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gauloiseblue · 13 days

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Medic!Reader × Poly!141

Part I | Part II | Part III

[TW: attempted rape, a little bit of violence]

A/N: I'm gonna highlight the TW part so you can scroll down to skip it

It'd be thrilling for you to be on your first mission, if not for the fact that Graves himself requested it

You have the ideas, but not getting the ideas on why at the same time

You could see why he recruited you to the field, but you're not among the best medic out there, you're just a new recruit so you're basically unqualified for such missions.

If his intention is to get into your pants, well… you won't know what to do

If he's the type who likes to chase women around, then it's easier for you to be the 'easy target' for him. But at the same time, you shudder at the possibility of having to sleep with him

On the flight to the field, you mull over the choices you have

"Johnny."

"Hm?"

"Would you be…. Would you…. Hm," Your face scrunched, "... No, that sounds wrong."

"Wha' is it? Spill it out."

"... Would you be my fake boyfriend for a while? Okay, let me explain first."

Still, he wears the bewildered face, even after you explain everything

"I don't mind, but is it really necessary?" He furrows his brows

"I know it doesn't make sense, but hear me out. You knew what kind of letters he sent to me, you said it yourself that he's getting bolder each day, and trust me when I said that I have known this kind of man my whole life. They won't stop until they get what they want."

"Seems like yer an asshole magnet." He chuckled, "On a serious note, don't ye think he'll get more aggressive after knowin' that you 've a 'boyfriend'?"

"You're right." You rub your face in frustration, "But I don't have a choice, I don't wanna sleep with him."

He thought for a second. "I'll see what I do." He then wraps his arm around your neck, tugging on you in a joking manner, "But don't you think I could misunderstand your request?"

"No, you're just not the type." You laugh, "Besides, I can't see anyone in the team who would be willing to help me, for this kind of stuff…"

"... Now tha' I think 'bout it, yer right."

Upon arrival, the soldier tells the team to move immediately to the base. You're only given 5 minutes to settle down before briefing

To say that the briefing is unpleasant… is an understatement

While the commander gives an introduction for the team, you feel an uncomfortable gaze on you

You don't have to guess it, because when you lift your head, you can see Graves' been eyeing you

It feels like an eternity before it's over

Even then, it's not really over. Because once the commander is done with his speech, Graves casually mentions that he need to talk to Price in private, while not looking away from you

Thankfully, Price dismissed you from accompanying him

Back at the new base, you notice that your room is quite separated from the rest of the team, and that Price's room is farthest away from you

The closest one from your quarter is Ghost, and you can't see yourself asking him for help

That is, until 3 days have passed, and you find two cockroaches under the bed

You scream and jump, and sprint out of the room

And somehow you bump into him in the hallway before you can even acknowledge who's there

(If you knew who it was, you'd rather stay in your room, even with those cockroaches)

He's slightly annoyed by the incident, but asks you what's wrong. You swallow your pride and tell him that you saw cockroaches

"You can just step on it."

"... I'm too afraid to do that."

Seems like your scream attracted more attention, as you saw Gaz and Soap getting out from their room as well, asking if something's up

Ghost gives him a brief explanation, making Soap laughs out loud

"Jeesus, I thought we were under attack or something."

"We should kill them then." Gaz suggested

"Don't kill them." You said

"What'd ye wanna do then? Lettin' them be and hopin' that they'll politely leave yer room?"

"No, just… put them outside or something."

"Ya think they won't come back again?"

While you're busy bickering with Soap, Ghost slips into your room and takes care of it. You only realize it when he comes back with 2 cockroaches dangling in his hand, still wiggling

You almost screamed the second time if you didn't immediately hide behind Gaz

"You still wanna let these things loose?"

"Yes—yes, put them outside—"

And he obeys it without question

Which is surprising, to say the least

While you're grateful that your problem was solved, it actually creates more problems in the future. Because Soap would literally chase you around with a cockroach in his hand (and you have no idea where he gets it)

He'll get scolded by either Price or Ghost though

Anyway, besides the bugs and hot weather, you get used to your new en pretty quickly, as well as your job

Treating minor wounds, talking to injured soldiers, writing and sorting documents, all the usual stuff

You already knew that it wouldn't be easy to treat soldiers in the active warzone, but your team clearly been spoiling you

Most of the soldiers would either scream in pain, or scream at you, and sometimes even both. You attempt to use "You can complain about it later when we finish." but it doesn't work

You could bear it for a few weeks, before you got fed up and straight up running your mouth

"Look, if you wanna get uneven stitches and unnecessary infections, you can keep going. Go on and stress me out, so I will fuck it up."

And when they're still mad at you, you hit them with "I'm gonna report all of your complaints to Captain Price, he's my superior after all. State your name and complain to me, I'll tell him myself."

You felt bad borrowing Price's name, but that's the only thing that made them shut up

Sometimes you hear them muttering "Price's whore" under their breath, but you could care less

You also help other medics when the soldiers straight up humiliate them, by saying that you'll send your report to Graves. It works wonder as well

That is, until the man itself shows up in front of your room when you're just about to call it a day

"I see you've been conducting your survey in the field for me. What was it again? The 'soldier's satisfaction on medic's service'?"

You're actually taken aback by it, but you kept your composure

"I just thought that it's best for the upper rank to hear their complaints, for a reason that they're the one who decides what's the best course of action for the medic."

He chuckles at your explanation, "You're smart, I like that." He then says, "But y'know, borrowing my name for it isn't very wise of you. I can just punish you for that, but I'll let it slide this time."

"Thank you sir, I won't do it again."

"Oh, no. Keep doing it." He put his hand on your shoulder, giving enough weight to emphasize his point, "But keep Price's name out of it. If they complain about you, you should tell them that I would like to request their presence immediately."

After your encounter with him, you feel a sense of dread inside your chest, as if you've been opening a pandora box

Because the next day, Graves decides to oversee the medics' work by himself

Not only that, he'd ask the soldier if they need anything more from the medic, as if he's doing an inspection

His presence gives everyone in the room a tension

One soldier quietly murmurs "This is a warzone, and not a whorehouse for God's sake."

You pretended you didn't hear him

The news about him reach to your own team, and Soap is the first one who confront you about it

"What were ya thinking? Using his name as if you knew him personally?"

"I had to, if not, they're gonna harass the other medics and slow us down."

"Did'ya even think about the consequences? Did it ever cross your mind?"

You want to object him, but you know he's right

"... Sorry, I didn't mean ta shout. It's just that," He presses his hand on his chin, "It's more serious than I thought. Graves wouldn't even bother checking his deputy."

"What should I do then? Should I just… go along with it or ignore him?"

"Don't ever think about ignoring him, it'll only make him excited."

"Then, if I go along with him…?"

"Don't do that either."

He proceeded to explain the probability of him using you for a selfish reason, and it's likely for him to keep you to himself via blackmail

"Okay, then what should I do exactly?"

"Let's see." He thought for a moment, "You could keep doing what you do… no, he'll just prolong your contract." He hummed, forehead creased, "... I think you have to have a rival."

His suggestion causes you to frown, "A rival? Where can I find her? Are there any girls who like him?"

"There's a lot, actually."

He starts to tell you a few names that have caught Graves' attention, from the korean soldier, to the senior in your work

"I don't know…" You bit your lip, "It seems wrong to use my own senior."

"Ye don't have a lot of choice." He shrugs, "They a'ready 've a feelin' for him anyway, ye just need to create the spark between them. Though it'll be hard for ya to do since ye rarely met her, moreover the two of 'em."

"... Okay, we'll see about that."

Several days have passed, and for the first time after your arrival that the fortune goddess smiles at you

You're on your way to Price's office when you spot a brunette girl talking with Graves, and you realize that she's one of the girls Soap talked about

For a split second, your brain decides to prepare a trap, which he falls into without struggle

You've known jealousy for half of your life, mainly from the men you've dated before, so it's easy for you to replicate

And it worked. He really thinks you are, and riles you up by pulling the girl close by her waist

He tugs a smile of satisfaction when you freeze, before passing them with your head down

You continued doing it for 3 to 4 times, while successfully avoiding him in the process. You begin to see him less and less, to the point that you're so sure you're free from him

Until you receive an invitation to a party, hosted by the suspected "businessman" in the neighboring country, delivered by Graves himself

"You're the perfect girl for this mission." He smirks, "It'll be a good time for us to be together, to make up for the time we've lost."

"Uh…." You stare at the invitation on his hand, unable to think, "I… don't think I'm the right person for it, sir. I'm just a medic, I haven't even completed my self-defense training yet."

"I certainly don't mind it if you become a damsel in distress." He teased, which irked you so badly, you almost broke your charade, "Trust me, I know you'll do a great job on it. You'll fit right in with the riches, just like me."

"Well, thank you for the compliment, but really, I'm not cut out of this job. I'm sure Gillian from the intelligent team is more suitable for it."

He let out a sigh, not even hiding the impatience in his breath, "So you'll deny the order from your superior?"

It's enough to shut you up immediately, and you reluctantly shake your head. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

"Good girl." He smiles at you, satisfied, "We'll depart by tomorrow morning, make sure you come on time."

Turns out, Gaz and Ghost are also on the mission. Gaz lights up when he sees you, although a little puzzled because you're not supposed to be on this kind of mission. You have no time to explain to him because Graves already pulls you to the cockpit, separating you with 2 other men

Fast forward, after the disastrous preparation and changing the dress at the last minute (because Graves picked up the most revealing dress that didn't suit you at all), you settle with a long slitted dress and simple makeup.

The party is decent, (you've been to bigger, more extravagant parties, that's why) there's champagne, free buffet, and a chatty host

Graves immediately approaches the man, exchanging greetings and all, while you stick to your role as an arm candy

Before the party, all the members got a briefing about their assignments. Graves would be the one who observes the situation and gives commands, Gaz would be the sniper and distraction so Ghost could sneak in to get the files and the man himself. You didn't get anything, so you assumed you're just an arm candy, until the man offered you a tour to his wine cellar, and you immediately knew that you're the bait

You don't like him one bit, and the fact that you're being used as bait makes you hate him more. He makes a lot of inappropriate jokes and touches, as well as a racist statement when Gaz is captured (he gets the news from the phone)

You try to grin and bear it, until he grabs your ass and presses himself against you. You struggle against him, and he doesn't take it too kindly as he punches your face with his fist full of rings

It hurts a lot that your ear is ringing from the impact. By the time you gain your senses, he's already on top of you, ripping your dress open

"Graves is a good friend of mine, he wouldn't mind if I play with his girls for a while."

You should've taken the self-defense class

It feels like eternity before you hear the door open, and a heavy step comes in. It takes around 3 seconds before the man collapses, with a small arrow on his back

You turn around to see Ghost with black tactical suit, and a different mask, which is just a plain black mask

You quickly cover yourself, fumbling with the remaining of your dress before you hear him calling your name. He calls you with a hushed tone, almost as if he's calling a wounded dog, which is quite accurate, since you don't realize you've been hyperventilating

"Look at me." He commanded, "Take a deep breath… and breathe out. Good, keep it going."

He asks you if you can stand up, and you slowly nod. But as you try to do so, the dress keeps slipping away from your body. Seeing you struggle, he decides to lend you his vest

"Cover yourself with it, and then we leave."

You and him leave the room, with the man on his shoulder, deep in slumber

Back at the makeshift base, they tie the man up on a chair

While Graves and Ghost take care of him, you go to the other room to take care of your swollen cheek. By the time you look in the mirror, it's already blooming red

You make a cold compress for your face, and you hiss at the sharp pain. You sit on the edge of the bed for a while, before you hear people walk in

"What's u— Oh no, what happened to your face?"

