bring death, he could also spot its tellings, and he did not intend on letting it rear its head again. Ghirahim closed his eyes, listening intently to his pulse – as if it would slip away if he turned away for even a second – then raised himself to finish the job.

He had to go back to the battlefield. There was no telling whether all their beasts had been defeated or not, or whether they even had a chance to take down Hyrule’s commanders. He would return, alone if he had to, Ghirahim decided as he stroked a warm, wet cloth along the dried blood on Zant’s torso where his stitches did not taint him. But he’d only leave when Zant was stable.

In his spiraling, Zant’s hand had found its way to his hair, running its fingers through the strands. For once, Ghirahim cared not how bloodstained he would get. Zant’s weak voice muttered, slipping between heaving breaths. “All of them, at once… I foresaw many, but every caste and clade…”

“I know, I know,” Ghirahim responded, wringing the blood from the reddened cloth. “But the more we whittle down today, the less prepared they’ll be when Master strikes.”

“There is no ‘we’, Ghirahim. I cannot fight like this. I was bested once again.”

“I will take care of it,” Ghirahim muttered, a frown on his brow. He thought it ripe time to change the subject. “The Princess, disguising herself as a Sheikah... I’d almost say she exceeded us in trickery today.”

Zant sighed, his arm quickly becoming deadweight in his hand as Ghirahim took it for bandaging. That strange gray on his skin had spread almost no further. “Posing as a substitute for General Impa, I reckon.”

Ghirahim left Zant to his musings and grew oddly giddy with his own. The thrill of battle and clawing his companion away from death’s door scalded him from within, filling him with an inexplicable well of energy.

“But if the Princess is here… That’s good news, wouldn’t you say?” Ghirahim began to prattle, a manic tug at his brow as he pinned the last few bandages in place. “Fewer commanders are guarding the palace than we expected. If we hurry and inform Master Ganondorf, surely–”

“Ghirahim–”

But Ghirahim did not hear him. Whatever he said then, he could not even recall himself, so thoroughly he was caught up in a whirlwind of plans.

“Ghirahim, stop.”

The pair met eyes in silence, one still wearing a bewildered grin, the other lying grim and pale on what was almost his resting place. “There is no point. Your revelation will fall on deaf ears. We were never meant to leave this desert.”

Ghirahim’s expression dropped, managing only a slight grin in his confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Master sent us here to die.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ghirahim frowned, fighting off a pit of dread in his gut. This was just his usual delirium, he thought. The same madness shaken into him by fear and injury, like it had Volga.

Zant, however, did not take his struggle kindly. He frowned at him indignantly. “You call me ridiculous? You deceive even yourself. Face it, Ghirahim. We are two against seven of Hyrule’s finest commanders. This was a suicide mission from the start, as I suspected Death Mountain must have been, too.”

“... But-” Ghirahim struggled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Zant was a liar, he knew this. But now? To him? About something like this? Neither possibility, not Zant deceiving him so brazenly, nor being abandoned by his Master, computed in his mind. “We were- What could I have done to displease him to this degree? Why would he want to be rid of me? You speak nonsense!”

“You did nothing, Ghirahim. You are perfect. Your sole crime was associating with me. For me, it was only a matter of time until he did away with me. He is unworthy for the throne, and, one way or the other, I would have stopped him from seizing it.”

Ghirahim froze. Pieces fell on the ground before him but he didn’t dare to watch them assemble. Something hot and furious was starting to thaw the ice of his shock from within. “What?”

“Your surprise tells me he did not even bother to confirm his suspicions before abandoning you.” With a huff and groan, he shifted, trying to prop himself upright on his pillow. The grimace he pulled in his pain remained in his face, molded from rage and hatred. “I detest him, Ghirahim, and finally he has noticed it. He must have known I wished for his death, and that I intended to follow through.”

Ghirahim staggered away from the bed as if pushed. An instant revulsion forbade him from staying anywhere near the wounded man before him, and in his disgust, he willingly followed this instinct. He scowled at him, wide-eyed and vicious, tongue lashing and drenched with venom. “So your title was given to you for good reason. I cannot believe my ears. Immature little boy, you are! Our accursed usurper, unable to keep his grubby claws off any throne when he grows the slightest bit displeased. You ungrateful wretch!”

“Ungrateful? You know not what you speak of,” Zant scowled right back, tears of rage welling up in his eyes and his teeth bared. The Lord of Twilight turned to him unflinchingly, hunched like a pouncing beast as if his drive to convince him had filled him with fresh vigor. “In my time, Ganon was to me what Demise was to you. My God, I adored him,” he waxed, hands covering his face in grief. “I did his bidding. I worshiped him, freed us both from our decrepit prison. Yet, when I gave my life for him, he broke his promise to me. Instead of freeing my spirit to rule by his side, he took everything I ever worked for. And then- then-” Zant paused, hands falling limply into his lap. “When defeated by his little foil, when the strings of his soul dared touch upon mine to beg for my assistance, I denied him.”

Zant’s eyes turned to him again. The first hints of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “You understand, don’t you? It was no hero, no princess, who slayed the Demon King in the age of Twilight. The one to deliver the final blow, was me.”

That very second, a little part of Ghirahim’s world shattered. When he realized the consequences of plotting alongside a man so treacherous, the rest shattered with it. Right under his nose, Zant had made an enemy of his Master, and by extension, of Ghirahim. There were questions he wanted to ask, insults to be hurled. He could only think of one question, that bubbled to the surface of his heart like scum in a boiling pot. “How long have you plotted this?”

Zant lowered his gaze, for as far as the stare of a near-blind man mattered. “From the very start,” he admitted, sighing. “After such a betrayal, to awaken to another manifestation of my tormentor, and have him once again demand my services… He may as well have spat in my face. Though, I admit, for a little while, I buckled. Somewhere, I must have loved him still, drawn to his power and our shared hatred for Hyrule as I was. I wanted to see if I could trust this version of him, who seemed so noble. But after your stories, Ghirahim, how his incarnations cast you aside so carelessly… I made up my mind. Ganondorf does not change.”

“So then all of this was just a lie, part of your plans?” Ghirahim asked, his voice quaking. He didn’t care for Zant’s excuses, not when they pulled every minute he spent by his side into question. Not when they sabotaged everything he’s ever stood for. “I, too, just a little scheme for you?”

Zant gasped, inching closer to the edge of the bed to look at him in pleading. “No, Ghirahim. How could I have foreseen this? I came to you seeking an ally, and I found a new reason for my heart to beat. For every lie I have told you, I have spoken to you as many truths tenfold, in how I’ve grown to love you. It is only because of you I have made it this far. You’ve given me peace, soothed my soul when I threatened to bubble over. And, more importantly, Ghirahim-ili, you have made a warrior of me.” Zant urged, attempting a smile, his hand outstretched. “Which is why I ask you to join me.”

Ghirahim was too stupefied by his words to answer. So Zant took advantage of his silence to continue. “You know now of my hatred, my every motivation. Yet you stay loyal to him, even if you must know he will not spare you. He has not spared you, for he resigned someone so loyal to him to the same fate he did a traitor.”

His arms snaked around himself, his nails digging in the false skin of his arms. Ghirahim took another step back; the Twili’s presence alone made it feel like insects were crawling inside his steel, tunneling through him like termites. His mind hit a roadblock, reached a final terminal, and the logic Zant asked from him sat horizons away where his tracks would not reach. “... Then if Master wills it-”

Zant shot up in his seat, snapping at him before he could finish his sentence. “Do you know how it hurts me, Ghirahim? To see someone so precious to me tear himself apart over someone who would shatter him on a mere whim? After all you do for him, he denies you at every turn and punishes you for the barest things. It has taken every shred of composure I had not to tear into him when he threatened to hurt you. If I had not hated him before, the way he treats you would have convinced me to.”

He’d avoided his eyes up until then, but Ghirahim now shot his gaze straight at him. They exchanged a scowl, each gnashing teeth, one from hatred, one from love. Desperation seized him and sharpened his edge.

Ghirahim made for him and pushed him back into the pillows. “You know not what you ask of me. To think I would care what hurts you now, after what you’ve told me! You speak of whims? You’re asking me to abandon my every purpose for something as small as your mortal love. My purpose is all I have. It is me. To ask me to betray Demise is to doom myself to scrap, Zant.”

Zant had refused a squeak when he was shoved. With tears in his eyes, he simply laid there, glaring at him. He cradled a freshly ruptured suture through its bandages. “You are not yourself when you speak of him! Listen to the words you spew! Scrap!? So highly you think of yourself, you carry yourself as the priceless artifact that you are, yet when around him, you are degraded to the ranks of mere tools.”

Ghirahim gripped his hair in wild frustration. “Because- I am precisely as perfect as I am because of Him! Without Him, without a hand to wield me, I am nothing.”

Zant stared at him, perturbed, before groaning in his agony and sinking into his pillows. For a moment, he wilted again, speaking bitterly as he resigned himself. “Then you have been, and will be nothing, for a very long time.”

In an instant, his vision went red. “How dare you!”

Ghirahim pounced him, hands outstretched and clawed, landing square upon his chest, ignoring the grit of Zant’s teeth, his squirms, his pained squeaks. All he paid attention to were his wide-open eyes and the fear he could milk out of them. He gripped him fiercely by the shoulders and shook him as he spoke. “It’s all your fault, isn’t it!? Why he would not wield me! Why I could not gain his trust!? All because of your greed, he now sees me as a conspirator to your rotten betrayal.”

His hands found Zant’s throat and squeezed. Ghirahim leaned in close, fangs bared. Zant did nothing. Just the sight of those glowing pupils fueled the fire of his rage. “A thousand miserable years I’ve waited, working hard to see him again. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Your puny, mortal mind could never comprehend the lengths I’ve gone to!”

He reared back his fist, and still Zant did nothing. “Now I can wait thousands more, and he will never wield me again!!”

Ghirahim panted amidst his accusations, tears streaming down his cheeks the second they beaded in the corners of his eyes. He scanned the Usurper’s eyes for substance, for anything that wasn’t pity. When he didn’t find it, he snapped. Before he knew it, his fist connected to Zant’s cheekbone. Crack. “How could you do this to me? We were going to win!” Crack. “I would finally have been happy, after I’ve been alone for so long, and you RUINED everything for me!”

Crack. Snap. A whimper. There wasn’t an inch of Zant’s face untainted by blood and bruising, and still, that horrible fool did nothing to stop him. “I should kill you!”

He sent Zant’s head twisting left to right, right to left, with each punch. His heart had broken twice over today. First, shattered to pieces from all hope of becoming his Master’s blade. Then, its shards were trampled by the very man below his relentless assault, who had punished him so severely for daring to open himself to that mortal love. What a complete and utter fool he’d been. He should have expected to be punished like this, for entering a world he didn’t belong in.

And still, past the swollen, blood-smeared skin, Zant did not take his gut-wrenching eyes off of him, trying to fool him into loving him again to save his own measly life. It was an outrage! A betrayal this massive, and Zant had the gall to try and garner his sympathy. To assert they were alike in fate. There was only one who had lost everything, whose prospects were null, and who was only living on borrowed time. Only one banished from his home, his every goal snatched from before his nose. Only one whom his Master truly abandoned, to never be forgiven.

… No.

There were two.

Before his fist could crash into him once more, a convulsion tore through Zant’s body below him. Within the blink of an eye, he changed. His skin lost all color, turning a deep, shadowy black, while his patterns dimmed, and his hair bristled into a brittle white, like spider’s silk.

Zant was dying.

The ties to the Demon Scimitar pulsed in his chest. There lied that rebellious little dagger, the one that thumped against the walls of his core whenever this wretch would look at him in his strange ways. Did it not feel good? Its little voice whispered in his mind. Even if it was such a small piece of you in his hands, did it not fill you with joy? Master will not wield us, and this world has so few who are worthy of us. Is it not better to rest part of you in capable hands, than in nothing at all?

Ghirahim clutched his head, begging for silence. He could not handle even a second of doubt, of weakness. If this man were simply dead, everything would be so much easier. If he were the one to kill him, Master would forgive him. But are you ready for him to die?

He was. He would have to be. He wanted to be. It would be so simple. He just wanted to be wielded. To be held in someone’s hands, to be part of something greater.

He wanted to be loved.

Please, help him.

Oh, God. What has he done?

He detested the despairing little squeak behind him as he walked away from that deathbed. Even more, he reviled himself, for glancing behind and allowing the teeth of guilt to sink into him at the pitiful sight of that beaten creature.

What he hated most was how he’d been convinced to return after his brief departure, healing elixirs in hand, and seeing tear-drenched eyes looking at him with a bloody smile.

Don't look at me like that, you horrible man. You’ve ruined my life.

But that pitiful part of him felt relieved how Zant could smile at the sight of him still. How Zant was glad to see him, even after attempting to take his life mere seconds earlier. A withered hand shook as it reached out for him. Ghirahim took it and squeezed.

The room was silent as Ghirahim nursed Zant back to health. Far, far into the desert outside, chaos was unfolding. The few remaining giant monsters were now surely being slaughtered, and their troops would have to cherish idle hopes of succeeding in their reign of terror, in their commanders’ absence. Deep, deep below the ground, Gerudo and Bulblin who could not fight were taking shelter in the dungeons, waiting for the pounding footfall to fade away and leave them in peace.

Neither side knew they were here. They would sit in this room, disturbed only by the glare of Zant’s portrait, judging this pathetic display. Zant strained to breathe. His complexion had inverted almost to its original colors, while his hair returned to its original, rosewood shade. However, some strands retained that ghostly white from before. Ghirahim hoped it would be permanent. He hoped he would remember this accursed day every time he was confronted with his reflection.

Never before had shadows bothered him. Now, in the deep darkness of Zant’s bedroom, it suffocated him. Neither of them said a word. There was nothing to say, but in this stifling pit of nothingness, he began to crave the slightest noise. He wished he could go back to a time when this dark was comforting, to be filled with nothing but idle chatter and the grappling of their bodies. Like this, through noise, through touch, Ghirahim could only think to hurt him.

So, Ghirahim seized the bridge of Zant’s nose and cracked what cartilage he hadn't shattered back into place. He took hold of his jaw, counted to three in his head, and popped the crooked thing back in its sockets. If Zant had cried out in pain at any of this, he wouldn't have noticed. The ringing in his ears was just too loud. His handiwork now finished, he trusted the potions to do the rest.

Then, he waited. For anything, really. For the battle raging outside to dissipate. For their forces to come bursting through the castle gate cheering with glee, or for the enemy to come raid it of every worth and woman inside, and drag the two of them to the gallows, while they were at it. But mostly, he waited for any change in Zant.

Look at him. He cannot even raise a finger to hurt you. You could end this right here, right now, Ghirahim thought to himself. Yet he sat and did nothing. When his eyes met the ones that stared glossily back up at him, filled with agonized gratitude, that thought snuffed out, and its wicker would burn no longer.

Ghirahim swallowed his apprehension, inhaled sharply, and sighed. “What will you have me do?”

Zant opened his mouth to speak, but the shards of crumbled teeth fell into his throat as he uttered his first syllable. Ghirahim sat and watched as he choked and spat them out on his pillow.

“We are to wait out the right time to strike back for the throne, but today, we cannot. So we will have to fool them with one more ruse. Return to the battlefield, Ghirahim,” he wheezed, swallowing the blood from a dry throat. “Strike at whoever is closest. Be vengeful. Be fierce. You must fight like you never have before.

Zant breathed deeply. With each chug of air, another wound closed up, though their scars and deep black bruises remained. “You are to disappear with me. They must be convinced that I succumbed to my wounds.”

You should have.

“And, to their knowledge, you will take to the grave with me. Come closer,” he said. His hand searched beside his face on the pillow and retrieved a shard of tooth, long and pointy, almost complete. With a tiny crack, he then reached over, and fastened it to Ghirahim’s earring, to an empty link remaining there. “A memento, to convince them of my death.”

Ghirahim rose again in silence. A little piece of bone so small dangled from his ear, but the weight of its burden could tip him over. Zant continued to speak as if this was the simplest matter in the world. “Take our blade. My power rests within it, still, and it is all the help I can afford you.”

Listlessly, mechanically, Ghirahim rose from his seat before Zant even finished his sentence. The sword lay by his bedside, hastily thrown to the side along with Zant’s armor. He picked up that shard of himself and apologetically wiped it of its grime.

A roar reverberated from outside, echoing past the sands and through the castle walls. Zant called to his attention again with his glowing eyes aimed straight at him. “The Gerudo are innocent in all this. The least we can do is scare this vermin away from their homes. I trust you to have tricks up your sleeve, Yima Mionaida.”

Despite it all, his little nicknames stirred in his chest. Ghirahim clenched his fist harder around the grip of the Demon Scimitar, as if to smother it. His Diamond. The miserable, manipulative cretin that he was. And Ghirahim was doing all his bidding.

Just before he could turn his back to leave, he was halted one last time. “Ghirahim,” Zant started, but he knew saying his next words would only draw his ire. His face said every letter anyway. I’m sorry.

Ghirahim ran. Within a flash, he was back in the sweltering heat of the desert, bolting from the Temple Complex and kicking up sand trails in his escape. He tore past keeps, the slain corpses of their monsters, and field battles still unfolding between forces too stubborn to believe the war was won. Those who dared bar his way were dealt with swiftly, their heads rolling. He left the perfect trail like this. A pristine white lightning bolt with a sword sharper than the cruel edge of time, such a description could only fit one man. The eyes he sought snared onto him. Enemy commanders, skeptically scouring the desert and leaving not a stone unturned for a trace of Ganondorf’s finest. Now, they found him and were giving chase just like he wanted.

Blood and plate mail carpeted the vast sands racing below his feet. Rock outcroppings raced past; trampled patches of desert scrub – Safflina and a type of sagebrush. The smell of drying vegetation filling the air was the same as when Zant held sprigs from them up to his nose for inspection – and, finally, the gate to the bazaar, zipped past him. Almost, he, the false deserter, had gotten away with leading the lot of them out into the wider desert, until a familiar rumble ripped him from his concentration.

Ghirahim swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding a boulder that barreled past him. It skidded to a halt before him and unfolded, though he didn’t have to see that transformation to know what nuisance stood before him. There was, once again, Darunia, Chief of the Goron Tribes.

“Not one step further, Pebble.”

The sight of him was enough to startle even Ghirahim, though he was too jaded to find any delight in it. Darunia’s torso was heavily scarred, and his right arm, gone. In its place was a jumble of machinery, with pistons and gears whirring noisily to heave the weight of a massive hammer at the very end of the prosthetic limb. Beyond a solid steel helmet, the Goron Chief wore a wide grin, though one less eye stared back at Ghirahim than last time.

“Thought to slip by us, did you? All on your lonesome?” said the Goron Chief, brandishing his weapon. “I wasn’t looking forward to facing off against that nutcase anyhow, but a lil’ something tells me my siblings took care of that for me…”

Ghirahim looked back. The peaks of Gerudo Palace were no longer in sight. For whatever chaos he would unleash… This would have to be far enough. All he had to do was stall for time until the rest of the Hyrulean commanders caught up to him.

“You truly wish to keep me? Very well,” Ghirahim replied, holding the Demon Scimitar up to the sun. Sand powdered his bodysuit from top to bottom, crusting gray and gold in every crease. But their blade remained immaculate. Its silvery edge still shone into his pupils, like teeth flashing in a hungry grin. “Make this worth my while.”

Darunia’s hammer pounded into the ground fiercer than ever. The springs on his arm, hefty as it might have been, gave him untold speed and force with each swing. Ghirahim couldn’t stop the speed of that hammer anymore – where there were once bulging veins now sat machinery, forged from a steel he dared not chip the Demon Scimitar on. So, he had to settle for the rest of this massive creature. They clashed like this for what felt like hours, neither showing any signs of tiring. The resounding clanks of the warhammer striking upon resonant steel had surely deafened them both, and everyone daring to come near them. It was thoroughly inelegant. Ghirahim hissed, roared, lunged at him with wild swings wielding a sword leagues to big for his frame. Such wild desperation hampered him as much as it worked in his favor. A grief-stricken foe was always quickly underestimated. Even with his new accessories, Darunia would not leave this battlefield unscathed. A blade made from the heart would know how to find another without effort. As he riddled the Goron’s bulging ribcage with scars, a foreboding chime in his core once again alerted him of his pursuers. They were getting closer. He could feel it.

Then, for a second, he could feel nothing at all. A split second of distraction cost him dearly, when it allowed for Darunia to come within arm’s reach and drive his hammer straight into him. The flat of the giant hammer drove into the side of his head with such a deafening impact he thought his head might snap clean off. Instead, he remained intact, launched across the bazaar to tumble through ruined market stands and trampled carpets. When he came to a halt, all he could see was dust, the approaching Darunia not more than a shadow in the clouds of sand. Ghirahim stood up, a hand to his wounded cheek to find it just that – wounded. Through his false skin, he could feel chips taken out his face, like little razor-sharp dimples on his cheek.

The rest of them were approaching now, right outside the gate. Ghirahim found the least he could do was give them a proper welcome spectacle. Concealed by the dust, he launched forward at the shape of the Goron Chief in ambush. Its wicked, curved tip aimed at the jugular. Darunia staggered away, but every twitch of movement just made the scimitar slice him deeper. With just one more stumbling step, Ghirahim got the vengeance he wanted. An arc of blood gushed from the Goron’s collarbone, splattering to accessorize Ghirahim’s wounded face. Clutching his bleeding wound, Darunia thrust his metal arm forward to push the Demon away from him and hobbled back into the dust.

Ghirahim gave chase until he remembered his task. Wind whipped through his hair and took the sands with it, revealing at last his surroundings to him. Standing in an arc around him, barricading his way to the desert, stood the mightiest of Hyrule’s army. There was nowhere left to lure them, this would have to be his final stand. He could not fight all of them at once – not Link, not Fi, not Zelda, not all of the other pompous royals gathered here. But he could make them see. The blade, the tooth dangling from his ear. Now, he would make them witness his sorrow. To their knowledge, it would be grief for a fallen friend, but in the depths of his core, he felt nothing more than disgust for obeying the word of another.

Tears gushed from his eyes. He was doing this – he was betraying his Master. Ghirahim (was he even worthy of a name?) contorted his face into a maddened grin. The carnage, the destruction, the pure, unfiltered chaos this final gambit would unleash might have pleased Him, but it would not be in His name. It was moot! He should have accepted his fate in the Arbiter’s grounds. He should have stood patiently waiting in executioner’s row, to be pierced by the very same arrow that he saved his conspirator from. If his Master willed him to shatter, to turn to dust and forgotten in the eyes of history, then that was to be his fate, and nothing more.

Instead, the Sword Spirit glared down the approaching Hyrulean commanders with the same manic grimace, and readied his spell.

“Šamu dullu-ya, Majora! Bēlu ellāmu-adāni, Lā Naparkû Umṣu! Anāku bussuru kâti bursaggû, naqrabu napištu. Banû annûm āra-šu ašītu, baqāru tidintuka!”

He danced and danced through the sand, flickering himself atop every surface he could find to evade the grasp of his assailants. Midna and Lana were the first to stiffen, to call for someone to put a stop to this, but none of the arrows sailing past could hit their mark. Every word drained more and more energy from him. This was a true summoning, a bargain driven. Within the first uttering of the Arch Demon’s name, he could feel it watching, stalking around him like a wolf with gnashing teeth, licking its lips until it found his offer sufficient.

He would have thought it an infernal illusion, ripping him to some other plane of existence, did he not notice the straw hat atop the mask and the blue sky expanding behind it. The Skull Kid floated before him upside down, looking him dead in the eye. With a single tap on the nose, it shook him out of his paralysis.

“Took you long enough. Don’t let me get bored again, Ghirahim-ili!”

It mocked, it shrieked with laughter, and it rattled its mask. Arms to the sky, it hovered squeaking and groaning with strain, and then with the same great effort, swung its clawed little hands down as if pulling a massive lever. Then, it waved cheerfully and disappeared within a blink.

Silence. Nothing at all. The commanders still around him stood waiting with caution, alarmed by the Arch Demon’s arrival, and just-as-sudden departure. Only when a rumble shook the pebbles on the bazaar grounds did they think to look up.

Not Ghirahim. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the skies for even a second. He saw it the second Majora disappeared. A small dot, a mere speck in the endless blue of the cloudless heavens, approaching rapidly. The Moon was falling down on Gerudo Desert.

Cries of panic, of retreat. Chimes of magical transportation rang around him. Hyrule’s commanders were fleeing en masse. Perhaps he would not strike his intended targets, but he didn’t care. This battle would find no spoils or prisoners. Nothing but a wasteland would be left, leaving not the slightest bone for the vultures to scavenge. Swirling clouds of condensation shrouded the Moon in its rapid descent. It was hypnotic, almost, Ghirahim thought, standing in the center of its massive shadow. He considered then what would happen if he simply stayed here. The clouds dissipated as the Moon crossed their threshold. By all means, he was insane for dawdling here, and yet he took the time.

Head cocked curiously, but eyes blank, he peered up at a giant visage that scowled back. Like it challenged him, almost. He was forged to survive any impact, surpassed only by weaponry that rivaled him in magic ability. But he’d never been hit by a meteor before. Would it shatter him? Did that matter? Oh, how tempting the thought was. He was a dead man walking either way. Where would he go if he survived such an impact? Master would break him.

Ah, his trump card was getting a little close for comfort now. He could feel the heat of its approach on his skin, its tremors shaking the ground beneath his feet. There were mere seconds between this moment and the inevitable crater the Moon would leave. He turned his stare away from the skies and turned to look around. Not a soul remained in the bazaar, but the soldiers that fled – be they friend or foe – certainly weren’t far enough to escape the blast radius. They’d be dust soon, blend in with the sands.

Playtime was over. He’d fantasized plenty. Zant was waiting for him; whether he’d find him succumbed to his wounds, or in a prime state to kill him himself, he’d have to see when he got there. Whether he’d have the guts to see him to his end…

Now, to get out of here.

63 notes · View notes

lemon-russ · 2 months

Text

I did NOT forgor the 2 other guards in chapter 12, don't worry here they are!!

This is between pt. 11 and pt. 12

-------------------- 💀 -------------------

11.5 /???

Cato sicarius x f!reader

(They aren't even here)

Summary: Two battle brothers take their job very seriously

Cw: none

Word count: 500ish

Brother Brutus and Brother Gallan of the Ultramarines sat bored while their commander paced around fretfully. They were sent to help guard the Lady Ambassador of Guilliman, but, she'd run off. And there was really not much to do for them around this planet.

It was lush and green and safe, onlt rich nobles and agri-world workers around. It was extreme even that their Primarch sent three whole Astartes to guard one woman, but, their father had his quirks.