You look at Gaz, it seems like he escaped without hassle. "Nothing, just got punched by the package."

"Let me see… Damn, you got a cut."

"No wonder it stings."

He then helps you cleaning the wound, and when he pours the alcohol on the cotton, you stop him

"Let it be."

"Won't it get infected?"

"No, it's a shallow cut. See? The bleeding has stopped."

He chuckles, "I'll trust the medic then."

You both talk for a bit, before Ghost comes in

"We'll be leaving at dawn, make sure you get everything ready."

At dawn, as you and the crew enter the aircraft, you take a glance at the abandoned warehouse to see the man on the chair, unmoving. Graves seems to take notice of it, before he leans in and whispers, "Don't be sorry, he took it upon himself. He shouldn't have touched what's mine."

For a moment, you're filled with so much rage, that you forgot all of your play pretend. "I'm not an object you can play with, Graves." You retorted, words were filled with poison, "I'm not yours, and I will never be."

Which was a mistake, because the minute you said that, his eyes changed almost immediately. And you didn't like it at all

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #price x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #platonic relationships #price cod #soap cod #ghost cod #gaz cod #graves cod #graves is an asshole in here

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artemis32 · 2 months

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Transilience iii

The long-awaited part 3 is here, thank you all for being so patient <33 (you're all going to hate me, but yes, there is going to be a part 4)

word count - 10.1k

tw: mentions of past child neglect, abuse, kidnapping, violence, medical malpractice (they're bad people, what did you expect??), LoV being bad people (mainly Shiggs and Dabi), slight yandere LoV (kind of, but not really), reader is delusional - like, very delusional - dismisses red flags like its nobody's business

mbe masterlist

transilience masterlist

Dabi was… different.

You’d given up what little hope you’d had of Touya still being there, but you didn’t expect there to be such a vast change in his personality.

How could someone who was once so obsessed with the idea of being a hero, of overtaking All Might, become this horrible? And really, there was no other way to describe him but horrible.

From the very first day that you’d been there, he’d done his utmost to isolate you from the other members of his group, whisking you away if they ever got too comfortable around you.

To their credit, none of them had laid a finger on you, though they hadn’t said anything when they saw the freshly burnt handprint on your shoulder either. It felt like a branding mark, a sign of ownership.

You remained wary of them, forever on edge. It became exhausting after a while – never breathing too loudly when one of them was near, hardly eating or sleeping. It got to the point where you nearly passed out from sheer exhaustion.

If he cared, Dabi never said anything.

The isolation was probably what got to you the most. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion – none of it felt as torturous as the loneliness. You weren’t allowed to talk to anyone but the leader, Shigaraki, and Dabi. Who’d decided that, you weren’t sure, but it ate away at your psyche day-by-day until almost nothing remained.

Most days, the only interaction you got was someone bringing your food to you. It was usually the man in the mask who had taken you – Mr Compress, or, you’d learned his name was, though sometimes it would be others in the group.

It was awful. They’d open your door and set a tray of food on the desk next to your bed.

They wouldn’t look at you.

They wouldn’t talk to you.

Nothing.

And you tried. You tried so hard to hold a conversation, to get them to say something, to look at you, but still, nothing.

Shigaraki’s visits were few and far between. Most days he came to see you, it would be to accompany the doctor he brought with him.

You didn’t like that man. He was cold and harsh, and he left bruises that would take weeks to fade away. He’d take samples of your blood too, poking you harshly with the needle if you squirmed too much.

Shigaraki said nothing. He only stood in the corner, silently staring at you.

It was the same when he came to see you alone. He’d come in quietly, sit down by your desk and stare at you for hours.

Sometimes he would speak, but those days were rare.

He’d ask you about your life before they’d taken you, before you’d gotten your quirk.

Originally, you had ignored him, but after weeks of isolation, you’d told him what he wanted to know. He smiled that day. It hurt.

Dabi’s visits were even rarer.

You thought you might dread his visits more than you did being alone.

He told you stories. Stories about his life – both while he’d been living with you, and after. You weren’t sure which you hated more.

While you’d understood how horrible your father was, to hear it first-hand, to hear from Touya himself what he’d gone through… it was almost more than you could handle.

Though right now, you’d take your father and his anger and violence. If you had a choice, you’d choose him over Dabi in an instant.

How pathetic – that you’d choose a monster like your father over your own brother, one who you’d looked up to, one who you’d mourned.

But that sort of thought had become surprisingly common. You’d been missing your family – Shouto, Fuyumi, Natsuo, even your father. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to miss your mother, and you were sure the feeling was mutual.

You tried as best you could, but nothing could stop your gradual descent into despair. You were so lonely, so scared that they’d decide you’d outlived your usefulness.

It was a shame that you were nothing like your family – you lacked Touya’s resolve, Shouto’s strength, even your father’s tenacity and anger. That would surely have helped you, but you were weak.

You were weak and scared, and even gaining a quirk had done nothing to change that.

****

If you had one complaint about how your days went, it had to be about the food they gave you.

It was plain, bland. Not to mention, you received the same thing every single day.

Plain oatmeal for breakfast, plain, dry bread for lunch, and plain, flavourless ramen noodles for dinner. If you were lucky, they’d occasionally throw in a bruised, overripe fruit, or give you of the takeout they’d had for dinner.

You’d gotten to the point of having to choke it down, trying not to gag whenever you saw the same food day after day. You wouldn’t call yourself ungrateful, but it was pretty obvious that no one knew how to cook. After the first two weeks, you’d liken the experience to eating cardboard, taking hours to pick at the plain, odourless lump on your plate before giving up.

That’s how Dabi found you thirty minutes after Mr Compress had bought you your dinner - picking at your plate with half-hearted interest, doing nothing more than moving the now solid pile of ramen from one side to the other.

He shoulders the door open without knocking, kicking it shut behind him with no regard for the slamming that rings out in the corridor beyond. Members of the League knew not to bother him when he was with you - everyone except Shigaraki.

A brown paper bag is chucked your way as he slinks over, slumping down in the chair next to your bed.

The sigh he lets out is one of exhaustion, and if you actually cared about him, you might’ve shown some concern for the weariness in his eyes and the weight on his slumped shoulders. But you don’t.

Instead, you stare down at the paper bag next to you.

“Well?” he asks when you make no move to touch it. “Aren’t ya gonna open it?”

You shrug, still staring.

“That depends.”

He huffs. “On what?”

“If I open it, do I get to leave this room?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, head leaning against the wall as he rubs his hands over his face.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “This again?”

After about the first month and a half of being cooped up in the room they’d shoved you in, you’d decided enough was enough. Seeing the same four walls all day, every day, was driving you insane. So you’d begun asking Dabi if you could be let out, even for a short ten minutes, just to walk around the base, to the end of the hall - anything.

Unsurprisingly, your request had been denied.

So you’d asked again. And again. And again.

It had become routine at this point, and though he had yet to agree, you felt as though you were slowly wearing him down.

Asking Shigaraki didn’t have the same effect. He’d fix you with this eerie, wide-eyed look, sitting in silence until you looked away or changed the topic.

So you stuck with asking Dabi instead, refusing to go along with whatever he asked of you unless you got what you wanted.

It seemed as though the two of you shared the same stubborn streak, and neither of you had given in yet.

“Yes, this again,” you say stubbornly, jutting your chin out at him.

“I’ll go crazy in here if you don’t let me out. It’s not as if I’m asking for a kidney, I just want to take a walk. Blindfold me if you have to, just let me out for a few minutes.”

He says nothing, staring at you for a moment.

“Please?” you ask – no, you plead.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“Fine,” he says, sighing heavily, nodding slightly.

“Fine. I’ll let you walk around for a bit. There – happy?”

You perk up at that, nodding eagerly, happy for what you consider to be a small victory.

Honestly, considering the circumstances, it’s a massive victory. Any amount of autonomy is cause for celebration, and this was as good as it was going to get for a while.

“Are ya gonna open the bag or not? Or should I change my mind?”

“No! No, I’ll look.”

You scramble to grab the brown paper bag, ripping it open in your haste.

“A… burger?”

Indeed.

It’s a burger, and the smell makes your mouth water. You want to eat it, but you don’t. Instead, you look over at him, quirking your brow in question.

“Eat up, Cupcake,” he says with a smirk.

You scowl at the nickname. It was one in a sea of many – he seemed to sense how much it annoyed you, so he took great time and care in finding different nicknames for you each time he came to visit.

His smirk flattens into a scowl when you don’t immediately respond or go to eat.

“What’s this about?”

“Huh?”

“You only ever bring me food like this- You’re only nice if something’s about to happen. So, what is it?” you ask suspiciously.

He brings his hand up to grip at his chest, gasping in feigned horror.

“Oh! My own sister doesn’t trust me. Whatever shall I do?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Can I not just be nice? Why’re you so suspicious all the time, huh?”

You squint at him. “So… you really don’t want anything in return? You're not going to knock me out and move me to another room or something? You’re not going to run some kind of painful quirk test on me?”

His palm still rests on his chest, right over his heart. He bows his head and closes his eyes.

“Cross my heart. Come on, eat up.”

He stands with a huff, slinking over to your bathroom as you hesitantly begin eating.

There are some clattering sounds as he moves around the bathroom for a moment before it falls silent. He emerges fifteen minutes later, right as you finish the burger.

“Ah, you’re done. Great. Put this on.”

He hands you a jacket and a pair of shoes. You slip them on without question.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Go where?” you ask, palm rubbing contentedly over your full stomach.

“For your damn walk, what else?”

“Now?” you ask, mouth open in shock.

He hums, coming up to you and grasping your forearms before hauling you up.

“Come on, I don’t have all day.”

You stand and trail after him.

****

“Still nothing?”

Hawks hums, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he says with a shrug.

Endeavour lets out a frustrated huff, slamming his hand down on the desk. Everything atop it rattles.

His frame remains tense for a moment before his shoulders slump.

“We’ve checked everywhere,” he says in an even, measured tone. “Why, after six months, have you still not found my daughter?”

Hawks gives him a good-natured smile, eyes crinkled in the corners. “Hm, dunno. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

The temperature of the room steadily climbs the longer Hawks talks.

“After all, it’s been a while. Surely if she wanted to get away from wherever she is, she would have by now, what with that nifty new quirk and all.”

At the mention of your strangely acquired quirk, Endeavour finally cracks. His fingers melt through the surface of his desk, the ornately carved wood caving beneath his warm grip like butter. The look on his face betrays his emotions – it’s a look of pure pain, what with his furrowed brow and quivering lip.

The mighty Endeavour did have a heart after all.

He slumped down into the seat behind him, roughly swiping over his face with calloused palms.

“I–” his voice cracks.

He clears his throat, sniffing and straightening up before he speaks again.

“Hawks, please, be honest.”

Keigo tilts his head to the side, eyeing the redhead curiously.

“Have you done everything in your ability to find my daughter? Does she– does she truly not want to be found?”

He lets out a heavy puff of air, carefully taking a seat across from the distraught man. After a few long, quiet minutes, he finally settles into a seemingly comfortable position, leaning back with one leg propped up over the other.

“I’ve done everything I can,” he says, looking directly into the other man’s eyes. He places his hand over his heart – a gesture of his sincerity. “I haven’t seen her – she really doesn’t seem to want to come back. That, or…”

He shrugs. “Never mind. I’m sorry Endeavour, but there’s nothing more I can do. I’ve helped as much as I can because we’re friends, but I can’t keep neglecting my own work for this.”

The chair scrapes harshly against the polished tiles as he stands, dusting off his jacket while he strides to the door.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything. For now just… relax.”

Hawks leaves the man to wallow in his ever-growing despair.

****

Your legs burn slightly from the stretch, but you welcome it as you pace each corridor eagerly, Dabi trailing a few steps behind you with a slouched frame and barely concealed scowl.

He’d made it clear that he thought your eagerness to go for something as silly as a walk was stupid, but he’d kept many of his comments to himself, choosing instead to mutter under his breath as he directed you through the dimly lit base.

“Left here.”

You turn left, trying to keep yourself from skipping like an idiot. It was one thing to be excited for a walk, but to skip like a child? Dabi would never let you live that down.

The corridors are as dingy as the rest of the building, flickering lights, cracked tiles, chipped paint on the walls. It truly looked like the prison it was.

Oh well. It wasn’t as if you expected any better from a group of villains, especially those that had kidnapped someone without a second thought.

“So, what exactly do you do?” you ask, eyes still flitting from one side of the corridor to the other, taking in as much as you can while you have the opportunity.

“What?”

Dabi sounds bored. He drags his feet as he walks, shoes scuffing against the worn tiles.

You shiver. It’s freezing out here. A part of you was thankful that Dabi had given you the shoes and jacket. Not that you’d ever mention it.

“I mean, I get that you guys are villains and all, and you spend your days coming up with ideas on how to take over the world, but like – what do you do?”

You chance a glance over your shoulder.

He looks perplexed, lips pursed as he stares at you.

“What a dumb question.”

You splutter out in indignation.

“Hey, it’s not a dumb question!”

He hums, staring at the ceiling.

“Take a right.”

You do, waiting in silence for his response.

“We make deals, gather intel, threaten a few people – fun stuff like that.”

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“I don’t know, that’s about it I guess.”

You pause.

“Sounds boring,” you say with a shrug.

He grunts, prodding the small of your back with his fingers to urge you forward.

“Keep walking.”

You walk past a familiar looking door.

There’s a slight stumble in your step and Dabi has to grab your arm to keep you from landing on your face.

“Come on,” he says, shoving you forward roughly. “Don’t make me regret this by acting all stupid.”

You nod in apology, eyes lingering on the door.

That day you arrived is still stark in your memory – the way they all laughed at you, the fear and anxiousness you’d felt.

Shigaraki and his touch.

The way he’d turned your jacket to dust with a simple brush of his fingers.

Dabi.

Touya.

The mark seared onto your shoulder.

You shiver again, though not from the cold.

The memory of your first night there opens the floodgates, and you’re forced down memory lane as you walk, Dabi’s hand still a warm fixture between your shoulder blades.

You remember the first time Shigaraki came to visit you. You remember the first time he truly hurt you.

You remember what he made you do with your quirk – the quirk shoved upon you, one you’d give up in a heartbeat for the chance to escape this place, to go back in time and be thankful for your lack of quirk.

But would you?

Yes, everything that had happened to you was horrible, and you woke up everyday praying it was some kind of sick nightmare, but would you really give up your quirk in exchange for your freedom?

It was something you’d battled with for a while now.

Would you rather be here, locked up and used as a lab rat, or would you choose to go back to your family and crawl back into their cold, unaccepting arms?

No matter how you looked at the situation, there was no lesser evil amongst the two.

The thought made you laugh to yourself whenever it crossed your mind.

Had you truly reached the point where you lumped your family, your own flesh-and-blood, together with a group of villains?

Yes.

They were one and the same.

Your father, your siblings – your mother.

Everything about them shunned your existence.

If they weren’t overwhelming you, they acted as if you didn’t exist.

You wondered, not for the first time, if they were looking for you – did they miss you? Did they even realise you’d been kidnapped?

Thinking about it - them - got you nowhere.

Your family.

Family.

The word didn’t exactly fit.

The League… They treated you similarly.

They hurt you, physically, mentally, emotionally. They ignored you when you served no purpose to them or their cause. They overwhelmed you, they controlled you when they felt like it.

Dabi – he was the epitome of both.

Both your family and the League, but especially Dabi – they had a certain intensity about them when they looked at you, when they thought you couldn’t see them.

It scared you more than their insults, more than their fists, more than their distain.

They looked at you as if they wanted to consume you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a look of crazed, unwavering mania. Obsession. But if that was the case, you wouldn’t be beaten and bruised, or locked up in a cage like some sort of pet meant for display.

You shake your head, trembling hands clutching at the bottom of the zip up Dabi had given you.

When did it get this cold?

Dabi distracts you from your thoughts, fingers harshly digging into your side, guiding you roughly down a corridor towards your right.

He tuts at you.

“Pay attention.”

He comes to walk beside you, reaching his arm around you to lay it over your shoulder.

You stiffen up.

The palm of his hand sits perfectly against the scar that sits in the juncture between your neck and shoulder – the one he’d given you.

Having a doctor on hand to run tests on your quirk wasn’t as reassuring as you might have hoped. It meant that no matter what any of them did to you, it could be fixed, and you’d be left with nothing but the mental scars as proof.

The scar Dabi had given you though – that they let you keep.

It had taken a while to heal enough for you to touch it, and you’d spent a few days after delirious with pain. But now, months later, it was fine.

Or, it should be.

But the mental scars from Dabi ran far deeper than anything else you’d been through since they’d taken you.

You hated it when people touched you.

It was the only scar you were allowed to keep, but you wished they’d rid you of it like they did with everything else.

The floodgates of your mind seem to open, the palm on your shoulder acting as a key, and you’re helpless to stop the painful barrage of memories you try so hard to suppress.

****

The first test they’d ever run on you had been the most painful to date. A large part of you had blocked out the memory, too overwhelmed to remember it in anything but short snapshots and glimpses.

You’d been strapped to a medical gurney, probably the most uncomfortable one the League could find.

The cold metal left you covered in goosebumps and shivers that had done nothing to deter the panicked sweat enveloping you, leaving your palms clammy and shaking.

Worse than being restrained and prodded with needles had to be the duration. They’d left you like that for three weeks.

Evidently, they hadn’t felt it necessary for you to eat either, deciding instead to shove a thick feeding tube down your throat. Similarly, you weren’t allowed to sit up or use the bathroom. You weren’t allowed to do anything.

They left you in a drugged haze after the third day, growing tired of your struggles and cries.

And that’s how you spent the first three weeks with the League. Completely exhausted and mentally checked out, staring blankly at the ceiling day in and day out, never so much as twitching a finger as they performed invasive surgeries you were too delirious to feel.

You’d flatlined more times than you care to remember, your heart rate dropping to a monotonous beep.

Blood filled your lungs after they’d punctured the thin membrane.

Your face turned blue from the lack of oxygen after you’d choked on the feeding tube.

You’d had multiple seizures mid-surgery from a number of malpractices.

In the end, you don’t remember much of what had happened. All you recall is waking up out of a daze surrounded by cold, impartial doctors, and being forced to carry on as if nothing had happened.

It was probably better that way. You had a feeling you didn’t want to know the entire truth of what had happened while you were all but comatose.

And beyond that, the training they’d put you through to improve your quirk was just as bad, if not worse.

You imagined that training with your father would have been similar, in that you received painful, unwarranted punishments for failure of any kind.

The only saving grace was that your quirk had improved significantly since the League had taken you.

You clung to that when despair crept up on you. You had a quirk.

Somehow, it didn’t feel as wonderful as you’d hoped it might have years ago.

****

Eventually, Dabi drags you to a halt and out of your thoughts, grasping your forearm with a grip so harsh you’re sure it’ll bruise. If they’ll allow it.

The two of you have stopped before a large set of metal doors. They reflect the flickering lights and make your eyes water. You’re confused – this isn’t your room. Why did he not take you back to your room?

Had he lied to you?

Stupid question.

Of course he lied to you.

You turn to glare at him, heart pounding wildly.

“You liar,” you spit, flinching back in vain as he reaches for you.

He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I am a villain. And I didn’t lie. This is part of your walk – the walk you wanted. So,” he prompts, giving you a slight shove that nearly sends you crashing into the double doors.

“Keep walking.”

****

You hardly dared to breathe.

Not that you could even if you wanted to. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your brain buffered for another few seconds before you could process what you were seeing.

The room, a large assembly hall, was, as you’d expected, filled with people. Members of the League. Villains.

But there, near the front of the room, looking far too content in a room of people he was supposed to be against–

Wasn’t he–?

Hawks.

The pro-hero Hawks.

Wasn’t Hawks a hero?

Shouldn’t he be fighting? Running? Trying to rescue you?

Why did he look so content? Why was he laughing, smiling next to Twice?

You take a step back, searching blindly for the door handle.

Consequences be damned, you weren’t about to wait around. Whatever was going on here, you wanted nothing to do with it.

Swallowing thickly, you tried to slip out of the room while the villains before you mingled about, as if this was some type of meet and greet or a party.

You weren’t ever really the type of person to feel any degree of self-righteousness, or think yourself better than those around you, but it became difficult when the only people you were surrounded by were villains. You didn’t feel bad about what you thought of them. It wasn’t as if they’d ever find out.

“Ah ah,” someone tuts behind you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Dabi.

What was he getting at? What kind of sick game was he trying to play?

He lightly shoves at the small of your back, pushing you forward. You stumble back into the room, straightening up.

Glancing around cautiously, you all but meld into the wall, praying no one notices you. That hope is dashed as soon as Dabi seizes your forearm and yanks you towards him, walking with an air of ease towards Twice and Hawks.

A million thoughts race through your mind as you try, and fail, to pull away from Dabi. All he spares you is a warning glare before the two of you come to a stop before the winged hero and his animated companion.

Something flickers in Hawks’ eyes when he spots you, a slight glimmer of recognition. It’s gone a moment later, so fast you almost think you imagined it.

“Who’s the kid?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, turning to Dabi. Your brother, if you even still considered him that, spares you one more quick glance, a dark look in his eyes, before responding.

“Tomura’s new experiment.”

That hurt, more than you’d care to admit.

You knew it was true, but that didn’t make it any less hurtful to hear out loud. You’d been denigrated to nothing more than an experiment. Not a person, not a child, but an object to be tested and prodded at. You were little more than an oversized labrat to these people.

Something in your expression must convey the hurt and irritation you try so hard to bury, because Dabi scoffs and wraps his hand around the back of your neck, jerking you closer to him as he tilts his head down to whisper to you. His breath is hot against your ear and it makes you cringe back awkwardly, though you don’t get far.

“What? Did that hurt your feelings?”

You clench your sweat slicked hands into fists, trying to hold your anger at bay, though it does nothing to curb your frustration. And with your frustration comes the familiar feeling of your quirk, unnatural and monstrous, bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as you try so hard to shove it back down.

“No. No, I’m just… tired. From the tests.”

He scoffs, a patronising smirk tugging at his lips. “Aw, of course. You’re tired.”

Twice and Hawks watch silently from the sidelines, not intervening, even as you wince, Dabi’s grip tightening on the nape of your neck.

“Behave. Be a good little lab rat and I won’t have to fry your face, okay?”

His tone is gentle, as if he were talking to an infant, punctuated by the soft strokes of his fingers against your cheek, but his words send a shiver of panic down your spine, locking you in place.

Satisfied with your fear induced obedience, he releases you and turns back to the pair before you, chattering away about some or other plan the League was in the process of reviewing.