“Brother Gallan-” Brutus says after they'd been sitting for a while. “The Lady is not coming back soon. We should take a walk around the parameter. Secure the area.”

“Excellent idea, Brother Brutus.” Gallan said, climbing to his feet. “There could be unkown threats hidden in these leaves and plants.”

Brutus nodded, “It could be a tomb world, for all we know.”

Gallan nodded back. “Or hiding some sort of cult of chaos.” He added as they started walking around the resort.

Brutus gasped, “By the throne Brother, it could even be both!” He said urgently, prompting enthusiastic nods from Gallan.

The pair walked around the thick jungle a bit, carefully scanning for threats. They instead found a large party dock, a covered wooden platform running over the teal ocean. There was music and chatter and laughter coming from it.

The brothers shared a helmeted look.

“Could be a cult.” Gallan says.

“Could be slaneshi worshipers.” Brutus agrees.

“We must investigate discreetly, brother. Let us doff our armor, so we may see up close without causing suspicion.” Gallan suggests.

Brutus is already unbuckling his plates. “Excellent idea again, brother.” He agrees.

They unarmor themselves, peeling off their body sleeves, leaving their suits hidden in the foliage. They turn and glance at eachother in mirrored movements.

“By the throne, that is an excellent tropical shirt, brother, very practical for the climate.” Brutus says.

“I could predict you would say such a thing, as you are clearly wearing the same one, brother.” Gallan replies. “And it appears we both have excellent and practical tastes in khakis, brother.” He adds.

“Indeed brother, we are both dressed quite appropriately for the climate I would say.” Brutus says with a nod. “Come brother, let us ensure there is no heresy happening on that party platform.”

Gallan nods, donning sunglasses from a pocket on his cargo khakis. “Of course, and just in case the double suns of this planet are dangerous to the eyes-”

“Ahh, always a step ahead brother Gallan.” Brutus says with an admiring nod, pulling out sunglasses from his own khakis. “This is ehy I reccomend you for brother of the week.” He adds.

Gallan touches his chest, giving a small frown, “brother brutus, I nominated *you* for battle brother of the week!”

They stare at eachother a moment, then laugh and hook arms around eachother shoulders, walking to the party.

“By the throne, that punch looks tainted brother, we should investigate!”

“Again, always on top of things brother Gallan!”

Titus groans, watching the suns set and growing anxious about the ambassador. He stops for a moment, looking around. “…where the hell did those dumbasses get off to now?” He grumbles to himself.

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #cato sicarius #my work #cato x diplomat fic #wh40k fanfic #meme tag

32 notes · View notes

taomubiji · 7 months

Text

25 Facts About Xie Yuchen

1. Xie Yuchen was born on October 3, 1978.

2. Xie Yuchen's stage name, Jie Yuhua, comes from the poem 《蝶恋花（用宜笑之语作）》 by Zhao Shixia.

3. Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie were playmates when Xie Yuchen was five or six years old.

4. Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie are distant cousins.

5. As a child, Xie Yuchen would play Hua Dan and Qingyi (types of female roles) in Chinese opera. As a result, many people, including Wu Xie, thought he was a girl.

6. After Xie Yuchen's uncle, Xie Lianhuan, died, his father died soon after, and then several more of his uncles died.

7. Xie Yuchen had to take over the family business at 8 years old.

8. Xie Yuchen described the experiences he had growing up as "very, very uncomfortable."

9. He lived in a military compound.

10. When a friend of his caused trouble, he bought more than a hundred sheep to make up for it.

11. The first time Xie Yuchen appears he is described by Wu Xie as being dressed in a black suit with a pink shirt underneath and no tie.

12. He originally wore the color pink to offset his murderous aura.

13. When Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie met again as adults, they both smiled "pervertedly" at each other.

14. Xie Yuchen became a guarantor for Wu Xie's debt after Wu Xie's now-legendary disastrous biddings at the Xin Yue Restaurant.

15. In the online version of Sand Sea 2, Xie Yuchen throws Su Wan, Yang Hao, Li Cu, and Liang Wan out the window of a moving train.

16. In The Lost Tombs and Ultimate Note, Xie Yuchen is included much more than in the novels the shows adapted. However, in Reunion and Tomb of the Sea, his role is significantly reduced.

17. He sings every year during the Qingming Festival for Er Yuehong.

18. Wu Xie thinks he is "an extremely difficult person to get along with."

19. Xie Yuchen likes salty foods.

20. He was the biggest contributor in preventing Chinese national treasures from being exported.

21. Xie Yuchen smokes cigarettes but isn't addicted.

22. He has a habit of collecting old buildings.

23. In his free time, he practices Chinese opera, paints, and arranges flowers.

24. Xie Yuchen has used a butterfly knife and an antique dagger as weapons.

25. A the age of seventeen, he had already been surrounded by death and had even heard the words "it’s going to rain blood tonight" by his own mother.

References

English novel references refer to Merebear's translation, Chinese novel references refer to the original Chinese version.

Photo: From NP Entertainment's Merch Weibo

Author Celebrated His Birthday on October 3; Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7，第五十一章 (XYC says that he's 26yo, V7 takes place in 2004).

The Mystic Nine Memories Extra; 九门回忆 (Note: it should be Jie Yuhua not Xie Yuhua in merebear's translation)

Volume 7, Chapter 31; 盗墓笔记7，第二十六章

The Mystic Nine (4) Xie-Wu Matchmaking Extra; 吴邪私家笔记，第三卷，九五做媒; 老九门短篇集肆——九五做媒

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7，第五十一章

Sand Sea, Chapter 112; 沙海3，第一章

Volume 7, Chapter 35; 盗墓笔记7，第三十章

Volume 7, Chapter 5; 盗墓笔记6：邛笼石影，第五章

A Day in the Life of Xie Yuchen Extra; 解语花的一天

Volume 7, Chapter 6; 盗墓笔记6：邛笼石影，第六章

Some of Wu Xie's Thoughts Extra; 吴邪的小心情

Sand Sea, Chapter 73; 沙海2，第三十四章 (Note: this part was removed in the print version)

Watch the shows; read the books

Xiao Hua’s Annual Party Extra; 小花的年会

Seven Fingers Extra, Chapter 13; 七指，第十三章

Fishing King Extra, Chapter 7; 钓王，第七章

Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 89; 沙海2 (Online)，第五十章 (Note: this part was removed in the print version)

A Day in the Life of Xie Yuchen Extra; 解语花的一天

A Thousand Faces, Chapters 1, 17; 千面，第一，十七章 (Note: I don't have the published version)

Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 88; 沙海2 (Online)，第四十九章; 沙海2 (Print), 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 31; 盗墓笔记7 第二十五章; Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 75; 沙海2 (Online), 第三十六章; 沙海2 (Print), 第五十章

Volume 8, Chapter 10; 盗墓笔记8 第十章

#dmbj #xie yuchen #xiao hua

74 notes · View notes

vclvetfleur · 1 year

Text

Obedient Chapter 11

roman roy x fem!reader

Summary: You were invited to come with Roman to Argestes. Unknowingly to you, a huge scandal was about to drop onto the company. Roman needs to land a deal with another nepo baby that would finally make Logan think he was good enough. And you were challenged by juggling your relationship with Roman and friendship with Jess.

TW: Sexism, Alcohol use, nepotism, jealousy, smut MDNI

Word Count: 5.6K

Notes: This took a while, but I'm so glad everyone is enjoying the story. I already have another idea for another story. So once this is done, I will be starting another. Also the Cruises scandal is about to break.

Chapter 11: Billionaire Nepo babies.

You and Roman spent most of your days together once again. You both had kept whatever this was between the two of you extremely private just to save you both from some kind of explosive drama that would definitely arise if you were both found out. You were happy with this agreement and Roman was happy to just finally be able to hold you in his own arms. He could fully be himself without a single judgment.

You weren’t just two people hooking up though, in fact, you haven’t even had any sexual contact with him rather than feeling him once that completely freaked him out. He wasn’t ready, but he had never told you that. He just gave the excuse of wanting to take it slow with you. But he had continuously made sexual innuendos and constant references, without acting or doing anything. You tried not to get hurt by it. I mean- Roman did nearly lose it over the fact you wouldn’t be with him in the first place. It was obvious that he did want you. Plus, you were his assistant, you had access to all his messages and emails. Roman had no one else to hide.

You both had spent the entire morning, making fuck me eyes at one another and light flirting within the privacy of his office. You were just always a little too close to him and vice versa.

You hated that you had to lie to Jess though. That’s what you did every day though. You lied to her face every time you saw her, never mentioning you and Roman’s weird relationship. You never had to do that before. Whenever you were in a relationship, Jess was always the first to know when you were seeing someone new or if you even had feelings for another person. It felt wrong to keep it from her, but you knew it would be for the best.

You even lied to Kendall, saying nothing at all happened and that you just went home. But you ended up apologizing to Roman. Kendall didn’t entirely believe you, but there wasn’t much he could do to pry the real details from you.

Either way, you and Roman were happy with your arrangement. It was the most stable ‘relationship’ if you could even call it that, you’ve ever been in. And this was the most Roman had ever put out of his way for someone he liked.

You were both were finally comfortable for the first time in your lives.

But a scandal was soon to break out on the Roys and one branch of their company, Cruises. None of the kids, except Kendall were filled in yet. Only the PR team and certain members of the board. They were trying to make it go away just before the conference that the family was going to, but it just was getting worse and worse as more people came out against the family. You sat in the back seat with Roman, driving to this conference together, a little late to it. There were a ton of reporters outside the venue, trying to snap pictures of the car and what was inside. Roman couldn’t help but laugh and point at them. “Look at these fucking idiots.” He giggled again before leaving the car and posing for the camera before dismissing them. You quickly followed behind though. “Looks like there’s not going to be much privacy this weekend. Maybe we could get some really sexy pictures out of it though.” Roman whispered to you. You gave him a look and just went through the building, ignoring his flirtatious comment. Kendall left right after us with Jess, getting his badges with you and Roman, but Roman just made ignorant comments to the worker. You left with Jess to get everything settled for the event. This was the way for the Roys to finally get back in with Nan.

You watched a few people along with Logan and Kendall rush into a room as if they knew something really important. “Uh-Jess why are they?” You pointed out. Jess looked just as confused as you were. Roman was out there still making fun of Tom and Greg to their face, while everyone else was talking about something that Roman had no idea about. “What the fuck?” You whispered.

Logan had left the room, and everyone broke out to work on their own way of shutting this scandal down.

Gerri left, looking for Roman. Gerri had tried to get Roman involved. She needed to find a way to make Roman seem more worthy than his dad thought he was. She had been eyeing this billionaire son for a bit, knowing they could possibly buy them out and it would be huge for Waystar incase Pierce dropped out, which was likely. You couldn’t help but stare, Jess catching you.

“Roman’s playing mommy again.” Jess giggled. You looked at her, holding back your laugh. “Uh-wait are you still meeting with me to get ready to the party?” She asked you. You stopped to think but nodded.

“Of course, we gotta see what looks good on each other if we wanna manipulate them to buy us a new wardrobe.” You joked. It was your lifestyle you use to live with Jess from when you guys had first met, probably the first three years of your relationship consisted of it. You and Jess would flirt with promoters to get into clubs or message them to boost their egos. You both eventually got into very exclusive clubs and parties and had led rich men into thinking they were going to get anything out of you for luxurious stuff like dinners or other social events or even just items. You weren’t a sugar baby, just you were able to talk your way into certain things with these men. Jess had to break away from you and scheduled to see you at 6:30 at her hotel room. You just planned on getting the two of you tequila in the room before she got there so you both could also drink beforehand. You found Roman, standing with himself as he had just given up on talking to others at the party.

Gerri had to remind him that despite having Shiv be her dads right hand man, it could change if Roman was more serious. Roman wasn’t taking it too well. You’ve seen how the toll of this entire thing had taken on him. He was upstairs, with a green Perrier bottle in his hand, bringing it over to his lips every so often. He leaned on the railing, scanning the room. “Hey. You done overlooking the party batman?” You teased him.

“Fucking haha- uh- I’m just tryna think… Thought if I posed like this, you’d find it sexy and wouldn’t be able to control yourself.” He lied, his sad pouty lips curling into a smirk as he brought the green bottle to his lips again and sipped on it.

You giggled, leaning on the railing the same as him, looking over the party. “What were you looking at?” You asked. You scanned the room to see potential people for Roman to eventually fuck over. Roman pointed the man sitting down in some leather chair talking to some women.

“Eduard. He’s some rich dickhead Gerri thinks I should talk to to win daddy’s love.” Roman scoffed. You eye the man down, asking why Gerri would ask. Roman went into the same details, all be it more melo-dramatic, that Gerri had before. You nodded, trying to think it over.

“I think it could work. Just don’t be an asshole.” You warned him. “You could do it at the party.” You shrugged. It could work. There was enough time, it would be a friendly setting. Roman was better at informal meetings than formal ones. He was way better at the casual ‘im your friend’ kind of parts of the business. Kendall just came off as too intimidating or too much of a kiss up for his dad. It made the deals usually seem so artificial.

You went out of your way to make Roman actually speak to other though. He had never been so reserved until this massive ego bruise that his dad had left him. You had to push Roman back out of his shell. But before you knew it, you had to go meet with Jess. “Uh Rome- I will see you after at the party, okay? Uh- good luck.” You gave him a gentle longing hand hold, something discreet enough to remind Roman you weren’t leaving him. “I’m gonna just meet with Jess and get ready. It’ll be worth it. I promise.” You winked before leaving him behind. He looked completely lost without you. You felt bad for him. He had been on autopilot since Nan’s. You were just the one steering along with Gerri sometimes coming in as well. She had been the only one who believe in him before you came. She could see him actually growing up and doing the work that his siblings were set to do. She saw Roman’s potential. Despite all the sexual advancements in the past and the flirting Roman did, they did have that mother-son dynamic. But y’know, Romans’ mommy issues couldn’t help himself from sexualizing a motherly figure in his life.

You had grabbed a bottle of Don Julios with a liter of coke for the chasers that you were prepped to take. You knocked on Jess’ bedroom door and had it opened for you by Jess. She couldn’t keep her excitement to herself, letting out a little sequel as you both walked into her room. It was like old times. You had left your bag in Jess’ room and grabbed it, pulling out outfits you had prepared. Jess did the same and you both started with trying each thing you had on for one another to rate. After going back in forth for a while, you both came to your conclusions of what you were wearing for the night. You put music on, trying to skip through whatever sad song came up if it ever did. “Fuck.” You mumbled, getting up again after just sitting down to redo your makeup to change the song. “No- it’s fine. It’s a good song.” Jess laughed loudly at how many depressing songs kept coming through. You both had probably taken 3 shots together each at this point. “Yea cause listening to Mitski is really what I want to hear while getting drunk off of tequila.” You giggled.

You heard Jess singing along to the song, hoping you’d join her. Her hands extended out to you and sang loudly. You couldn’t help but take her hand and sing with her. “You’re coming back and IT’S THE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEND!” You both shouted, pulling each other close. Your arms wrapped around each other, swaying each other and singing the song with each other. “This is way too intimate.” Jess laughed, pulling away. There was such a closeness to you and Jess. Maybe could you had met her at such a sore spot in your life.

You had just dropped all contact with your parents. You had left them as soon as you could. You moved into your dorm and now had no reason to ever be around them or speak to them. You even had changed your number. It’s not like it mattered to them though. You had already spent a year not speaking to them. But it was a lot harder than you thought it would be. You thought you’d be so happy as soon as it was over with, but you weren’t. You had gone to your dorm that night, moving all your stuff and still felt so incredibly empty. You spent the week crying. You would roll up in your bed, clinging to your stuffed animal, wishing it could’ve been different. But this was it. And jess was there. And she listened. In fact, she had brought you around her family. Credit, they weren’t incredible, they fought with Jess, but they were a normal family. They were only angry with her when they wanted the best for her. You wanted that. And you were glad Jess was there to give you that. You were essentially indoctrinated in her family as if you were an adoptee. It felt nice. And Jess never made you feel bad about your family life. Or how you grew up. Or your other fairly obvious traumas that arised from time to time. Jess was here to listen and comfort and help you with your outbursts and emotions. You weren’t a perfect person, but Jess loved you for you.

The song changed to something you had forgotten you had in your music. “AHH!” You screamed in excitement. Mariah Carey’s ‘We Belong Together’. Jess laughed, getting up, pouring you both a shot to get you both more hyped for the party. You rushed over, downing it quickly. You swayed your hips to the song, using your hand as if it was a microphone. You both went to trying to get ready without getting so distracted, but you both did end up getting fairly distracted every so often depending on what song came through.

Jess saw your phone buzzing a few times, seeing Roman’s name come up. “Incoming, your boss needs you!” Jess threw your phone to you. You grabbed it, answering the call.

“Where are you? I’ve been here for half an hour. Wait- are you at another party?” He asked you. The music was apparently louder than you thought. You lowered the music, pulling the speaker closer to you.

“Ya, sorry. Me and Jess got distracted. We’re heading over now.” You couldn’t help but laugh as Jess was rushing to put her heels on, tripping in the process.

“Okay- I can’t wait to see for what you told me was worth it.” Roman made an attempt at flirting that wasn’t extremely vulgar. Somehow it was worse than just his extremely explicit flirtatious comments.

“Okay Roman. I’ll see you. Don’t keep me on the phone too long.” You said, pulling your shoes on. You left the room with Jess, trying to find where the party was being held. You met Roman out at front though. He seemed like a nervous wreck. He had no idea how to make the deal with Eduard. He didn’t know how he was going to do it. He needed you to calm his nerves.

“Romyyyy” Jess sang, she had a lot to drink or else she would barely acknowledge him. He looked at you, not able to keep his eyes off of how you looked. His lips slightly parted in an amused smile, making sure he got every detail down on how you looked tonight. “She had 5 shots before this. She isn’t that good with liquor.” You apologized for her, hugging Roman casually. His hand rested on your lower back, knowing Jess wouldn’t remember anyways. Or at least wouldn’t question it since it was a party after all.

Jess wondered and began her night. “So, I was looking at Eduard’s way and I just- fuck- the guys a douche.” He was flustered. You looked his direction, rolling your eyes almost immediately. He looked like the guys you would mess with in college. He was surrounded by women, his clothing was even pretentious looking, as if he had to show off everything to others.

“Look, you’re gonna be great. Just go for it. You both fit each other’s type too. Sleezy Billionaire nepo babies.” You joked, undoing his shirt a bit and making him look ready or as if he had actually been going around the party tonight. “Perfect.” You smiled.

“You sure we can’t just casually kiss? I mean assistants do that all the time. I know Greg and Tom do.” He joked, but really wishing he could kiss you in front of people. But he knew he shouldn’t. Not just for your sake but his as well. He couldn’t be too identical to his dad. “Okay fine. Meet me in the bathroom in like 15 minutes. I’m pretty sure we could play it off as a glory hole situation” Roman continued to play around before leaving you to play business flirting with Eduard. No matter how disgusting Roman could be it made him kind of endearing. It such a shameful disgusted way.

You looked for Jess but had seen her already chatting up with some guy. You left her be, going to get yourself a drink. You sipped on your colorful drink, looking around. Roman had gone in the bathroom with Eduard. You just laughed to yourself. You watched Roman come back, slightly defeated. “What happened?” You asked to be informed.

“I don’t know anything about the jackass.” He ran his fingers through his hair, letting air out. “The dumbass basically told me to make the news less sad. No one wants to watch fuckin firefighters saving babies. Or priests not diddling kids.” Roman was annoyed. You rubbed his back, pouting at how upset he seemed.

“Well if you guys are gonna talk..” You tried to make light of it. “I didn’t get his number. He did give me his cocaine though. Did he confuse me for my brother or something?” You wished you could help. You had an idea though.

“Just sit here. Here. Have my drink. I’m gonna work the deal.” You smiled, leaving a kiss onto Roman’s cheek before leaving him at the bar.

You had gone up to Eduard’s table, laying your hand on his shoulder and modeling your body down to him. This was usually your move. You leaned down, tits first, making your hips or ass look incredible as you asked for something small. “Hey, what’s your name?” You asked. You tucked your hair back, looking up at him, giving him fuck me eyes. He immediately fell into the bait. His hand rested on your waist and told you his name. You gave him yours before he insisted you sat down. He leaned forward to make you a drink. You took it, sipping on it as you laid your body close to his. You ran your fingers through his hair as he talked about whatever he was going on about. “Yeah- that’s so fucking awful…” You pitched your voice up, as if you ever really gave a fuck. “God- I mean people only really talk about negativity nowadays. I was just talking about that today with my boss.” You brought Roman up. He asked who your boss was. “I work at Waystar. But yea- we had this conversation about how we only bring up the negative bullshit in politics rather than celebrate our politicians’ achievements.” You lied. You had to play into this billionaire weridos fantasy. “Normally, I don’t even support any of that.” You continued. You knew Eduard was barely paying any attention, but whatever that would make you sleep with him was what he was willing to do. “But yea- no one fits our vision.” You lied which only prompted Eduard to put himself in on the deal.

“I would love to talk about this more tomorrow when I’m sober. But here give me your phone.” He mentioned. You did as he said and saw him put his number in along with a text sent to himself. He picked up his phone and sent you his room number, hoping you’d come. You fake laughed, running your hand down his arm.

“Well, I do think I have to go soon. I have to make sure my bosses don’t make a fool out of themselves. But I’ll try to make it over tonight. If you’re still awake.” You lied before getting up from his booth and over to Roman. He watched the whole interaction with a whole bunch of feelings being brought up. He was completely stunned at how you were. A hint of jealousy even arose. A lot actually. He was a bit turned on, but only cause of how you were even acting. He wasn’t sure if he liked watching you flirt and play around with other people. Especially since he knew you could do better. I mean- they could probably fuck you properly. But you looked so good. He was also embarrassed he couldn’t make the deal as quickly as you did. But still impressed that you managed to.

“You’re a fucking succubus. I hope you didn’t play the same little game with me.” He laughed, trying to hide the fact he was upset about it.

“Shut up. Buy me a shot for my win.” You insisted tapping him on the chest. He did just that. Along with one for him. You both downed it quickly, your face scrunching up once the taste came up on your tongue. “Besides, I actually wanna fuck you. Not that dick.” You mentioned in passing. You never really expressed yourself to Roman that way. But you had a few drinks in you to make you a bit more confident in saying so.

Roman always had this look of desperation whenever he wanted to make those fantasies a reality. You could always see him going into his own head and his dirty thoughts of what he would actually do if he actually could perform. But you assumed it was you.

Jess came over though, interrupting the two of you. “Y/n. Come on. Let’s dance!” She giggled, grabbing your hands. You looked at Roman, you two of sharing a look to her about how drunk she had been. “Come on Roman, let her have fun.” She teased.

“I-uh- I actually need to do something quickly though. But uh- yea go ahead. Have fun.” Roman shooed you two off before leaving the party. Roman’s insecurities got the best of him and he had gone off to speak to Gerri for some encouragement. He knocked on the door, making his way in. “How’d it go?” she asked concerned about his visit to her room. He sat on the kitchen counter and went into what had occurred. Mostly with you. “I mean- is it cause I don’t have tits? Is that what it is?” He tried to hide his insecurities with another reason of why his deal didn’t go perfectly.

“You should be grateful you have her Roman. She can work out the deals you can’t.” Gerri told him harshly. She saw him shifting, knowing exactly what it meant. “Roman- no.” She sighed. “Are you both fucking?” She began to parent him, knowing in the scandal they’re about to get into, this would be the worst thing to happen to the company if the news broke out. Cruises Waystar involved with sexual assault and hiding it along with the CEO’s son and possible new CEO, fucking his assistant, abusing his power.

“We’re not fucking-“He tried to explain. A silence came over him before he finally explained. “We’re… mutually… just… rubbing privates in private.” He shrugged. He couldn’t explain it better than that.

“Roman- you cannot just- “Gerri continued but Roman interrupted. “She came on to me. This wasn’t just- “Roman defended himself, but Gerri was not gonna listen. She knew how badly this could turn out. “Roman, the public won’t see it that way. Just- don’t get caught. You both deny this for however long this last.” Gerri gave him advice. Roman just nodded, staying quiet about it. He just vented to Gerri about the CEO position hoping they could come to a conclusion. Gerri cared too much for him, agreeing to his compromise of whoever became CEO would make the other one Chair.

Gerri sent him on his way, giving him one more warning. He decided to go back to the party, seeing you and Jess just having the best time. Roman was ready to just leave the scene. But you didn’t like you were. “Rome!” You called out, telling him to come over. He shook his head, turning down the offer. You pouted, going over to him and pulled on his hand. “Come ooooon, just relax. What’s got you so uptight?” You asked him.

“Uh- I think I’m just gonna go to my room.” He admitted. You didn’t want to leave, but didn’t want to not be around him.

“Just give me 5 minutes. I’ll meet you there.” You promised him. He let a smile creep up before nodding, leaving quietly.

You decided to make your escape and try to make Jess think you were going on your own. After dancing with her for one more song, you lied to her about being tired. “I’ll see you in the room, right?” Jess asked.

“Uh- no. I’m going to mine.” You continued to lie. She seemed disappointed, but you tried to get out of it quickly. “Oh please- you and the guy were hitting it off. I don’t wanna disrupt your night.” You giggled. You gave her a hug before leaving her. You walked the hall, trying to find Roman’s room. Unknowing to you, Jess got bored without you and decided to make her way to your room. She saw you make the wrong turn to your room and decided to make sure you got to your room safely.

You turned the corner, knocking on Roman’s room. He opened it, put his hand around your waist, laying a kiss on you before you both walked into his room. Jess had just turned the corner to witness it all. Her jaw dropped in complete horror, turning around and going to her room. She was hurt and frustrated. She immediately sobered up after witnessing it. You had been lying to her. She had no idea how long this was even lasting. It hurt. She felt betrayed. Someone she promised to always protect you and be there for you was lying to her. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. But it made sense now, seeing all the patterns of behavior you both displayed.

You laid down on Roman’s bed, staring at him as he was pouring himself a scotch.

“Roman..” You mumbled. He turned to you, his eyebrows raising up to wonder what you needed. “I really… really… want you to fuck me.” You were more confident after taking a shot with him earlier.

He didn’t know how to properly react. He wasn’t ready to go into his own fucked up issues with you tonight, especially now. “Uh- why?” He laughed, not knowing what else to really say. You looked at him confused, assuming he was joking with you.

“Cause- I think you’re incredibly sexy and I just know you’d listen to what I need.” You sat up, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Uh… alright.” He wanted to do this with you just as badly, just not wanting to disappoint. He knew as soon as it would come time to actually perform, he would maybe get soft and get lost and freak out and then just ruin the experience for the both of you.