None of them pay you any attention for the rest of the night.

****

Hawks seems to linger around base a lot more after that first encounter.

You see him every time the door to your glorified prison cell opens. You see him when the doctor visits to poke and prod at you, when Mr Compress drops by to deliver your meals, even when Shigaraki appears for his rare visits.

The only time he doesn’t appear is when Dabi visits, though that’s rare enough in and of itself.

He never stops to talk, or even stare, only sparing a fleeting glance at you from the corner of his eye, posture tensing slightly, before he continues down the corridor.

You feel a strange tension with him around base. The anxieties you felt before seem to be amplified, your heart rate picking up every time you catch sight of him. A part of you, deep down, hopes that he’s here to help you - to save you. But it’s a childish hope, one you’re sure to squash down as soon as it arises.

The first time he stops and lingers, around three weeks after you first meet him, is to drop your dinner off in place of Mr Compress. It’s a surprise, seeing him instead of the masked villain.

He’s silent the entire time, staring at you with a look of bored curiosity, as if he’s waiting for you to do something entertaining.

You don’t.

You force down the bland food in silence, never once taking your eyes off of him.

He leaves just as silently and quickly as he arrived.

After that day, it slowly starts to become a routine. At first, you rarely see him, but as the weeks turn into months, he becomes one of the only people you interact with. You start expecting to see him instead of the others, and you find out in passing one day that the other members of the League had shirked their duties of caring for you off on to him.

It didn’t bother you as much as it should have - the fact that they viewed you as little more than a chore.

You form a tentative bond with him, one that feels fragile and strained, but it’s better than anything else you’d had up until that moment. He’s the closest thing you have to a friend, to someone that cares about you.

His apparent care for you becomes obvious in the small things he does - the meals he brings you become more edible, something you actually look forward to instead of having to force it down. He visits more often, the short periods in which you see him seemingly becoming longer than they were before.

Four months after that first tentative encounter, Hawks had solidified himself in your dreary daily existence, establishing himself as your sole source of what could only be described as happiness.

You’d, somewhat unwillingly at first, become far more relaxed in his presence, even going as far as to enjoy his company. Some days, you might even say you looked forward to his visits.

Not only did he act as a reprieve from your never ending boredom, with both his company and the gifts he bought you, but also his interventions.

Mr Compress had, on one of his now rare visits, not at all subtly told you that Hawks had convinced the League - specifically Shigaraki - to quote unquote ‘take it easy on you’. His tone had been tinged with something you couldn’t quite identify at the time.

Even Dabi had begun to unironically refer to Hawks as your ‘new best friend’.

He didn’t seem too happy with the new development.

A week later, Hawks, or Keigo, as he’d asked you to call him in private, had paid you one last visit, and you hadn’t seen him since. He’d gifted you one of his fluffy, scarlet feathers the last time he’d visited, for ‘when he wasn’t around’.

It sat waiting neatly on the centre of the singular pillow on your bed one evening, easily catching your eye as you slipped out of the bathroom attached to your room. There was no note left with it, but you didn’t need one. You knew well enough what it meant, and it filled your empty, aching chest with a sort of warm feeling that left you breathless.

After that day, you kept it with you, tucked into your shirt, positioned right over your heart, and at night, you placed it under your pillow. You might’ve felt embarrassed at how much it meant to you, or how attached you were, but it felt like your only lifeline in the miserable four walls of your little room.

In a strange, cosmic joke kind of way, he almost felt like the family you’d never had.

****

The day Shoto had been scarred by your mother had been an odd day. It was one of the rare days since Touya’s death that you’d felt loved, accepted by your family. Everything felt normal. Two months after your fifth birthday, the snow had melted into clear, fresh streams and flowers had begun to bloom.

Sakura.

Your family had spent the day in the park, wandering around while you and Shoto played with Fuyumi in the dewy grass, in awe of the delicate pink blossoms. There’d been a strange tension between your parents that day, one you’d been too young and oblivious to notice.

After a long Spring day spent outside, your family of six had returned home and resumed life as usual. Dinner was a quiet affair, as it usually was, and you’d hurried about your evening routine after you’d felt your mother’s distasteful gaze trained on you for longer than usual.

Fuyumi had, for reasons unknown to you, attached herself to you that evening, insisting on helping you bathe and get into your pyjamas. You’d gone along with it all, happy and unquestioning of her attention on you.

It felt good, having someone care for you - the first person to do so since Touya’s passing.

She’d laid next to you in your bed, reading a children's storybook to you, her fingers gently carding through your hair - the same hair she’d so caringly brushed out an hour before, carefully working each knot out with a patience and kindness reminiscent of a mother.

In the peace and stillness of the moment, you’d failed to notice Rei's shadowy figure in the doorway, watching the two of you through the slight gap in the doorway. If you had bothered to peer over Fuyumi’s shoulder, you might’ve noticed her blanched face, or her hands, clenched into fists so tight her knuckles turned while. You might’ve noticed the wide eyed, crazed expression that had washed over her face, growing in intensity with each passing moment.

But you didn’t notice her.

What you noticed was the commotion not long after she left. You heard her panicked shrieks fifteen minutes later. Shouto’s pained screeches and sobs followed soon after, echoing eerily down the long corridor to your room.

You heard your father’s thundering steps and bellowing rage, felt Natsuo and Fuyumi’s panic, their trembling hands on your shoulders, steering you away from the sight of Shouto’s raw, burnt face.

And you definitely felt the shiver of dread dripping down your spine when your mother turned her crazed eyes on you. She looked almost demonic in that moment, eyes red rimmed and wide, face nearly as stark white as her hair.

She’d tried to approach you, hands outstretched, fingers curled into cruel claws as she reached out for you, and only your father’s firm grip kept her in the kitchen as you were ushered to your room while Shouto was rushed off to the hospital.

You didn’t see much of any of them after that, and in the months following the incident, you felt even further ostracised from your family.

Rei had been institutionalised not too long after that, and the remainder of your family had kept you at arms length ever since, reminding you constantly of your insignificance to their lives - to the family.

****

The scent of soba and egg rolls fills the room, its occupants silent as they eat.

Hawks halts for a moment, the noodles dangling from his chopsticks as he glances to his left, to the hulking flame hero sitting beside him. He hides a small smirk, tilting his head down and clearing his throat before speaking.

“I looked into that lead you told me about - the one about your daughter? It’s a deadend.”

Endeavour tenses, shooting Hawks a pointed look, but it’s too late. Natsuo and Shouto pause, exchanging a tense look across the table, and Fuyumi perks up, her grip tightening on her chopsticks.

“You’ve been looking for her? And you didn’t think to mention it to us?” Natsuo sounds outraged, his hands tightening into fists on the tabletop. “You didn’t think to ask us for help?”

Endeavour’s jaw tightens.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. Allowing you three to help would’ve done nothing but give you false hope and allow you to interfere with my work. You’d do more harm than good.”

“Ah, Endeavour, so harsh! Don’t shoot them down yet,” Hawks interjects, cutting off whatever scathing remark Natsuo was about to spit out. “More eyes and ears are always helpful. I’m sure they could help out in some way.”

His tone is light, but something about the look in his eyes has Endeavour cautious, and his tone becomes firm.

“No. You three will not get involved. That’s final.”

Hawks shrugs, going back to his soba with a quick final quip.

“Well, that’s that. Dad has spoken. Don’t try to help find your sister.”

His words hit their intended mark, evident in the barely concealed rage on Natsuo’s face.

“...yeah. Figures, you wouldn’t want us helping. You don’t actually want to get her back, do you? You probably wish she’s dead in a ditch somewhere, don’t you?”

The silence that rings out after Natsuo’s rant is deafening, oppressive. It makes the air feel stifling and heavy, and no one dares move.

“You know nothing,” Endeavour spits, his eyes alight with a look akin to pure fury. Heat radiates off of him in waves, turning the once cold soba on the table scalding in mere moments.

“I know you scared her off. We all do. We know you’re the reason she ran away in the first place. We know that if she’s hurt, or dead, or worse, then it’s your fault. And I know that I won’t stop blaming you until the day I die.”

Before the situation can escalate further, Fuyumi intervenes.

“Okay, um– Everyone is clearly feeling overwhelmed, and we all miss her, so… so let’s just take a deep breath and calm down, okay? Getting upset with one another won’t bring her back.”

Her half-hearted interference, surprisingly, seems to work, just enough for everyone to cool their tempers slightly. Natsuo lets out a long, deep breath, standing and leaving the room without another word.

Shouto follows close behind, pausing at the threshold for a moment and turning to glower at his father.

“Find her, or we will.”

****

You’re rudely awoken in the middle of the night, sweaty and tangled up in your sheets with someone shaking you harshly by the shoulders.

“Hey, wake up– Wake up.”

You jolt upright, forehead banging against someone else’s. Wincing, you massage the bruising skin of your forehead and shoot a glare to whoever had woken you up.

Hawks.

“Wha-? What’s going on?”

Your words are mumbled, sleep clouding both your mind and your vision.

Kiego firmly grips both your wrists, pulling them away from your face and yanking you to your feet, out of the bed. Your sheets pool at your feet, tangled up between your legs on the cold concrete floor.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

A quick tug towards the door accentuates his words, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. You put up some resistance, pulling back slightly, trying to ignore the roiling in your stomach.

“Hawk– Keigo, what–? Why are we leaving? Where’s Dabi?”

His expression, from what you can see in the imposing darkness of the room, is hard and guarded, and his grip shifts to your bicep, tightening to an almost painful extent.

“None of that matters. I said we’re leaving, so start walking before I make you.”

You’re thrown off by how short off and rude his words are. He’s nothing like the man you’ve come to consider a friend, and a part of you is almost scared of him at that moment. Something in your expression must give your feelings away, because moments later, his eyes soften alongside his grip, his voice lowering to a whisper.

“I’m getting you out of here. Away from the League. Just… trust me. Please?”

Something about his gaze, his tone - it sways you. Convinces you to believe him.

So you do.

A slow nod is the only confirmation you give, but it’s enough for him to start pulling you towards the door again. You hesitate for only a moment before going along with him, pausing only to grab the scarlet feather laid carefully beneath your pillow.

It’s the only thing you take with you. The only thing you have to your name, the only possession of any value to you.

The low light disguises Keigo’s small smirk when he spots the feather clenched tightly in your grip as you trail after him, though he makes no mention of it. Similarly, you make no mention of his bruising grip.

You don’t encounter anyone in your silent, swift escape, and you almost feel as if it’s too easy, but you don’t point it out to Keigo.

Maybe a part of you is scared of jinxing your good luck.

Or maybe you’re terrified this is some sort of elaborate, cruel trick he’s playing on you.

Regardless, you stay silent, sticking close to his side as you both exit the seedy bar. He immediately scoops you up into his arms, crouching down, powerful thighs flexing beneath him for a moment before he takes flight, soaring out of the alleyway in an instant.

****

“She’s gone.”

The entire League sat gathered around the bar, tense and silent as Hawks speaks, leaning casually against the bar, wings splayed out behind him.

“I dropped off her breakfast this morning and her room was empty. Bathroom too.”

The group looks to Shigaraki, waiting for his reaction.

He’s still, expression blank and guarded. The only sign of tension in his body is the tightening of his hand, clasped into fists at his sides. His jaw works for a moment before he responds, muttering to no one in particular.

“Ruined. All ruined. Those stupid pro heroes are always ruining my plans.”

His agitation becomes obvious as he begins pacing in front of the bar counter, hands clawing uselessly at the pale skin of his neck. Welts form within seconds, raised and red and angry beneath his frantic fingernails.

“It’s Endeavour. It has to be. How did he find out? How?”

The words are muttered below his breath as he paces, not meant for anyone but himself, eyes wide and fretful when his head snaps up. His gaze narrows and sets itself on Dabi.

“Did you know about this?”

Dabi raises his eyebrows, expression cool, seemingly bored as he drawls. “Me? Now, why would I know a thing about this?”

His gaze flits momentarily to Hawks, narrowing.

“If anything, you should be asking bird boy over there. He seemed particularly comfortable around her. Wouldn’t he know something about our little escapee?”

Shigaraki groans and turns on his heel, kicking his leg out and toppling a table in the process. The room is silent for a long while, the only sounds piercing stillness is the resounding clatter of the table striking the floor, and Shigaraki’s own rage filled panting.

Silence stretches out for a few moments as he schools his rage, recomposing himself after his explosive tantrum.

“Bring her back - I don’t care how. I need her. My experiments aren’t done yet. Father won’t be pleased. She’s my experiment. Mine.”

He turns his cold glare to Hawks, then Dabi, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Find her.”

****

Sometimes, you wonder what life would’ve been like if your mother hadn’t been around. Your siblings too, for that matter.

During the more peaceful moments of your life, you fantasised about life far away, often imagining what it’d be like if you’d been born into a different family entirely.

Maybe you’d be an only child, living in a small rural town by the beach, or on a farm.

It would’ve been peaceful, you think. Calm.

Your parents would dote on you, their only daughter, and they wouldn’t care about your lack of a quirk.

Imagining that sort of kindness made your stomach turn. How would it feel?

Or maybe you’d be one of many children. The oldest child.

You’d protect your younger siblings in the ways you never were. You’d be part of a big happy family, one where you had big Sunday lunches and went on annual vacations. You’d have a family pet, a cat or a dog, adored by everyone in your make believe family.

Or maybe you’d be an orphan.

How sad, that being an orphan without a home was preferable to your own situation.

But you’d be surrounded by other children like you - children without homes, without families.

The thought of a different life left an aching hole where your heart should’ve been.

There were times that you felt bad about wishing for a different life. You’d look at family photos, gazing down at your siblings smiling up at you, their faces joyful and free of concern.

Why couldn’t your life have been like that? Was your lack of a quirk really the only thing that made you so different?

Maybe if you’d been born as Fuyumi instead, with her soft eyes and kind disposition.

Or maybe Natsuo, with his unwavering strength, that glint he got in his eyes when he looked at you - the one that meant that he loved or hated you.

Most often, you imagined what it would be like to have been born as Shouto.

The golden child.

Would you have been grateful? Or would you have hated your family as much as he seemed to hate yours?

What reason did he have for hating them? They treated him like a king. Like their own saviour.

You wish he’d been yours. You wish he’d never grown out of his kindness, like he did when you were five years old and desperate for some kind of connection.

Perhaps things would have been different.

You try to imagine a world in which he took over the role Touya held in your life. You try to imagine a world in which your family protected you, in which they didn’t look down on you like you were scum.

The picture is blank and fuzzy.

You can’t imagine such a world.

But amidst the mess of self-pity and poorly disguised hatred in your mind, you remember small glimpses of happiness in your life with them. It rarely happened, but since you’d been taken by the League, it was as if the floodgates had opened. Memories you’d long since repressed came back in bits and pieces, and surprisingly, they weren’t all bad.

When you were seven years old, your father had hit you. It wasn’t out of the ordinary - in fact, you’d come to expect it.

But it hurt nonetheless. It bruised both your face and your feelings, so you’d escaped to the greenhouse in the garden for a reprieve - somewhere you rarely went.

It had been your mother’s sanctuary, but she’d long since been hospitalised, so you had no fear of seeing her through the thicket. You spent far longer there than you’d thought, and eventually the setting sun illuminated the room, filtering through the glass roof and overhanging foliage. It looked as if the room was on fire, bathed in the warm orange afternoon glow.

That’s where Natsuo found you, huddled up under a counter with your knees to your chest, careful not to jostle your bruised cheek.

He didn’t say anything, or try to coax you out of your shelter. Instead, he sat down next to you with a huff, slightly hunched over beneath the table. He, despite being only ten years old at the time, was already a lot taller than you, and most other children his age. The two of you sat in silence for a long while, not acknowledging one another as you sat side by side.

The memory replayed itself in your mind, almost as clearly as the day it happened.

Some time passes before he speaks.

“When I’m older, I’ll protect you. Like Touya did.”

The words give you pause, and you don't look at him. Thinking back now, you wish you had.

Would his expression have told you what he was thinking?

You’d never know.

“I’m not strong enough right now, but one day, I will be. And then he’ll never hurt you or Sho again. We’ll leave - us and Fuyumi.”

He pauses, bumping his shoulder against yours. You glance up at him and see his mouth pulled tight, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“...I’m sorry for being a bad brother. I… I know I don’t act like it often, but I do love you. I worry about you too.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, averting your gaze. The words, however true they may or may not be, make you feel… wanted. As if he actually sees you as a member of the family, a little sister, and not some pesky waste of space or a punching bag.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.”

The conversation lulls into silence after that. He sits beside you in silence, staring blankly at the wall of ivy opposite the two of you, and you sit there, still curled up tightly, fighting back tears.

He glances at you for a moment, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. The gesture feels comforting, in a way. As comforting as it can be, coming from him - someone who’s a strange combination of both your older brother, and a complete stranger to you.

The sigh he lets out is heavy, weighed down by an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on, and his thumb gently strokes your swollen cheek. He pulls back as you wince, recoiling as if you’d struck him.

“Come on. Let’s get you some ice for that bruise.”

It felt both strange and pathetic - the fact that that was your fondest memory with Natsuo, at least from what you could remember.

But it felt soothing, in a way, to know that he didn’t completely hate you. Not as much as you’d thought.

It almost gave you hope that your family actually cared. Maybe they were looking for you. Maybe they were worried about you.

And maybe, they even felt remorseful for how they’d treated you.

Or maybe not.

****

“There’s been a… development.”

Endeavour tenses, the vein in his jaw ticking as he eyes Hawks.

“What do you mean?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, his brows scrunching into a faux sombre expression. The hand he lays on Endeavour’s shoulder is meant to be reassuring, but it feels like a death knell, settling heavily on his mind.

“I looked into it, and… she isn’t with the League. I don’t know if she ever was.”

“So… What? She just disappeared? People don’t just vanish off the face of the earth Hawks!”

His temper is boiling over now, despite his attempt to keep it under control. Hawks takes a step back, cautious as he shows his palms in a placating gesture, attempting in vain to calm the quickly growing fury of the man before him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t found a single trace of her. Maybe…”

Hawks schools his features, taking another step back, preparing for the inevitable backlash he’s about to receive.

“Maybe you should let it go. She’s gone, and she’s clearly not coming back.”

The large mahogany desk, once anchored to the floor, flies across the room, slamming against the wall of shelves with a resounding boom, its contents scattered across the office.

Endeavour is the picture of barely restrained rage, shoulders heaving with each panting breath, posture hunched and shuddering, his face red and twisted beyond recognition. Even his voice is barely recognisable.

“How dare you? How dare you suggest I give up? She is my daughter! She might be dead or worse, and you think I should just give up?!”

The air sizzles with each wave radiating off of the flame hero, and the plastic office chair behind him melts like butter, dripping to the floor in a sticky puddle, marring the once perfectly polished tiles.

Hawks quickly backtracks, eyebrows raising at the display of unbridled fury.

“Woah woah, no! I’m not suggesting that at all! I mean… maybe I was, but I can see now how upset that makes you so– Let’s just take a break, okay? Just take some time to… rethink things.”

His eyes flicker to Endeavour’s face, searching for something for a moment.

“Maybe consider allowing your kids to help?”

He shows his palms again before Endeavour can interject.

“I know, I know! It’s just a suggestion. Many hands, and all that. Just… give it some thought, okay? I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find anything.”

He leaves without waiting for a response, a small smirk playing on his lips.

With Endeavour lost in his own self hatred and personal musings, and the League preoccupied with their plans and separate search for you, no one would be looking his way.

****

Keigo was surprisingly wealthy.

Not that you’d expected him to be living in squalor - he was a Pro Hero, after all. A good one too, if his position as number two was anything to go by.

But the blatant decadence of his apartment shocked you.

He’d landed on the balcony smoothly, after a long forty minute flight, gently setting you down and leading you inside.

While he may have been accustomed to flying, you weren’t so lucky, and you felt as though you’d left your stomach back at the League’s base. Or maybe you’d lost it mid flight.

He seemed to pick up on your disorientation, guiding you to the plush couch with an unexpected tenderness. He’d allowed you to gather your bearings, bringing you a fuzzy blanket to stave off the odd chill in his apartment, and a tall glass of water, the condensation beading down the sides.

You’d been thirstier than you’d expected, chugging down the contents in mere moments, gulped down in six seconds flat.

Evidently, you’d been more exhausted than you thought too, dozing off less than fifteen minutes later. You felt Keigo there, his gentle hands helping you lay down and covering you with the blanket.

Now, when you wake up hours later, dazed and drooling, in a bed far too large for one person, Keigo’s gone, and the only indicator of his presence were the few scarlet feathers strewn across the fluffy duvet.

You spend a while combing the apartment for him, tentatively calling out his name as you wander the wide halls, but he’s nowhere to be found. Likewise, you note, at the back of your mind, the distinct lack of a front door.

There’s an off-kilter niggling at the back of your mind, but you brush it off, shifting your search to the kitchen after yet another unsuccessful ten minutes of searching. Evidently, exploring after hours of surprisingly deep sleep made you thirsty. You stand there, leaning against the marble countertop, chugging a tall glass of water, then another, and a third, until you feel bloated and almost sick. Only then do you set your glass down in the sink and move on from the kitchen.

His apartment is large, far too extravagant, but you suppose that must’ve been his taste.

You wander around the space aimlessly for a while, longer than you expected.

Why did he need this much space? Did he live with someone else?

The three tall glasses of water you’d chugged catch up to you far too quickly, and you shuffle to the first bathroom you find, paying no mind to your surroundings.

After taking care of your business and washing your hands, you exit the bathroom and stop short when you spot Keigo standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his face blank. Neither of you move for a long while, but eventually he blinks, eyes clearing as he assesses you.

“You feeling better?”

His tone is light and airy, the same Keigo you’ve grown accustomed to. It sets you at ease, the tension you hadn’t noticed in your shoulders melting away, trailing down your spine like a trickle of water.

“...yeah. Much.”

There’s a long pause, neither of you moving or saying anything. You clear your throat.

“Um, I never thanked you. For helping me, I mean. So… thank you.”

You incline your head slightly, straightening up. He stares at you for a long moment, sighing as he shifts to the side, a clear indication for you to leave the room. You do, shuffling past him awkwardly and making your way back to the living room.

The ceilings are tall, nearly over twelve feet, making the room seem larger and more exposed than it truly is. You sit back down on the couch, shifting about for a moment, settling down as Keigo seats himself down near you.

After a while, when it becomes apparent that he has no plan of breaking the simmering silence, you decide to take it upon yourself.

“I– Can I go home now?”

Home.

You didn’t know what that was. Not anymore.

It wasn’t with your father, on his sprawling estate. It wasn’t your four walled prison cell with the League. It certainly wasn’t with Touya.