“Do you just not want me” You began to question. He shook his head no, putting his glass down. He stood in front of you, cupping your cheeks, making you look at him.

“I want to do everything to you.” He promised. “Just- I don’t- I can’t…” he tried. You looked so pretty with his hands on your face. The way you looked at him quickly made him go into his own fantasies. “Can we maybe- uh-“ He tried to find the words to say without making it sound gross.

“What? I’ll do anything you want my love.” You submitted. That was probably the first time any of you had used a pet name with one another. Roman cursed under his breath, his breath getting heavy.

“Take the dress off.” He told you. You nodded, slowly stripping down for him, making eye contact as the straps of your dress came down your shoulders. You slowly unzipped the dress and had it fall down to reveal your chest. Roman moved his hand down to touch himself and watch you. You giggled, pulling the dress fully of, only revealing yourself in a thong.

“What else do you need me to do?” You asked.

“Alright… well me and my other- fuck.. this is so fucking- alright just fucking touch yourself. That’s it. Just fucking watch me and I watch you.” Roman tried to make this not sound as weird as he could but making it weirder by how nervous he had been.

You nodded, following his instructions, moving your underwear off to the side. You took two fingers, making circular motions over your folds, legs spread wide enough for Romans viewing. He put his hands under his pants, stroking himself as he kept his eyes in view of you. He was too embarrassed to reveal himself in front of you. But you weren’t taking too much into mind. You weren’t going to push. You just wanted to make him feel good.

You slid your fingers inside of yourself, another hand taking over to continue to rub circular motions onto your clit. Roman let out heavy gasps, his hand moving faster, watching you intensely, lust blinding everything around his view of you.

You moved your fingers quicker, your moans being high pitched the close you got, gasps leaving your lips as you felt yourself getting there. Roman felt himself getting on the edge before you had. His body twitched, removing his hand from his pants. His breathe was heavy as he now needed to clean himself off.

“Please let me finish you off.” He grew a sudden confidence. You nodded, moving your hands away. He sat down in front of you, laying his hands over your legs, bring a hand up. “Just fucking tell me what to do.” He warned you.

“Okay- well, first you can…” You began to guide him, moving his hand up, playing it where you had them recently. You moved his hand to the pressure that felt comfortable to you and the speed. Your breathing became irregular again, throwing your head back, holding on his wrist to let him know he was doing good. Roman wanted to learn every part of you. He needed to learn your body better than you. You moved your hips against his hand, looking over at him. “Okay, now just come closer.” You instructed. You held his head, moving it towards between your thighs. You tried to instruct him on what you exactly like. “Just whatever sound I make that doesn’t sound uncomfortable, just keep doing it.” You teased before leaving him to do what had had learned. He pressed his lips against your cunt, moving his tongue to whatever he thought he should. You moved his head to whatever felt good and Roman followed your lead. Roman eventually got the hang of it, watching your body and seeing what response you gave him that seemed good. Your breathing quickened, your hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer to you, begging him to do what you wanted to get you there. And he did everything you asked. Pleasure took over your body, your back arching and your thighs tightening around Roman. He pulled away as you seemed to be done. You tried to catch your breath, staring at the ceiling. Once your heart rate reached a normal rate, you looked over at him, still sitting in front of you. “You did so good Roman.” You praised, sitting down and leaning down to kiss him.

“Of course, I did.” He boosted his own ego. He was just glad he was able to do something for you. He was scared, but it was good enough that you didn’t need to touch or look at him. It was about you. There was no pressure on his body. He had gotten up and grabbed a change of clothes before going to the bathroom. You hadn’t brought anything to change into, just deciding to pull on one of Roman’s plain shirts.

Roman came back to see you in his shirt. “You are so fucking sexy.” He mumbled, coming to you, pulling you into another kiss. “You’re also disgusting for kissing me know where my mouth just was.”

“You say that now until you kiss me after I blow you.” You joked back. Roman wasn’t sure when he’d be ready for that to ever happen yet. But this was a major step for him. In the past year, he’s only had sex maybe twice. Once after his ego bruise made him finally attempt to fuck his ex, but that just was more of an ego bruise since she just made him feel embarrassed. And the other was with his ex-girlfriend who he had been in a long term relationship with. It was just another way to prove something. He barely finished. The rest of his experiences were resorted to him jerking off in the other room with whoever he was with in the other room doing the same.

You sat down on his bed, moving over to give him room. “Let me show you that show finally! Log into your Netflix.” You laughed, giving him the remote.

Roman was happy to even be here with you. You were nothing like anyone he had ever met. You were normal. Not in a bad way. Just in the sense of you weren’t constantly craving some greedy need. You just wanted to do whatever came up. You weren’t fixated on luxuries. You weren’t around Roman for anything other than someone that made you smile and laugh. This was the first sense of normalcy Roman had ever felt.

This was what a normal relationship felt like.

Roman had never been more satisfied.

Notes: a lot happened in this chapter. this also was the most i’ve ever written. 5.6k words is crazy i’m so happy.

Chapter 12

#succession #succession hbo #hbo succession #roman roy #roman roy fanfic #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #succession fanfic #kendall roy #shiv roy #siobhan roy #connor roy #logan roy #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch

168 notes · View notes

wardenparker · 2 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 4

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Making out, a bit of groping, heavy flirting. Nothing extreme here. Summary: The day after your outing with Jack things take an unexpected turn, including a visit from Champ’s wife and a change in plans for your cousin’s wedding. Notes: That pesky love triangle is rearing its head defiantly in this chapter, gang!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Jack opens the door to the dining room, a bit nervous as he comes into what he’s come to consider ‘your space’. He knows that he’s blown kind of hot and cold with you, but he wants to see you. Needs to see you, if he’s honest with himself. After a restless night, he’s here. A crate of the new whiskey and a crate of apples from a nearby farm he knows as an offering to your culinary expertise, rolled in behind him on a delivery dolly.

You’ve been in your own little world - singing along to the music playing through Bluetooth speakers situated on the steel counters and dancing around - while you whip up two batches of icing to go with the red velvet cake that you baked. Cream cheese frosting and whipped chocolate ganache are the contenders for topping off the classic sweet, and you’re going to give Diana a call to come do a taste test as soon as they’re ready. Or you were, until you turned around to put a bowl of chocolate frosting on the main counter and saw Jack in the doorway. “H—hey.” You flash him a grin, feeling your cheeks heat at the sight of him all decked out in his suit jacket and tie with his Stetson.

“Hey, sugar.” He hates interrupting your little dance party in the kitchen. Smirking slightly as he had watched your hips sway in time to the beat. “Not interrupting anything time sensitive, am I?”

“Not at all.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. He had been friendly but distant for the rest of the night last night, helping you bring things in the house when he dropped you off but politely declining the cup of coffee you had offered. The man was a menace, leaking into your dreams and permeating every thought afterward. “You’re just in time for the first cakes to be frosted, but I…I actually made something else this morning. You’re the first to try them, if you don’t mind being a Guinea pig.”

“Always willing to be your test subject, sugar.” Jack assures you, inhaling deeply and groaning at the sugary sweetness of the air. He’s starting to think it’s your scent. “Whatcha got for me?” He asks, shuffling closer and smirking as he peers into your bowls.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” With a cheeky grin in his direction, you nod to the hand truck he carried in behind him.

Jack turns around and grins when he looks back at you. “This here are gifts.” He declares, picking up the crate of apples and setting it down on a clear surface of the prep tables. “Man down the road was sellin’ apples. Figured you could use ‘em somehow. Wanted to help him out and they looked good.”

“They look gorgeous.” The crate of orchard fresh fruit is basically crying out to be loved and used, and you pick one up to bite into the flesh immediately. “And they’re perfectly ripe,” you groan happily at the juicy sweetness. “You have to try one of these.” It’s still in your hand when you dash over to the far counter to retrieve the tray of cookies that you made this morning. “And one of these, too.”

"What are all these?" He asks, not caring - he will eat anything you offer him - he purely wants to know so he can tell what you are putting on the menu. "They smell good."

"I was thinking about what you said yesterday...about how you only like shortbread that has jam or in a sandwich cookie." The little Linzer-inspired cookies on the tray have beautifully fluted edges and perfect stars cut out of the top cookie with a layer of powdered sugar decorating the top, but the little purple flecks in the cookies are still visible. "These are lemon lavender shortbread with lemon curd to sandwich them together."

"Sounds fancy." He hums, looking over the tray and choosing a cookie that looks to have the most powdered sugar on top. He inspects it and admires the craftsmanship you put into a simple cookie that is anything but. "Looks delicious."

"I know they're a little unusual, but I made them for my sister's baby shower a couple of years ago and I never would have thought to use lemon curd between the layers if you hadn't mentioned sandwich cookies yesterday." In truth, they're one of your favourite things in the world, but you don't know how lavender cookies will go over with cowboys. If the flavours aren't going to be popular, you'll just make them in your own kitchen at home and be very happy with enjoying it in private. "If you don't like it, that's okay. I just always need you to be honest when you taste something."

Jack nods seriously and takes a bite of his cookie, closing his eyes and chewing silently. Contemplating the flavors as seriously as he would testing a batch of whiskey. "Hmmm." He nods to himself, taking another bite and munching on it again. "I— the lavender is a little heavy for my taste, but I can see this going with a spiked sweet tea." He opens his eyes and looks down at it. "Bourbon sweet tea."

"Pull back on the lavender? I can do that." Somehow you knew - or maybe hoped - that you could trust his palate, and you dash to the refrigerator to pull out the pitcher of sweet tea you have stashed there and the open bottle of bourbon on the counter to mix some drinks and see if he's right.

"Just a smidge, for me." Jack tells you. "But I'm sure others will like it just like it is." Jack watches as you pour out the drinks, one for him and one for you. He takes it and immediately takes a sip before taking another bite of the cookie. "Yep, holy hell in a handbasket." Jack whistles, looking at the cookie and the drink with fresh eyes. "You gotta try that combo, sugar."

A bite of a cookie and a sip of your drink have you grinning almost immediately, doing a little happy dance in place as you realize that the subtle floral notes in the bourbon are amplified by the cookie and the tartness of the curd tempers the sweetness in the tea. It's an absolutely perfect combination and you're on the verge of giggles because of it. "Holy shit," you look up at him again with bright, excited eyes. "That's incredible."

"Now, with that sweet tea, you don't have to do anything to the cookie." Jack tells you. "It's balanced just like that - at least it is to me."

"I'll have to put a note on the menu that they're recommended as a pairing with the spiked sweet tea." You had already been planning on putting that particular drink on the menu, but now it's mandatory. The combination is too good to pass up. "And it's one hundred percent thanks to you."

“Nothing to it sugar.” Jack winks. “I know my whiskey and I know my sweets.”

"Do you have time to hang out?" If he's just dropped by for a few minutes you'll understand, but the jittery eagerness in you that just doesn't seem to be satiable hopes that's not the case. You'll take every single moment of time with Jack that you can get.

“Now, sugar, I haven’t even gotten to my other gift.” He pouts, secretly pleased that you want him to stay. “What kind of man would I be if I deprived such a gorgeous lady of my company when she’s wantin’ it?”

"You brought me something else?" Only the crate of apples had been visible over the side of the counter that he was standing behind, and you raise an eyebrow at him. "Besides the gift of your generous company, I mean?"

Chuckling, Jack bends down and picks up the crate of whiskey he had pinched from the warehouse. “I brought you some of the new whiskey line we were talking about. So you can see how you like it.”

“Oooo!” Practically squealing when he puts it down on the counter, you slip around the other side to steal a tight hug of gratitude. “Thank you, thank you for this. I’m going to have to make a study of this one to get the tasting notes right.” Something in the back of your mind is saying to try pairing it with the apples he brought, but you’re far too distracted being pressed momentarily against his body for that thought to continue.

Electricity practically crackles in the air when your eyes meet his and Jack grunts a small, nearly unheard curse. It’s wrong, it should not be happening, but the voice of reason that is normally screaming in Jack’s mind is disturbingly silent as he leans in. Pressing you in to the counter and reaching up to adjust his hat so he can kiss you.

That tightness in your chest was so individual - you had thought. The butterflies in your belly and lump in your throat, a problem you would have to deal with on your own. You were convinced they were isolated feelings until his eyes met yours. Instead you see nothing but desire reflected back at you and the delicate flutter of his long lashes before you both shut your eyes. His kiss is so much of his own personality - brash and insistent yet somehow also gentle and coaxing; and his hands mirror the feeling with one gripping your hip tightly and the other softly cradling your opposite cheek. It’s the most achingly sweet and intoxicating kiss you’ve ever had in your life and you just…surrender. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t completely in his thrall, so you just wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and soak up every second of affection he’s willing to give you. You can analyze it later. For now, you’re just going to luxuriate in how startlingly right it feels.

Once his lips touch yours, it's like a fuse has been lit. Or a countdown started. Inevitably working down to the moment that Jack is going to lose control with you. The moment building between you like an organic thing, taking on a life of its own as he presses into you more, his tongue becoming slightly more insistent as he swallows your moans down.

You open up for him instantly, never intending to be coy or mask how much you want to be on the receiving end of his affection. Maybe other people might turn their noses down at you for it or call you easy, but you’ve never believed in playing games. Especially not right now. Not like this. Not with your hips shoved up against the steel counter and your fingers clawing at his clothes to drag him impossibly closer to you while your tongue dances with his to a beat all their own.