The realisation that you had nowhere to go, no one to care for you… It was startling, and left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Keigo stares at you, head dipped forward so it appears almost as if he’s leering at you through his lashes. His golden eyes are alight with a strange intensity, and he takes a deep breath, seemingly thinking over his words.

“About that. See… I think it’s better if you stay with me for a bit. Just to… acclimate. You understand, right?”

His tone leaves little room for argument, but you try nonetheless.

“What? But wouldn’t– I don’t want to impose. I should really get back to my… family.”

The words die out on your tongue.

Now, out in the open, free from both the League and your family, you’re not so sure you want to return to the Todoroki home. You’d never had a choice before. It felt freeing, in a way, finally having the power to decide what you wanted without someone else breathing down your neck, trying to influence your decision.

Keigo raises a brow, the look that he gives you filled with a mix of pity, and something far more calculated and knowing.

“Do you? Do you want to go back to them? To him? The media may not be privy to what happens behind closed doors, but I’ve worked around Endeavour long enough to recognise the fact that he has a bit of a hot temper. Are you really willing to leave one prison cell for another?”

His words are like a stone dropped in your stomach, settling heavily in your already uneasy gut.

It sparks something inside you, a deep seated realisation. Keigo was offering you a way out. Freedom. True freedom. Or, at least, as close as you could get to it. You wouldn’t have to be subjected to the whims of others, of what they wanted for you.

Keigo was offering you a choice.

Maybe not in so many words, but the offer was there. You’d be a fool not to take him up on it.

Your throat bobs as you swallow, fists clenched tightly in your lap as you meet his gaze.

“I’ll stay.”

He smiles, eyes filled with light, seemingly glowing in the early morning rays that filter through the tall windows, gaze intense and trained solely on you. You shiver, wrapping your arms around your midsection as goosebumps dance over your skin.

It’s so cold in here.

“Wonderful.”

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parad-ice-lostandfound · 5 months

Text

Prompt: "You know what I've never understood?" "Oh, is it philosophy hour with [Name]?" "Not really... I just don't get how Santa could possibly know what children in the entire world are good or bad but would need to be told what kids want. Kids aren't exactly... quiet about their desires."

Pairing: Sebek Zigvolt x Gn!Reader/Prefect/Yuu

Genre: Fluff, Slight crack

TW: NA

It was a cold, silent night. Snow covered the ground like an oversized blanket, glittering under the soft silver light of the moon. Not a single critter made a noise, every soul fast asleep under the watchful and twinkling stars...

"THAT'S TOO MUCH FOOD COLORING, ACE!"

Well, almost every soul.

In the cozy warmth of the Ramshackle kitchen stood the six friends of the Ramshackle Prefect, decorating sugar cookies that they had baked earlier.

"It's fine," Ace dismissed Deuce's wide-eyed horror and Sebek's seething at the amount of food coloring he had dropped into the icing. It was an accident, but Ace was trying to play it off as an intentional action, mixing the red food coloring with a little tune on his lips.

Epel, Jack and Ortho worked together on their share of the cookies, icing them precisely and perfectly to look like little Christmas trees, while you stood at the stove, making hot chocolate for all of you to share.

"Isn't having too much food coloring bad?" Deuce asked, eyeing the way Sebek seemed to turn red with indignation at being ignored by Ace.

"Most food dyes do not cause any adverse effects, Deuce Spade-kun" Ortho answered, "though it is advised by medical professionals not to consume too much of them."

"This isn't too much. Besides, with the white icing, it'll balance out. Relax," Ace rolled his eyes.

Epel smiled as he continued decorating the cookies, while Jack helped him out silently.

The next few minutes were spent in relative peace. Mindful of the late hour, you all tried to keep your volumes down as you worked in the kitchen.

"You know what I've never understood about Christmas?" Deuce started, effectively getting everyone's attention. "Oh, is it philosophy hour with Deuce?" Jack huffed in amusement, used to Deuce's habit of asking questions that could put one in an existential crises due to their being clubmates.

"Not really... I just don't get how Santa could possibly know what children in the entire world are good or bad but would need to be told what kids want," Deuce said as he looked at the cookie he was decorating to look like a candy-cane. "Kids aren't exactly... quiet about their desires."

A silence descended onto the kitchen, as every first year looked at the blue haired boy in varying degrees of amusement, disbelief and curiosity.

"Uh, Deuce... you do know that Santa isn't real, right?" Epel asked kindly, his tone a stark contrast to the mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked at the taller boy. Deuce flushed and sputtered, "O-Of course I know! It's just-!"

Ace, ever the nuisance, jumped at the chance. "Aw, did little Deucey believe in good ol' Saint Nick all this time?" He teased. "How cute."

"That's not true!"

"There's no need to be embarrassed Deuce Spade-kun. Many young children believe in the myth of Santa Claus," Ortho tried to reassure him, but even he couldn't hide the slight amusement in his tone.

"Little Deucey, did you send your letter to the North Pole this year?" Ace laughed, poking Deuce in the side. "I hope you've been good this year. Wouldn't want you to end up on the naughty list, would you? That'd be bad for your goody two shoes record."

"Ace, you little-" Deuce began to chase the other boy around the kitchen, face flushed red with embarassment. The ginger-haired menace laughed as he weaved his way between the appliances and the people in the kitchen, using them as shields and obstacles to slow down the other boy.

He poked his tongue out at Deuce, slipping away through the kitchen door to the hallway. Deuce narrowed his eyes as he ran after him out of the kitchen, cookies and decorating forgotten.

"I'll go make sure they don't end up killing each other," Jack said, shaking his head as he followed after them. Epel skipped behind him, pulling along Ortho to see the entertaining show.

"Sebek, can you get me some cups from that cabinet over there?" You asked the only person remaining in the room. Sebek hummed in acknowledgement, getting out seven cups and placing them in front of you.

Preoccupied with pouring the steaming hot chocolate into seven cups, you missed the conflicted expression on Sebek's face. As you decorated the beverage with marshmallows and whipped cream according to each one's preferences, sounds of the boys rough-housing in the next room had you smiling in fond exasperation.

"Here, this one's yours," you said, handing Sebek his drink. Sebek thanked you, voice low and expression uncharacteristically serious. You poked his forehead with a finger, smiling as he startled and looked at you with a confused look on his face.

"You're going to end up getting wrinkles way early if you scowl that much," you teased him, leaning against the counter as you spoke. "What are you thinking about so intently anyways?"

"It is not a matter of much importance, human."

"You're blushing though."

"I-I am not!" Sebek protested. His cheeks did nothing to help his case, turning even darker instead. You raised your arms in surrender, as you chuckled at his flustered state. "Fine, fine."

You started gathering up the bowls and spoons that had been used, placing them in the dishwasher to be cleaned. Your work was done in peaceful silence, and Sebek helped with what he could, ever the gentleman.

As you wiped your hands on a towel, he spoke.

"About what Deuce said, earlier..."

"Hm?"

"That is something... I have previously wondered as well... Not that I don't know that Santa Claus is a myth made for young children!" Sebek looked everywhere but at you, evidently embarrassed by his admission. "As Malleus-sama's guard, I cannot be misled by such childish and whimsical stories, of course! I-"

"You believed in Santa Claus too?" You asked, watching in amusement as the colour in his cheeks seemed to explode, climbing up his ears as well. "I JUST SAID I DIDN'T HUMAN, WHAT-"

"I think that's cute."

Sebek stopped, eyes wide as he stared at you. You continued, "It shows that you're innocent and pure-hearted. It's really cute." Sebek looked away and took a sip of his hot chocolate, wincing when he burned his tongue by drinking too fast. Before you could tease him any further, Ace called out, "If yall are done being sappy and disgusting, save me! Wait, shit-"

The sounds coming from the other room grew louder, taking your attention off of Sebek, allowing him to regain his composure somewhat. Deuce must have finally gotten hold of Ace, considering the loud and whiny complaints that could be heard. You turned back to Sebek, shaking your head. "Wanna save Ace from the fate that he oh so rightfully deserves?"

"I would rather have him bear the consequences of his actions," Sebek smiled, as Ace wailed in protest.

Back to Masterlist...

#ice writes #twisted wonderland #twst #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland sebek #sebek x reader #merry twstmas event #400 follower event

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clownrecess · 1 year

Text

(tw for talk of medical environments and ableism)

I want to talk about medical appointments as a nonspeaking AAC user, because it is both important, and relevant to me as I went to the optometrist yesterday.

One of the biggest difficulties I face is the lack of understanding and awareness among healthcare professionals when it comes to AAC devices and nonspeaking people. Sometimes, doctors and nurses are not familiar with how to use or communicate effectively with AAC users, which can lead to miscommunication and frustration on both sides. Yesterday, one of the staff members who was taking photos of the backs of my eyes wasn't informed I am nonspeaking (I'm not sure why she wasn't told), and so when she asked me a question I held up two fingers to gesture that the second option was the correct one, and she was visibly confused, and I was really anxious. My mother then answered for me, as my device was on the floor where I couldn't reach it because I wasn't aware I would need to answer a question.

The rest of the appointment (after she was told that I am nonspeaking) that specific staff member would ignore my presence and act like I am incompetent.

Luckily, not all doctors are like this. The doctor who did the majority of my appointment was understanding, and was patient with both me and my device. I appreciated her greatly.

Unfortunately, most arent like the good one. The majority of doctors I have interacted with whilst using AAC don't take me seriously, talk only to my mom, and sometimes try to take my device away when it is fully unnecessary to do so.

Furthermore, there is often a lack of time and resources dedicated to ensuring that AAC users have equal access to healthcare. This can result in appointments feeling rushed, and healthcare providers may not take the time to fully understand and address our concerns.

Another issue (this one affecting specifically adults who use AAC, so I haven't experienced it yet) is that when making appointments over the phone, our device's voice may be dismissed as a spam caller.

I wish that doctors (in every field) were more educated on nonspeaking people and AAC users. We are disabled, and disabled people are obviously more likely to go to the doctor more frequently, so it would be insanely helpful. I have a bone scan coming up soon, and I am very nervous about it for this reason. (Luckily it is taking place at a hospital I've had mostly good experiences with, so hopefully it'll be all good.)

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bipp-bopp-time-to-stop · 2 months

Text

A Collection of Obsession

I'll admit that it was my own procrastination this time around that stopped me from posting this sooner. But it's done now and at the time of posting this I have less than twenty minutes until I leave for work so I am rushing. This piece is not as thoroughly proofread as my others so far and I wanted to try something different (meaning that I didn't want to write a torture scene). Instead, y'all get to enjoy Legend being an absolute little creepy bastard man.

TW: Lots of suggestive stuff but nothing explicitly stated, yandere themes, brief mentions of blood, I want to put a restraining order on Legend after writing this

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“If I may bring your attention over here, dear customer, I think you’ll find that these wares are more to your liking. Take this copper and quartz bracelet, for example! Though it may not glimmer like gems and gold or match well with any gowns or suits, it serves its purpose in a more practical way than fashionable. Here- touch it! Yes… yes, you feel that? It’s a spell of protection! And a potent one at that! You see, copper and quartz are great choices for enchantments as they…”

Though he may consider Ravio a good friend, Legend can only listen to him prattle on for so long. And when you were the one listening to the purple rabbit with such rapt attention? No matter how mundane the object or how simple the spell might be? Gods, Legend would have to shove a sock down his throat to get him to shut up.