With a willing partner, and you are obviously willing, Jack takes control. His real job as an agent is good for making sure that Jack as the ability to throw a grown man twice his size so manhandling you up onto your pristine counter is no mean feat and he does it with a small grunt and grin against your lips.

It’s the first time you disconnect from him since he started kissing you, and it only happens for a moment, but you yelp in surprise when he picks you up and giggle gleefully when you land right on the counter where he has determined you belong. Shaky hands remove his hat from his head, leaving it on the counter beside you and letting you dive back in for more of that fervent press of his lips to yours. Every pleased sound you absorb from him seems to roll down your spine and make you that much needier, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He's never been a shy man and he doesn't start now. His hands roaming over your body in a way that if you weren't amenable to his affections, he would be getting slapped. Squeezing your ass and pulling you against him as he breaks away from your tantalizing lips and starts to kiss down along your jaw.

“Shit, Jack…” His name is barely a gasp, pushed out of you all at once when he tips his head to the side and finds out exactly how sensitive the tender skin on your neck is. Your fingers might as well be claws now, digging into his back while your knees bracket his hips and squeeze. Whatever the fuck caused this absolute snap in his composure, you want to pinpoint it exactly so you can repeat it as often as humanly possible.

His mind is filled with you, unable to think of anything else other than you and touching you. He groans and his teeth nip at your skin. Chuckling when you shiver and gasp, his mouth working its way south.

“Would’ve worn a f—fucking dress if I’d known you’d come by horny,” you pant, nipping at his earlobe before he continues to move down your shoulders, pushing your sweater off your shoulders with ease.

Jack chuckles, moving to your shirt and under it so he can unhook your bra. Wanting to duck his head under your shirt and pop your nipple in his mouth.

Something in your brain short circuits when his thumb swipes the underside of your breasts, a pitiful whimper dripping from your lips as your head drops back just for a second. There’s no way you can let this go by without watching him, though, and one of your hands threads into his hair to encourage him to explore as much of your skin as he wants.

He has your tit in his hand, his mouth diving down to suck on it, just to hear you cry out his name when a wrench is thrown into the mix. The door in the front of the building opens. “Hello?” Jack lurches back from you like he’s on fire and his eyes widen at what just almost happened. “I—” he backs up, nearly tripping over the hand cart and reaches over to grab his hat. “Get dressed. I’ll— I’ll stall.”

“Shit.” He pulls back from you with an unreadably wide-eyed expression and you aren’t much better, frantically pulling your shirt down and trying to get your bra back into place all in one graceless motion. The fact that you were in the process of having your clothes pulled off in the kitchen of your damn restaurant is either completely inappropriate or just a christening for coworker trysts yet to come, but either way you’re going to have extremely stern words for whoever is out there.

“Hey hun!” The bright and cheerful voice of Diana rings out through the space and Jack bites back a curse. She’s probably more eagle-eyed than her husband and she will notice kiss swollen lips and flustering bodies.

“Shit.” He hisses quietly, turning around and fleeing through the double doors to greet her and give you time to fix yourself.

“Well you’re not who I was expecting to see.” Diana smiles widely when Jack comes out of the kitchen, only raising an eyebrow when she notices he always-immaculate hair is mussed up right before his hat goes back on. “Visiting our new friend, Jack?”

"Just dropping off some of the new label for her to try along with some fresh apples." Jack tells her smoothly, bypassing any conversation about kissing or how he had to adjust so his jeans weren't tenting before coming through the doors.

“That’s very generous of you.” Nobody devours mystery novels and detective thrillers the way Diana Rogers does without developing a few observational skills, and the crumpled lapels of his jacket combined with the way he won’t meet her eyes, and she glances at his lips to be greeted with the exact sight she hoped to see. After all, she knows who and what you are to him. Diana chuckles quietly. “So the kiss was a thank you for the delivery?”

It's like the wind has been pushed out of his sails and Jack's shoulders slump at being caught. He looks back at the door with his hand rubbing the back of his hot neck as he blows out a breath. He had lost control. He had done the dumbest thing he could and touched you. The heat of your skin tingles against his fingers, as if your touch is already muscle memory. "I—" He swallows, closing his eyes. "Lapse in judgement." He murmurs quietly, the walls going back up and common sense taking control of his thoughts again. He can't do this with you. "Tell her— tell her I had to go, okay?"

“Jack—” Instantly regretting saying something, Diana watches him hustle out the front door with a frustrated sigh. That man is as dear to her as her own flesh and blood, but he can’t see past the end of his own nose sometimes. It was maddening to watch before, but now that there’s another person involved it’s worse. Even more so because she genuinely likes you. And who knows how you’ll feel about Jack running out the door without a word like a scared, spurned puppy.

Jack hits the side of his Bronco when he gets to it, frustrated at himself. "Shit!" He groans, knowing that he's fucked up royally. He can't do this with you, to you. So, frazzled, he opens the door and climbs inside. He needs to talk to Tequila and ask for a favor.

******

“Diana! What a nice surprise.” You’re all but glowing when she walks in the door, expecting Jack to stroll back in behind her with that cheeky look of self-satisfaction on his face that he would most certainly have earned. Your whole body is on fire - and if it weren’t your boss’s wife that just waltzed into the kitchen, you’d be shooing her out again immediately.

"Hey hun." Diana smiles brightly at you despite being annoyed at Jack. She's going to witness your face fall in disappointment and she hates it. "I came to see if you wanted some company and perhaps help?"

“That’s so sweet of you. I was actually going to call you later once the red velvet cakes were frosted.” And after Jack left, but that doesn’t need to be said out loud. He must be composing himself in the dining room. Not that you’re necessarily surprised - the insistent bulge in his jeans had been pressing against your thigh barely two minutes ago.

"Oh, you are just so sweet." Diana hates that your eyes shift behind her towards the door. Expecting Jack to come through them with the eager anticipation of a sweetheart waiting on her beau. "I know that it's disappointing, but perhaps you might want my company now, since Jack had to run off? Something about an emergency?"

Shit. You can feel your shoulders tense, lips pressing together in a firm line so you don’t frown and chest tight so you don’t sigh disappointedly or something equally melodramatic. It’s more of Jack’s hot-and-cold bullshit, apparently. Just when you thought it was obvious which way he was going to go. “O-of course.” You force yourself to nod, plastering a bright smile on your face so she doesn’t see you crumble. “Pull up a chair and I’ll pour you a glass of tea.”

She wants to wring his neck, or drag him back in here by his ear and demand that he fix the stricken look on your face. But she also knows that it will make Jack dig in his heels harder. "Maybe there is an emergency." She suggests softly, wanting you to believe that it's not you. Because it isn't. All of this is on Jack Daniels.

“Maybe.” You offer Diana a half smile before moving to the refrigerator. She’s observant enough to have obviously figured out that you have something to be embarrassed about, and that just makes you all the more embarrassed.

“Sometimes cowboys want to make you throw a lasso around them and knock ‘em upside the head.” She tells you as she moves towards the crates of apples and whiskey. It was a sweet gesture and one all done on his own. “I know that for a fact.”

“It’s my fault.” The logic doesn’t track, but you feel guilty, so it must be. You shrug a little, putting the glass of cold tea down in front of her. “Getting your hopes up after knowing a man for a week is schoolgirl stuff.”

The only reason she doesn’t reassure you that you have a reason to be drawn to Jack is because it’s not her place. “Seems like it’s not all unfounded.” She hums. “Just— Jack has a lot of past trauma. I have a feeling he’s wrestlin’ with it.”

“I’m not asking anything of him.” And you barely ever had on any front, which is why this whole thing was so frustrating. It makes your heart ache in a way that is completely new to you and makes you feel like he’s already burrowed into your insides before you could stop it. “I wouldn’t pressure him. He—he told me about his wife. It would be a shitty thing to do, to expect anything from someone who’s still in mourning.”

“Abigail Daniels has been dead for nearly twenty years.” Diana tells you bluntly. “Jack carries around his grief like an old dog with a mangy bone.”

“She was his soulmate.” And you’re not, you remind yourself harshly. Even if it’s a nice daydream to have. “Some people are only ever with their soulmate for their entire lives. It’s not fair to want him to jump into something just—” You blow out a breath, deciding to retrieve the layers of red velvet cake from the fridge and start icing. Maybe it will help calm you down. “Just because I have a crush…”

“He’s had his share of dalliances.” She admits, probably more than what were good for him. “He’s a red-blooded man with needs. But every woman he’s been with has known upfront what to expect and I’ve never seen him skedaddle off like his pants were on fire. You scare him.”

“Hell if I know why.” It’s not like you’re a scary person. Or at least no one else has been scared of you this same way. “It is what it is, I guess. I’m certainly not going to force a man to spend time with me.”

“Have some patience with him. He’s a man, bless his heart.” Diana knows that there will be more ups and downs before all of this plays out just because your soulmate is so damned hardheaded.

You smirk, stifling a laugh, and shake your head at the phrase. Enough time was spent with your grandmother throughout your life to know that ‘bless his heart’ is not a compliment. “I’ll call him later to apologize,” you decide. He’s supposed to be spending the weekend with you in Boston and the last thing you want is for that whole trip to be awkward.

“No, you won’t.” Diana tells you sternly. “You did nothing wrong.” She doesn’t even know what happened beyond the two of you kissing but she has a feeling that Jack couldn’t help himself. “That boy needs to apologize. And you should make him grovel a bit before you forgive him.”

“Did he say something?” The motions of icing a cake are soothing - getting out the cake stand and a cardboard pad, giving the giant bowl of chocolate icing a turn before putting a little on the pad to stick the first layer of cake to - it’s all a series of comfortable motions that your body has memorized.

“Just for me to tell you that he had to go.” She won’t bury the knife. You don’t need to hear about a ‘lapse of judgement’, especially when you don’t know why he is fighting this so hard.

There’s no need for a verbal response, not when the look on your face does all the talking for you. You just nod, focusing all of your attention on the task in front of you, and decide that when you call Jack later you’ll let him out of the commitment he made for this weekend. He’s obviously changed his mind about whatever spurred him on today, and you don’t want to spend time with a man who regrets you.

Diana moves over to help you, un-crating the bottles of whiskey and holds one up. “Do you want to try this now or wait until you are happier?”

“I’m fine, Diana. Honestly.” The fact that you feel heartbroken is just silly, you tell yourself, and put two glasses down on the counter in front of her. “Let’s try it. No reason not to.”

She studies you for a moment before she nods and starts to break the seal of the bottle so she can pour healthy measures into a glass. "I'm surprised that Jack brought you all this." She hums as she sets down the bottle and picks up the glass to smell the liquor. "It's under lock and key right now. Champ hasn't even brought home a bottle of it yet."

“I wanted to name the restaurant The Rabbit-Hole,” you explain, hating the ache of knowing Jack had done something so sweet and potentially broken rules to surprise you. “He thought since this is called Red Rabbit, I could use it in some recipes or pairings.” It downright makes you want to cry, if you’re honest with yourself, but you won’t do that in front of Diana.

“That boy.” Diana shakes her head and shoots you a grin. “I swear I don’t know if I need to pull his head out of his ass or shove my foot up it.”

“He doesn’t owe me anything.” The insistent and nagging need to defend him, to protect him, is right there on the surface even though you have no idea why. “We just hung out a few times. That’s all.”

Diana hides her smile behind her glass, happy to see that you are so sweet as to protect a man who obviously hurt your feelings. She wonders if you know that it must be your soulmate connection. “It smells delicious. What do you think?”

“It’s fruitier than I expected.” Of course, until right now, you hadn’t known anything about the line except that it was aged in applewood barrels. You had assumed that that was why Jack had decided to bring the apples with it. “It smells like the mature older sibling of the applejack we used to buy from the farmers in town growing up.” It’s such a small-town thing to do - to find the one employee working in the local apple and pumpkin farm every year who was willing to sell flasks of applejack whiskey to the underage high school kids. “And sweet. Like…maple?”

Diana tastes it and tilts her head as she swishes it around in her mouth. “Not maple.” She narrows her eyes and thinks. “More cane? Raw cane sugar?” She asks you, trying to confirm.

“Is that what that is?” She’s right, it’s not maple, but it has an earthier flavor than table sugar does without going all the way to molasses. “This would be amazing in caramel.” The thoughts are already forming, swirling around in your head while you figure out what flavours will work best with the unique liquor.

“And with that crate of apples.” Diana muses, looking towards the box. “He must have stopped by old Junior’s place and begged a box off him. Man is stingy with his ‘babies’ as he calls his trees.”

“He said somebody was just selling them by the side of the road…” He wouldn’t have done that for you, would he? Make such a lovely and sweet gesture and then take off like his ass was on fire?

Diana snorts and walks over to the crate and picks up an apple. “Nope.” She shakes her head and looks back at you. “These ambrosia apples are only available out of one farm in the area and Junior’s a son of a bitch about selling them.” She tells you with a grin. “Jack must have done some sweet talking or opened up his wallet to get these. The man wouldn’t sell me a bag to make fruit salad for my son’s birthday last year.”

“Oh.” When your shoulders finally slump, you pick up the apple you had taken a bite of earlier and have another nibble, letting the taste of the bourbon roll around it in your mouth. Whatever you do, it has to be this bottle and these apples. “I—I guess…I guess he must have changed his mind about me, then.” What the hell other explanation could there be?

“I think Jack is fighting what he wants.” Diana murmurs softly, setting the apple back in the crate and reaching out to stroke your shoulder. “He believes he doesn’t deserve it.” That is the truth, since his guilt over killing your original soulmate is hanging over his head like a shroud. It’s her opinion he needs to tell you and get it out in the open, but that was just her.

“There’s no reason to. It’s not like I have a soulmate that’s going to pop out of nowhere and try to complicate things, or anything like that.” No, that definitely would not happen. Not with all your marks gone and second soulmates being an impossible fairy tale that people told widows and widowers to try to comfort them. “I mean honestly, I came here with no intention of restarting that part of my life, only to have two different men flirt with me right from the get go and then within a week it all dies down and slips away. What was I even expecting? For some…magical change in appeal? Like I just needed a change of scenery and suddenly I could have my pick of men? That’s just…ridiculous.”

“Two?” Diana blinks for a second before she settles into a small smile. “Tex, of course.” She murmurs to herself, shaking her head. “I don’t think you have to worry about the interest not being there.”

“I should be focusing on the restaurant anyway.” Anything else is just a complication, and complications will just cloud your mind. At least, that’s what your dad would say if he were here.

She sighs softly, nodding at your comment even though she doesn’t agree with it. “Whatever you think is best for you.”

“I’m sorry you had to walk into the middle of this.” While you’ve been talking and sipping, your hands have been busy working. The first red velvet cake nearly has its crumb coat of chocolate frosting done. “It was never my intention to create any kind of workplace drama here.”

“I’m sorry that I interrupted.” Diana huffs at you. “Things might have been vastly different if you hadn’t had someone come in.”

“Maybe not for the better, though.” You can just imagine how it would have turned out now. Your clothes strewn all over the kitchen and your attraction satiated, only for Jack to turn away after he’d gotten what he came for. You’d only be even more miserable.

All she can do is hum, not sure how Jack would have reacted, although it was probably better than right now. The sound of the front door opens again and she can hear the sound of boots thumping on the hardwoods, heading towards the kitchen with a eager determinate stride.

Boot steps make your ears perk, but you swear you’re trying not to show any interest whatsoever until there’s a knock on the kitchen door and it swings open to admit Tex’s imposing frame. You honestly can’t be sure if you’re relieved or disappointed, but the natural smile that comes to your lips is a definite clue. “Looks like everybody’s looking for sweets today,” you observe, trying to get a little of your own teasing tone back again.

“Darlin’ I’m always down for some sweets.” Tex throws you a wink and hooks his fingers into his belt loop. “Was wonderin’ if I could talk to you?”

“Sure.” The second after you say it, you get the feeling that he’s asking for privacy more than anything else, and Diana seems to sense it as well.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” she offers, smooth as silk. “You call me later if you want to talk some more, okay honey?”

“Um—yeah. I really appreciate it. Thanks, Diana.” Her hand on your arm is a hair’s breadth away from being the most maternal hug in the world, and you pack up a few of the lemon lavender shortbread cookies for her to take home to Champ and Bobby before she slips out the door as unceremoniously as she came.

Tequila nods towards Diana respectfully as she takes her leave, waiting until he hears the door open out in the front before he lets out a breath and turns towards you. "So, uh—" He blows out a breath and grins at you. He knows you might not be happy but he wants to make sure that you have a blast. "Want to talk to you about something...if you've got a minute."

“That sounds ominous.” He’s never delivered a single piece of bad news to you, though, and never been anything but smiles. You just hope that that isn’t about to change. “Is this a seat and some tea kind of talk, or are we contemplating something serious over a whiskey?”

"I'm hopin' it's more a of 'I made your day' kinda talk." He admits, ducking his head down slightly and looking at you underneath his lashes before he straightens slightly. "Jack just came to tell me that he can't attend the wedding this weekend with you." He explains. "Something about an emergency that is pulling him away - he looked really upset about missin' it - but I was hopin' you would let me fill in and escort you to the wedding?" He asks hopefully. "We can have some fun."

There is no way in hell that Jack looked upset after running out of here like a bat out of hell, you decide, and you wonder if the older man had told his friend the reason he was chickening out of his promise. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with Tex. Honestly, it’s kind of the opposite. He’s a sweet guy who likes to have a good time and is always admirable and ready for good conversation. He’d be a perfect choice if you weren’t upset about Jack tucking tail - so you tilt your head at him and remind yourself to smile. Tex is just being nice, and it would probably be an extremely bad idea for you to read more into it. “Well that all depends,” You tell him, leaning back against the counter. “Can you dance?”

"Depends on what kind of dancin' you want." Tex admits with a wink. "I'm not good at the fancy ones. But slow dancin' or having fun? I'm better than Jack any day of the week." Jack hadn't really explained, just said that he couldn't make it to the wedding and asked him if he would step in and make sure that you had a good time. Knowing that he had a crush on you. At least he thinks Jack knows he likes you. He should.

“And meeting my family once wasn’t enough to warn you off ever spending time with them again?” When he flew back to New Hampshire with you to help you pack, he had gotten treated to a full family dinner at your favourite Tex Mex restaurant and your father had laughed mercilessly about ‘taking Tex for Tex Mex’. To his credit, the cowboy hadn’t seemed to mind and it had given everyone else a good giggle.

He gives a half shrug of his shoulders and grins at you again. “What can I say? I’m a masochist for a pretty girl.” He drawls.

It stings somehow, almost bittersweet, knowing that an hour ago there was someone else here who might have been prepared to say something similar until he decided to tuck tail and run. Still - Tex is a good guy and has never given you any reason to doubt his good intentions. “I’d love for you to come.” You’ll have fun with him. You know you will. And just maybe you won’t be run out on this time.

******

The reception is in full swing, Tex adjusting the velvet lapel of his tuxedo and holds the laughably delicate champagne glass in his hand and wishes that he had a crystal cut glass of whiskey. Being here with you is worth the commercial flight, the crowded plane, and he understood why you didn’t want to take the Statesman jet. Worried about the way it would look and misuse of company property. Since he knew you don’t know about the intelligence portion of the company, he had let you book a flight on Delta.

What he hadn't told you was that he had called the hotel, transferring your room for the night to his own credit card and upgrading the room to a suite for luxurious comfort and privacy.

You'd taken your time washing the plane smell off and carefully covering your tattoo like you always do for anything formal, then making sure your hair and makeup were as close to perfect as you could manage on your own before getting into that beautiful dress. The tie and kerchief that matched your dress went to Tex tonight instead of Jack, and honestly he has been an absolute dream of a wedding date. Friendly with every elderly relative and murmuring jokes in your ear when cousins get snooty, your hand is looped around his arm now as you sip champagne and watch far too many friends and family members jump up for the Chicken Dance. No power in the universe could force you out of your seat for this craziness. No thank you.

“Ten dollars says you catch the bouquet.” Tequila leans over and whispers in your ear, using any excuse he can to murmur against your skin. He hadn’t missed the way you shiver slightly when he does that.

"Who says I'm even getting in on that brawl?" You huff and roll your eyes at him for effect. Anything that makes him laugh is good in your book.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Darlin’ a brawl is always a good time. Especially when it’s against your cousins.”

"You just want to see if anybody throws an elbow." Knowing your cousins it very well might happen, and now you kind of want to see it for yourself if you're honest. "It'll really annoy Paris if she doesn't catch it," you laugh, subtly pointing out one particular cousin of yours in her bright fuchsia bridesmaid dress.

“Oh, you’ll win against her.” Tequila predicts, smirking slightly. “Guaranteed. Tell ya what? You join the ladies for the bouquet toss and I’ll join the men for the garter.”

"Alright, but using your hat is cheating." It's so nice that the night hasn't been awkward at all. Nothing feels forced or like you're trying too hard to tiptoe around uncomfortable topics. This is comfortable and flirty, and you grin up at Tex. "Is there a prize if either of us win?"

His matching grin is daring and he leans in. “A kiss?” He offers, knowing it might be too much, but he’s going to shoot his shot. You look gorgeous and he’s drawn to you more and more as the night goes on.

You swallow, knowing that the last time that you kissed someone it got very heated and ended very badly. It's not that you don't want to. Not at all that you don't want to. Tex is a great catch and ridiculously attractive. And if it's awkward, you blame it on the champagne and never speak of it again. "Alright." You nod after a second's hesitation. "You got yourself a deal, cowboy."

With a grin more powerful than the sun, Tex nods quickly. “It’s gonna happen.” He promises you, setting his champagne down and immediately scanning the reception area as he scopes out his competition for this garter catch. Doing recon as if it were a mission.

“Oh, so you’re going to be the one throwing elbows?” That makes you laugh, at least, and you finish your drink before setting the glass down on a passing waiter’s tray.

“Whatever it takes to win.” He admits with a sly grin. “‘Specially when the prize is so worth it.” He’s felt like you’ve warmed up to him. Your fingers lingering on his arm a little longer and your smile a bit brighter. He knows that you’ve got a little thing for Jack, but he’s here and Jack missed out.

“Well, don’t knock anybody over or anything. Nobody gets rewarded for bad sportsmanship.” Flustered by the whole thing, you bite your lip and turn back to watch the last few seconds of your family flapping around like idiots until the song comes to an end. Are you flattered? Absolutely. But also a little nervous.

Tex chuckles, watching you fluster and squirm slightly. He’s aware that you might not be as interested in him as he is in you, but that happens. He’ll kiss you when he catches that garter and then if you don’t want it to go any farther, it won’t. But he wants to see where this goes, hoping it might lead to something beautiful.

The DJ gleefully announces the bouquet toss a few seconds later, and you laugh softly when your cousins flock onto the dance floor like seagulls after one, lone French fry on the beach. “Here goes nothing.” You decide, out loud, and give his arm a squeeze before heading directly into the thick of the group. Your sister will tease you mercilessly for it later when she finds out about the bet, but that’s okay. Tonight has been fun - you’re just hoping it stays that way.

Tequila hums in amusement as the women gather, watching you look back at him and roll your eyes in annoyance. You have been on the receiving end of plenty of envious looks because of the dress you are wearing and maybe because of him, but there is a definite competitive air around the group as they try to nudge you towards the outskirts.

If you had a smaller family this might be less hysterical, but the sheer volume of single cousins guarantees that no one can have a single clue who’s actually going to catch the obnoxiously bright pink bouquet. It’s Cassie’s absolute right to enjoy the attention on her wedding day, and she’s encouraging the competition from the other side of the dance floor, so you just shake your head and laugh, preparing to give a good old college try but not intending to turn the whole thing into a mosh pit.

It’s almost humorous, the gasp and screeching that goes up from the crowd as the bouquet lets loose into the air and starts its arch over the crowd. Watching the hands go up and reach for it. Even though it’s far too high for them to reach.

This moment might be most athletic your cousin Cassie has ever been, tossing her flowers out into the living sea of eager hands. The shrieking is ear piercing, but makes you laugh more than anything. This is a group of women who firmly believe that a bouquet of flowers will predict their future and you just can’t take that kind of thing seriously. Which makes it all the funnier when your fingers snag on the large Barbie-style bow adorning the bouquet’s handle and you tighten your fist to make sure it doesn’t slip through your grip.

Tex immediately sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles out happily before starting to clap and holler as you keep a firm hand on to bouquet. Grinning like a loon and winking when you look over at him.

There’s a collective groan and general whining of discontent from your cousins, with one even remarking how you barely know Tex so it isn’t faaaaair! But you laugh it off as you walk back to him, wiggling the flowers in his direction with a smirk. “No one can ever say I’m not competitive,” you tell him with a giggle.

“You sure are.” Tex hums, grinning as he reaches out and strokes your arm softly. “If looks could kill right now, you’d be havin’ your stone set.” He chuckles, looking over the sour looks of every one of the other ladies as they disperse reluctantly.

“Now let’s go piss off the men, too.” Tossing him a wink, You nod to the dance floor where all the single men are now gathering to catch the garter. It’s a tradition you genuinely don’t understand, but for the moment it’s fun. Plus your heart is beating just a tiny bit faster wondering what kind of a kisser Tex will be.

Ambling over to the crowd, Tequila seems relaxed, but he’s tensed slightly under the cool veneer of his tuxedo. The skills that make him a great Statesman agent going to make sure that he is the one that catches the garter.

For the most part the men are less enthusiastic about the whole ‘next to get married’ thing, but they are all competitive and eyeing Tex like he’s the greatest threat to their existence they’ve ever known, which just makes you cackle with private laughter.

It’s a little more suggestive than the bouquet toss, everyone whistling when the groom’s hands slide under the bride’s dress to pull the garter off. He stands, holding it up like it’s a prize and grinning before he twirls it around his finger and launches it into the crowd.

It’s honestly pretty entertaining to watch the guys acting like they’re going to start knocking each other over while your divorced brother rolls his eyes on the sidelines, but the highlight is how horribly indignant the groan is through the crowd when Tex’s arm goes up and easily catches the little fabric missile in his large palm. He doesn’t even hide his happiness, turning around and smugly grinning at you. Waggling his brows as the other men slunk away grumbling under their breaths.

The DJ comes over the sound system again, calling for you to join your date on the dance floor so the winners of the two tosses can share a dance, and you chuckle at the pageantry of the whole thing. “It’s either a victory lap around the dance floor or putting us on display for my cousins who are planning bodily harm,” you decide, taking his hand regardless once you’re in front of him.

Tequila snorts and looks around the room with a cocky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He promises, looking back at you and giving you a small wink. “Enjoy the moment, darlin’. Every one of them are jealous of you.”