But… Legend can’t exactly blame the merchant for his gabbiness. He can’t blame anyone for acting giddy around you. He and his brothers would know.

Any and everything you did just… did something nothing else could. Legend could take all sorts of pain medication or even healing potions, but it’d do nothing to soothe out the deep aches in his muscles and bones. But when you would offer to massage his shoulders when he had flare ups? Calm and pleasure would seep into his joints and bones like he had taken a day’s long soak in a hot spring.

Your genuine reactions were another thing that Legend found so precious. Despite having traveled with him and the rest for months, you still oohed and ahhed at anything with a hint of magic in it. Even when feeling an appropriate level of fear towards monsters, he could always see some hint of awe in your eyes. Not to mention the pure wonder he witnessed when you were greeted by the sights of dragons and fairies and all inbetween.

It was like Legend was rediscovering the world through a brand new pair of lenses. All of the geological monuments or sights that he used to dismiss did have some level of majesty to them. The speckled night sky and the blazing sunsets and sunrises were rather breath taking, he would admit. “Not as breathtaking as you” is what he’d want to say but Wars always beat him to the punch. And then Legend would, typically, physically punch him later.

And he loved you for all of it.

He loved how genuine and real (because you are- you are real and this is no dream) everything felt. It was like the unseen muck clinging to his soul was cleansed from him when he was around you. His drive, his heartbeat, and his every breath was fueled by you. He adored that you made him see the silver linings in things when his pessimism gnawed at his mind. He had to stop himself from physically crooning into your arms when you’d hold him so tenderly after he awoke from a nightmare. Even when it was habit to snap or quip when in a moment of vulnerability, you still held the shards of glass that he was in your hands without fear of being cut. And if he ever hurt you, no matter how or to what capacity, he’d want you- need you- to inflict it make onto him tenfold or else he’d just have to do it himself and he long gave up on being gentle in such regards.

The long and short of it is that you made Legend feel alive. His heart- his chewed up, spat out, stomped on, cursed at, beaten up, and bruised heart- was yours. His soul- his battered, broken, and down trodden soul- was yours. He is yours. He is only yours. Curse Hylia and all the other goddesses who ever used him as a means to an end. He cares not that the Hero’s Spirit thrums within his veins. He cares not to defile it with sweet sin and indulge in what he pleases. You- you are what he wishes to please and he cares not for what way it is to be done. If you wish for him to continue on being a courageous hero, then so be it. If you want to see him cave into desire and darkness, it will be done. Your word is scripture and he, a preacher.

But…

You won’t leave him without… perhaps a gift or two to reward his devotion?

Unlike some others, he would like to be upfront to you about every feeling of his and what he’s done but he knows he can’t. It’s intense- to the point that that word can feel like an understatement. That intensity would scare, no, terrify you- so Legend keeps his mouth shut. So, because you technically don’t know of his deeds or to the extent of which they go, it’d be wrong for Legend to ask for rewards so out of the blue. No worries, though… he knows how to take them.

He’d never steal from you- no! Gods, no! He just… takes things that are of no use to you anymore. Trash, if he had to label what some of these items were to you. One man’s junk is another man’s treasure, as they’d say. These gifts were too precious for Legend to just leave behind at his house, so he kept them close in a secret satchel of his bag. When this adventure was all over, his first objective would be to redecorate part of his home so he could display this new collection with pride. Not that he’d really need it when the real thing would be in the next room regardless if it was by choice.

At the current moment, his collection wasn’t very big but it was filled with treasures he considered priceless.

A solid choice for comfort was a lightly stained handkerchief. While it had not been in your possession for long, you did use it quite a bit. You had played an undercover role while in a town for a few days, posing yourself as a bright, bubbly, and slightly air-headed noble. Many fake tears, both happy and sad, had been wiped away on this square of cloth. The handkerchief was saturated in your essence by the end of the mission and the normal course of action would be to throw it away. Legend was not about to let that happen, though- not when the item held so much of you. He can still taste the subtlest sweet and salty tang on his tongue whenever the fabric is brought to his lips.

For a more bitter than sweet item to bring him back to his senses whenever he was off his game was a large patch of gauze. The blood that stained it had long since turned brown and slightly rancid, but Legend was not about to throw it away. It was a reminder that you, although more divine than the goddesses themselves, still bled and could still perish (even entertaining such an idea for a split second was enough to ruin Legend’s day and kick up a nightmare come bedtime). It was from your first major wound you obtained when traveling with the group and you got it whilst defending a downed Wind from a few black blooded moblins. Legend was proud of your efforts that day yet ashamed of himself for letting you be in such a situation without back up. You were- under certain conditions, of course- allowed to partake in battle with him and his brothers. You preferred to swing and hack at your enemies instead of using technique, but that in and of itself had its own charm. Legend disliked you being dirtied by anything, but seeing your visage dripping with the blood of your enemies- watching the thick liquid curve down the contours of your armor, hearing you huff and puff and snarl from beneath your helmet, seeing your slowly growing muscle mass twitch and tighten to adjust your stance or grip- did something fierce to the man. He’d find an excuse to be alone for a moment to… “relieve” himself and sing out your praises under hushed and hot breaths.

His second favorite treasure of his private collection was one of the few things you actually did gift him. It was a strange item in the fact that Legend had never seen anything like it and likely never would unless the group was to end up in your world. It’s a very ridiculous item that’s called a- and he had to ask you to repeat this multiple times because he couldn’t believe it- worm on a string. Or, as you had also endearingly named the painfully bright pink, googly eyed strip of fuzz- Fred. It took Legend some time to get used to Fred, but he eventually began to look upon the worm with some joy after awhile (out of amusement of the absurdity that was Fred, The Worm on a String). He had honed his sleight of hand over the years so manipulating the thin, practically nonexistent string that was attached to Fred was a piece of cake once he got the hang of it. Causing the fuzzy worm to wiggle around his fingers, jump from hand to hand, or even jokingly make it dance to music was a quick way to make either himself or someone else laugh. Despite the toy’s sheer level of strangeness, Legend partly saw himself reflected in it. How it did whatever the puppeteer wanted it to do but made it appear as if it acted upon free will was something Legend related to more than he’d like.

His all time favorite treasure of this collection was something he felt like he could never reveal to you. Not necessarily because of what they were, but because of what Legend has done in relation to the items. The items in question being your clothes. Not any old tunic or pair of trousers- no, your original clothes. The very same clothes you had been wearing the moment you met him and the rest and changed their lives for forever.

You had worn them whenever possible for the longest time as a source of comfort both physically and mentally. These clothes, though, were better suited for lounging around the house than adventuring so it took naught but two weeks for them to end up to frayed to continue wearing. When Legend had taken them from you, he promised to fix them up to the best of his ability and then return them to you. And he did, but… he believed you had no need for the clothes anymore as you grew used to adventuring gear rather quickly and… Legend would feel guilty and ashamed for days on end considering what he did to the fabric. While good with a needle and thread, removing stubborn stains from fabric proved a bit more difficult than Legend had hoped for.

The hoodie had been the first article to be defiled. After it was patched up, Legend had tried it on out of curiosity and understood its charm. He also noticed that it must have been something you wore often given how heavily your scent clung to the soft cloth even after a few washes. The smell was warm, musky, and a little sweet like fresh bread and linen sheets and Legend could inhale it for hours on end if he was allowed. Whenever he had been alone with it for long periods of time, he would don it and trace his hands over it. His imagination conjured up images as wholesome as your embrace to something more… racy, such as feeling the dips and swells of your body beneath the hoodie or even slowly peeling it off of you to reveal a sea of bare skin ready to be inscribed with all manner of loving marks.

The second item was your pants. It was made of material as equally soft as the hoodie but thinner and therefore weaker. The inner thighs of the pants had already been frayed from prior use and those little holes were made more apparent due to the many hours of walking you had to do almost every day. Though you had lost some fat and replaced it with muscle, Legend imagined that the plush of your thighs would still strain and spill out of these little holes. Just wondering what it’d be like to kneel between your thighs and have a chance at kissing and licking at those spots of skin made Legend a weak man.

The third and final item was the one that brought Legend the most shame. Were he ever caught, he was sure he could explain away wearing or worshiping messing around with your hoodie or pants but… your underwear? No, there’s no coming back from that one. Not if he was found with his nose buried into the fabric. Not if he was found nibbling on it while all manner of saucy and raunchy thoughts invaded his mind. Not if it was revealed that, at one point in time, he had worn them for a full day and all it would take was for his tunic to flip up a little to reveal them.

Yeah… this collection of his was definitely going to stay private for awhile longer.

It was more than just material items that Legend considered to be a part of this growing collection of his, though. It was also moments and memories- things that were intangible and could never be bottled up. He could inscribe words onto paper, sure, but he was far from poetic and would hate to potentially soil these fond memories with lackluster writing. Memories like the first time you truly smiled at him. Memories like the sheer joy and victory that washed over your face when you successfully downed your first boss monster. Memories like your soft breathing against his neck when you had fallen asleep against his shoulder after partaking in some drinking games with him and the others.

And moments like what was happening right now.

Legend’s senses have never felt this electric before. Every smell in the air of the small inn room was sharp and distinct. Even when cloaked in shadow and dim moonlight, Legend could make out the contour of every dresser or picture frame with ease. His ears picked up on the sound of the outside breeze, the creaks of the floorboards, and the blood rushing through him. The taste of tonights dinner was still prevalent on his tongue along with the sweet undertones of the honey ale served to him by the inn’s staff. Lastly, there was the feeling of his clothes rubbing up against him whenever he moved or breathed, the way stray strands of his hair would tickle against his face, and the way you were tucked up against him.

Although five double rooms were booked for the night, it seems like the inn only had four to spare. As a result, Legend found himself sharing a single bed with you for the night. Fortunately, no one else knew of this arrangement as the innkeeper still told the group that five double rooms had been prepared for them. Unfortunately, however, was that the discovery of this single bed situation was only found out when you and Legend went to retire for the night. It was a shock to you both but you had recovered faster than he did and treated it far more casually too.

Stubborn as any Link, you had argued that it wasn’t that different than sleeping in the same tent together. After all, all that ever separated you from whoever your partner was for the night was a bed roll. It was this course of thought that caused you to drag Legend into the bed with you and then almost instantly knock out like a light. Had the two of you managed to stay on your respective side of the bed for the whole night would have potentially made him feel a little less nervous about the situation. As Legend quickly found out, though, you had a habit to latch onto things in your sleep.

Your head was nuzzled into the crook of his neck and your slow breaths cascaded down his throat and spanned across his collar bone. Your arms were loosely wrapped around his torso and although they felt lax in their grip, Legend didn’t have the strength in him to tear away. Despite trying to angle his body away from yours, your legs still ended up being intertwined with his own. You clung to him gently and completely- like something a lover would do and not a friend. That simple thought stirred up a storm in Legend’s heart and he had no idea how to calm it.

Legend was a bomb ready to blow. He didn’t know if he’d get up and run away like a coward or finally listen to the animalistic urge chittering in the back of his mind like the rabbit he loathed to be. The two courses of actions were locked with each other in a stalemate that had Legend sweating like a sinner in church. That is what he felt like at the moment and was, after all. Your body is a temple and he’d love to do nothing more than worship the holy grounds of your skin but he couldn’t. He was filthy, unclean, and drowned in sin. His mere presence near you in the moment felt like a violation to your being. Considering the many images and fantasies that have bounced around in his head more times than he can count, he felt he was ready to be burned at the stake.