The song is nothing you recognize, but you move into his arms easily. It’s slow and melodic and obviously meant to set a mood, and you find yourself getting more and more nervous. With no desire to fuck things up between the two of you, you also have to admit that you don’t really know what actually is between you at all.

He can feel the nerves pouring off of you and his grip on you tightens slightly. “Relax, darlin’.” He murmurs, taking mercy on you. “We don’t have to kiss here in front of everyone and we don’t have to kiss at all.” He allows, knowing that if you aren’t into it, he’s not going to insist.

“No, I want to.” You assure him with an immediacy that surprises both of you. It makes your ears and cheeks burn and you clear your throat self-consciously. “Maybe not…not in front of everyone. But…I’m just nervous.” You sigh a little, shrugging against his chest. “I’m not very good at this, can you tell?”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Tex hums, his fingers at your waist stroking your side gently. “Maybe just out of practice.”

“Maybe.” The confidence in his tone makes you want that to be the case, and you turn your arm slightly so that he’s now holding your hand against his chest instead of holding it out. It’s more intimate, but not in a pushy way. “Maybe it’s just that I don’t have great luck.”

“Luck is what you make it.” Tex tells you seriously. “You can say you had a string of failed relationships. Or you can say you learned what you won’t tolerate.” He murmurs, looking into your eyes and he wishes that he had some inkling of what you are thinking.

“I guess I’ll have to think about what I learned, then.” Thinking of them as failures certainly hadn’t helped at all, and the idea that there are lessons to learn and room to grow is a comfort now that you have no soulmate and an amorphous future to try to navigate.

Tex honestly doesn’t know if he has a soulmate, he’s never had scars on his body, and he holds out hope that his is an agent, but he’s not counting on it. “You do that.” He murmurs softly, his smile encouraging.

“Pretty sure there won’t be anything against you in there, though.” You tilt your head a little, moving in closer to him as you sway to the music and looking up into his face. “Just in case you’re wondering.”

“Well first that means that I’ve got to be counted among the liaisons you’ve had.” Tex winks at you and waggles his brows at you playfully.

You had meant that you didn’t think any of the lessons you had to learn would count him out in the future, but of course his playful nature wins out and you end up with burning cheeks. “I suppose so,” you admit.

The song comes to an end and there is a smattering of applause and some murmurs that shuffle through the air. “Do you want to get another drink, darlin’?” He asks, not wanting to assume anything.

“Something other than champagne this time?” Bubbly is great, but you’ve sort of gotten the feeling that it’s not his drink. And as much as you enjoy your family, you also really enjoy just spending time with Tex. “Then maybe we can say good night? My feet are killing me and I’m sure you don’t want to get jumped by my cousins who were hoping that garter would get them proposed to.”

"One for the road." Tequila nods, and his hand stands on your back while he guides you towards the table with your name cards on two of the seats. "You can sit and I'll get our drinks." He offers, knowing those shoes have to be killing you. They look painful.

The atmosphere of the dress shop last weekend had been intoxicating - that’s why you went for them - but the next time you plan on dancing the night away you’ll definitely be in sneakers. Or cowboy boots. “Just get two of whatever sounds good,” you tell him, figuring he’ll come back with Statesman whiskey or something of similar quality. A full open bar is a thing of beauty.

Tequila makes his way to the bar and orders two old fashions, nodding politely to the older couple as he waits for the bartender to make them. Tonight has been interesting and he’s going to give Jack hell for skipping this, knowing how the older agent loves a good party and schmoozing up attractive ladies.

A few silent signals between you and your siblings are enough to tell them not to come over - that you’re in the middle of something with Tex and will fill them in later - and your older brother rolls his eyes at you as dramatically as humanly possible before pulling your little sister and her husband back into the dance floor for ‘Dancing Queen’. Your phone in your clutch has remained silent aside from social media posts, pictures from the wedding reception already going up as people continue to have fun. You had really hoped. Thought maybe a small ‘Sorry again!’ text or an ‘Hope you’re having fun.’ message might come through from Jack just to prove he’s been thinking of you. But there’s nothing. There’s been nothing but radio silence from him since he walked out of the kitchen on Monday. So you swallow the disappointment, shove your phone into the bottom of your bag, and resolve to forget about him entirely. You’re out with a handsome, sweet, funny man that made a stupid bet to earn your kisses, and goddamnit you’re going to make sure they’re good ones. And whatever else happens? Happens.

“You are a lovely looking couple.” The older woman smiles as she eyes Tex, making him grin like a sap as he twists his head towards where you are sitting. “Well, thank you ma’am. Hopefully that will be true soon.” He doesn’t want to start a rumor that you have to defend, but he would like to be reality.

“Soon?” The woman glances back at where you’re sitting and chuckles softly at the uncertainty of young people. “What’s stopping you?”

“Lady’s choice.” Tex answers easily. “I’ve made my interest known and now the reins are in her hands.”

“I didn’t see the face of a disinterested woman while you were dancing,” she assures him as the bartender puts two glasses down in front of Tequila.

Tex grins and tips her hat to her. “Ma’am, sir.” He drawls as he picks up the drinks. “I better go back to her before she loses interest then.”

“There you are.” When Tex reappears at your side with two glasses, you offer him a contented smile. “What are we drinking?”

“Old Fashioned’s.” He sends you a small wink and sets the glass down in front of you. “Since we are doing all the traditional things tonight.”

“Sounds perfect.” You pat the chair beside you, inviting him to sit with you for a moment to enjoy your drinks. “To good company.” Is the toast you offer, holding up your glass to him. “Thank you for coming this weekend. I know there are a million other things you could have done, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Tex takes the seat you’ve offered, wanting to be in something that moves a bit easier than this tux, but it’s worth it. “No one else I’d rather be with too.”

The rims of your glasses tap against each other with a dainty ringing sound, and you shift a little closer to him at the table under the guise of getting comfortable after your first sip. “Next time we decide to party, I say we do it in jeans and sneakers,” you laugh, seeing the discomfort in how he holds himself. “Something a little more casual.”

“God yes.” Tex groans, nearly ready to kiss you for that suggestion. “Don’t get me wrong, you look beautiful, but you’d look beautiful at a bonfire sippin’ a beer with a t-shirt on.”

“I like a good excuse to dress up, but it’s been a long night.” His utter relief makes you laugh, and you sip the delicious drink he brought you between laughter. “You…you look very handsome. I mean, you always do, but I mean…tonight especially.” Geez…you really are bad at this…

“Tonight I’m irresistible?” Tex offers, throwing you a wink before he takes a sip of his cocktail. “That was the goal, darlin’, I’m glad I pulled it off.”

You could laugh. You probably should. But you end up simply shrugging, and offering him a shy smile. “Tonight you look like Prince Charming.”

“Does that make you Cinderella or Aurora?” Tex asks with a smirk. “Always confuse those two.”

“Cinderella.” You tell him, your tone as serious as if he had offended your family’s honor. As an enormous Alice in Wonderland fan, you had had a very Disney-centric childhood. “Aurora’s prince is named Phillip.”

Tequila winces, shaking his head. “That’s a horrible name for a prince.” He huffs, insulted by the lack of imagination. “Although, Tex ain’t any better.”

"I'm sure it was just fine for the 1950s." Never really having thought about the validity of a cartoon prince's first name, you nudge his leg with your foot under the table and let your smile come back ever so subtly. "Besides, princes aren't all they're cracked up to be."

It takes him a moment, but when he gets your meaning, Tex breaks into a beaming smile. “Yeah?” He hums and waggles his brows. “Prefer cowboys?”

"Maybe." The way he takes that as such an absolute victory is adorable, and you lean into him at your table to enjoy the warmth radiating off of him in waves.

“Then I guess I better work on changing that to a ‘definitely’.” Tex chuckles and takes another sip of his drink.

"You have a particular method in mind?" The way you've ended up sitting, your chair is scooted right up next to his so you basically only need to whisper to each other. It makes everything feel that much more intimate and secluded even though you're still in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

The small, teasing smile that is in the Statesman’s agents face turns devilish and slightly cocky. “Well, that depends on what happens after that kiss.” He drawls out. “I can always show you how good I am with my hands.” He winks and settles back for your reaction.

Freezing with your glass halfway to your lips, you can feel your eyes widen and your body flush hot all at once. “I—is that…something you want to show me?”

He looks at you for a moment to gauge if you really don’t understand how much he wants you. He murmurs your name quietly, “I want nothing more that to take you back to the suite and show you exactly that.”

The decision isn’t a hard one. It’s not as though you aren’t attracted to Tex, and there isn’t the threat of alcohol clouding your judgement because your tolerance is so damn high. This is one consenting adult to another - and also admittedly a reminder to yourself that Jack Daniels’ opinion is not the only one in the world. Shaking off the sting of that rejection, you knock back the end of your drink and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek with your own completely on fire. “Then I think we should say our good nights,” you tell him pointedly. “And have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

The speed at which Tex springs to his feet is astonishing, immediately setting his drink down and holding out his hand to help you out of his seat. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’.”

To your siblings’ credit, they don’t actually say anything when you come and say ‘good night’ with Tex’s hand on your back, and your mother only raises an eyebrow halfway before shooting your father a look that says not to say anything. She knows you’ll fill them in if there is anything they need to know, but your business is your business. In just ten minutes’ time you’re slipping out of the ballroom, hoping not to be seen or stopped by distant relatives looking to chat.

Your hand is still firmly in his as the two of you make your way towards the elevators. “Do you want to take your shoes off?” Tequila asks you. “You can walk barefoot or I can carry you?” His grin is playful, but he would totally carry you up to the suite.

“I’m not going to make you carry me.” You roll your eyes at him like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said, but still laugh. “I’m definitely taking these off, though. Three inches is too much.”

He snorts and bites his lip. “Darlin’ if three inches is too much, we’re gonna have a problem.” He jokes, a filthy grin on his face.

You stifle a laugh so hard that you snort, covering your mouth in embarrassment and looking up at him to see the absolute mischief on his face. “Oh no,” you promise him with a snicker. “That’s a very different circumstance.”

Tex winks and you and then bends down to one knee in the middle of the large hallway. “Let me take off those three-inch heels, hmm?” He pats his knee expectantly and smirks up at you.

“Reverse Prince Charming?” The hallway is mostly deserted, except for a few stray caterers and one guest who smiles at the two of you fondly before hurrying off to give you privacy. When he doesn’t move, obviously serious about the gesture, you lift one foot to rest it delicately on his knee while still trying desperately not to get his tuxedo dirty.

“Always gotta help a pretty lady in distress.” His fingers are thicker than the whoever designed the tiny buckles, but he manages to get the shoe undone and starts to slide it off your foot. “And this looks painful.”

“Who knows what I was thinking.” You laugh it off, nearly groaning in relief when you put your bare foot down on the chilly floor and let him unbuckle the other. You know exactly what you were thinking - it was all about how Jack looked at you in this dress and how you wanted to impress him. Thoughts that have no place in your mind right now.

“Done.” Tequila keeps the straps of the heels hooked on his fingers as he stands up and grins. “Now you can walk properly, even if it made your ass look incredible.”

“Flatterer.” Tangling your fingers with his when the elevator door opens, you pull him in with you and reach to take your shoes back.

“Just tellin’ the truth.” He puffs up in excitement and pride that you are so eager to go up to the room with him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Deciding that teasing is better than letting your emotions get involved even in taking a compliment, you tap the button for your floor and watch the doors close while you lean into his side. “I know you’re after my sweets,” you tease, shooting him a grin. “Sugar is the great temptation.”

"It is." Tequila can't even deny the way his body reacts to that tease. "I wanna find out if your sweets are only limited to your baking."

“Well…” Glancing at the closed door, you know you have nothing but privacy for at least the ride to your floor. “I believe I owe you a kiss.”

There's a smugness to his smile as he turns towards you, reaching for your waist to pull you against him gently. "Yeah?" He hums, glancing up at the numbers going up. "Think we've got enough time to do it properly?"

“That depends how much time you waste talking.” Tex likes to be teased, it gives his ego a stroke and makes him laugh, and he chuckles now even with the palpable tension in the air. “I swear, cowboys chatter more than church ladies.”

"Nothin' better to do at times." Tequila acknowledges, leaning in and his breath huffs against your skin. "But I'll shut up now and do this." He mumbles right before he captures your lips in a kiss that is meant to start gentle but eager.

It’s heated, neediness poorly hidden under the soft touch like he’s holding himself back but only barely. That gorgeously satisfying feeling of wanting and being wanted rolls through you and you lean into him more surely, slipping your hands up to his shoulders and letting the kiss linger.

It's hard not to deepen the kiss, not when he feels you soften under his lips. Your body shifting towards him and he could take it farther. Press you up against the wall and show you exactly how wild you are driving him, but the doors will open in approximately twenty-two seconds.

The faint ding of the elevator pulls you both out of the moment, albeit reluctantly, and you bite back a grin. “Maybe we should find someplace that has privacy for more than thirty seconds?”

He doesn't answer, just takes your hand and swiftly pulls you off the elevator to start striding down the hall towards the end where the door to your two-room suite is located. Eager to get you into the room and see where this goes.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @generallysleepdeprived @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel @lostinsideourminds @angstismydrug @elvenmother @bilibiche @kettlekatie @preschoolispunk @djarinsstuff @generallysleepdeprived @love-affair-with-fandoms @wowieitbeme @fanofverymanythings @jay-ghostly

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #jack daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au #love triangle #Tequila x reader #Channing Tatum

297 notes · View notes