You twitch and Legend freezes. He’s stiff as a board as you adjust your position in your sleep and he finds his nose nearly pressed up against the crown of your head. He caves and allows himself to inhale. It’s deep and filled to the brim with your scent. Your hair hadn’t been washed in a day so no smell of shampoo clung to it anymore but it was far more addicting that way.

Finally, Legend managed to move himself but it wasn’t away from you like he should. He idly carded a hand through your hair and marveled at the strands like they were made of gold. He did his best to not let his fingers get caught on any knots lest he wake you. Any number of lie could excuse his actions as nothing more than accidental but that would required Legend actually speaking and he was sure his throat had closed up the second he got into bed.

Legend twisted a small strand together and rubbed the tip of it between his fingers. The hair fibers were soft and smooth but not to the point of silk. It felt like messing around with the brush part of a newly crafted paint brush. Hmm… your hair would definitely make for an interesting tool if used in such a way but Legend quickly thought of something much better.

What sense of dignity and virtue he had left finally seemed to admit defeat as Legend reached to his side for the small dagger he carried with himself at all times. It was never smart to be without a weapon or tool- especially given his track record. He curled a small lock of hair around his finger until he reached your scalp. With precise movements, he brought the blade to your hair and began to saw against it. In a moments time, Legend pulled his hands away and with it came his newest prize.

With nothing to tie the hair up with, Legend resorted to knotting it onto itself. A single knot would be enough to do the job and then it was tucked away into his pocket without problem. While this all happened, you remained snoozing away. Your peaceful image made Legend’s heart twist with guilt and shame but the giddiness of obtaining a new treasure soothed the ache.

“Mmmmmmph…”

With a tiny groan, you hoisted yourself up onto your elbows and away from Legend. The ice that was in his veins only minutes ago return with a vengeance as Legend realizes that he’s about to be caught. To torment him even further, his burst of shamelessness scurries away and his moral code- no matter how busted and dingy it now was- had his face flushed full of embarrassment.

“Mmmmmmmmhhh… Legend?” You called out as you cracked open your bleary eyes. Your voice was rough from just waking up and still interwoven with fatigue. It had to have been the cutest you’ve sounded yet in Legend’s opinion.

“What?” Legend huffed after a beat. Narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, the man did his best to appear as his normal, snarky self.

“What time is it?” You ask as you rapidly blink and rub at your eyes.

“Still nighttime. You have a nightmare?” Legend replies before asking his own question. Whenever the group was staying in an inn, you always managed to sleep like a log. So, to see you randomly wake up after only a few hours of sleep, Legend felt that something was amiss.

“No… jus’ overheating,” You murmured out. It seemed like a higher power was not yet done poking fun at Legend tonight as you began to remove your shirt. Any protest for you to stop died on Legend’s tongue. Even in the lackluster moonlight sneaking in through the curtains, Legend could make out the silhouette of your side and the detailing of your skin. The sheen of sweat collected on you was obvious proof that you weren’t lying to Legend or finding some excuse to shed your shirt. A small, sick part of him wondered if you’d shed more and if he should copy you and what your reaction would be and if you’d grant him the ultimate wish of allowing his dreams to become reality.

You leaned back and flopped back onto your side with a huff and didn’t bother to cover yourself back up with a blanket. You were overheating and that was to be expected but it sure as hell was making things so much worse. How the hell was he expected to get any sleep now?! Your exposed back is right there! All of its intricate layers of muscle and soft pads of fat made his fingers twitch just… just a little touch won’t hurt, will it? He watched as a bead of sweat grew big enough to lazily run down your back he suddenly found himself feeling very parched. He couldn’t tell if this was meant to be another gift or some form of divine punishment for the unsavory things he’s done.

When a low groan rumbled from you and you tossed around for a bit, Legend was reminded that this was rather uncomfortable for you. He got up and went over to his bag for something to help. Upon finding a rag and a bottle of cool water, Legend knew exactly what to do.

In the blink of an eye, he was right back at you side. He wasted no time in wiping you down and his heart fluttered when a relaxed noise left your mouth at his actions. He handed you the bottle of water while he made sure not a drop of sweat was left clinging to you. He did his best to keep his breathing under control and to not wipe down too hard with his shaking grip. After one of the best ten minutes he’s had in awhile, he pulls away and gives you some space.

“Thank… you…” you whisper before falling back asleep. Legend is too laser focused on the damp rag in his hands to respond. He’d look over at you every minute to check on how deep of a sleep you were in. Once he was sure you were fast asleep, he made his escape.

When you awoke in the morning, it was thanks to Wind flopping onto you and squeezing the breath out of you. You shoved the little shit off and waited for Legend to bark out some heated words at him but he didn’t. In fact… where was Legend?

“He’s already downstairs with everyone else. In fact, Time said that he was up before him,” Wind answers the unasked question. He leans in a little with an exaggerated expression on his face. “I’d avoid him if I were you, though. He’s acting sort of- ugh, nice. It’s creepy.”

With the warning(?) in mind, you went downstairs with Wind after you got changed. True to his word, Legend bore a slightly more lax and passive face than he usually did in the morning. You were sure your eyes were fooling you at this point but did he just smile at you???

“Sleep well? Sorry if I made you lose any z’s thanks to my hot flash,” You speak up once you’re sat down beside Legend.

“No, no… it’s alright,” Legend idly responds. This time you’re completely sure that he’s smiling because you’ve never seen him smile so… animalistically before. He may not have had Twilight’s sharper teeth, but you knew a wolfish grin when you saw one. He leaned in close, spurred on by a sudden burst of confidence, and whispered into your ear behind a cupped hand. The words confused you at first but quickly caused your face to nearly match Legend’s tunic.

“Is everything alright?” Hyrule pipes up once he notices you and Legend. The innocent lad tilts his head at lack of response from either of you and you don’t dare to look him in those big ol’ pools of green. Besides, how could you tell him of all people what Legend just said?

He’d never look at his predecessor the same way ever again if he heard that filth.

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #Yandere lu legend #yandere lu legend x reader #yandere lu #yandere lu x reader

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theonemeathead · 1 month

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Sniper x Reader, "Say My Name"

[NSFW!!] im soooo normal about sniper from tf2. ive actually had this fic sitting around for a while, just keep forgetting to post it!

tws for the use of the word 'sheila', implied fem reader. enjoy!

You had no idea how it had gotten to this point. One moment you were laughing, cutting up with everyone over a game of cards, next thing, you were in a full-blown heated argument with your lover. Hardly, did you and Sniper ever truly argue, and when you did, it was normally you fussing at him, and him, sitting there, calm and level-headed, listening. There were a few outlier moments (like all long-term relationships), where things got bad, but never like this.

Now, you were standing in his camper, both of you spatting at each other as it escalated from frustration to a full-on screaming match. And it didn't seem to get any better. Sniper had said something during the game and it set you off for the night; Something about how 'he can see the looks you give the others'. Now, you understood Sniper was possessive, but the way he snapped at you earlier had stuck with you. And the worst part? He didn't even say sorry. You knew it was irrational to be upset, but things had been piling up for days, and this was the breaking point; The final drop of water into a cracking dam of emotions.

"Don't give me that, sheila, I'm not in the mood," He turned his back to you, waving you off with his hand as he marched towards the fridge. It always bothered you when he seemed disinterested in your arguments.

"Oh, you're not in the mood? What about me? What about how I feel?!" You huffed, crossing your arms. You waited for him to respond, slightly trembling with anger as he seemed to dismiss you, inspecting the label of a beer he found instead. "You accuse me of being disloyal and then ignore me? That's unfair, and you know it—"

"It's not an accusation if I'm tellin' the truth, yeah? Crikey, I see the way the doc treats ya on the battlefield, sheila, I'm not bloody blind!" He slammed the glass bottle on the counter, whipping around to face you with such ferocity that, for the first time ever, you had actually feared him. You stood your ground, shrinking slightly as he stomped towards you, his voice getting louder and angrier as he did. "And I ignored it, brushed it off as simple banter, yeah? But when he started touchin' ya, feelin' up on what's mine?"

"He doesn't 'feel up on me', Sniper. He's doing a rushed medical examination, I would know if it was sexually charged." You bit back, a slight snarl forming on your lips. Sniper froze. You never called him by his title, only when you were really upset. You knew it got to him, would agitate him more.

"That's not my name, roo."

Woah. You immediately felt your face flush red. The way his tone darkened, the way he stood as still as a tree over you, it made your thighs squeeze together. You'd be lying if you denied it didn't get you hot under the collar, the predatory gaze in his eyes as he spoke. Even with a raised voice, there was a certain underlying gravel in his tone that followed. No sane person should be turned on by their boyfriend's anger, but you could tell Sniper was about 30 seconds away from pushing you up against the nearest surface and showing you who you belong to.

"You're Sniper when you're mean."

You swallowed thickly, noticing how he kept pursuing you. You backed up, stopping abruptly when you hit the farthest wall in his camper van. He slammed his hands on either side of your face, leaning down as he growled slightly in your ear. You pushed yourself, flush, against the wall. You pushed your legs together, your knees threatening to buckle just from the sheer ecstasy that was Sniper's voice whispering, dirty talking you, right in your ear.

"You wanna see mean, love? I'll show you mean."

You felt goosebumps pin up all over your body. Before you could retort, Sniper had latched himself onto your neck. He would start with a kiss, the sweetness of his lips a cruel cover-up for when he sunk his sharp canines into the same spot. He left multiple dark, visible marks, most starting at your jaw, trailing down into your nape and ending near your collarbone. He wanted to claim you, show everyone you were his.

You wanted to fight back; To be a general nuisance and continue arguing... but it was obvious it would be futile. He was going to put you in your place, regardless. He was Sniper, like you said, after all.

He didnt even bother to strip you completely. He hastily unbuttoned your pants, slipping them down with your panties in one swift motion. The clothing articles sat at your knees, effectively hindering your ability to run away, if you so desired. You were flipped over so your back was turned to him instead, now. Instinctively, you put your hands against the wall to brace yourself. With one hand on his cock, the other on your shoulder, he began, teasingly, rubbing the head of his length against your core. You whined, grinding back to get any sort of relief. You felt the rumbling of his low laugh, as if he was getting off on how desperate you were. Here you were, acting all high and mighty, now reduced to a brainless toy for him to play with.

"What's the matter, roo? Need somethin'?"

"Mundy, please—" He took a fistful of your hair, yanking on it to force you to arch. Your head leaned back, giving you an upside-down view of the sinister smirk on his face.

"Oh, I'm Mundy again? I don't think so, love. You asked for this." He punctuated his sentence with a deep thrust, bottoming out fully inside you in one movement. It caught you off guard, eliciting an involuntary moan. You felt your eyes water, your walls squeezing and constricting around Sniper's lengthy cock.

He started off agonizingly slow, pulling almost all the way out, just to push himself back in to the hilt. You could feel his tip brushing against your cervix, making you wet with even more need than before. Normally, he was an animal. When he was horny, he didn't hesitate to hold back on ravaging your body. But, this was Sniper, the trained assassin that could wait hours to get the perfect shot. He was a hunter, a man who didn't 'muck about' when it came to ensnaring his prey. This wasn't your typical, sweet boyfriend who went on camping trips and sang you poor covers of songs by The Who.

His pace quickened with desperation. Vulgar sounds of skin hitting skin echoed through the quietness of his vehicle, followed by a harmony of whimpers and mewls from you as he fucked into your body ruthlessly. He let go of your hair, instead, he dug his nails into the meat of your hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in his wake. His grip was bruising, along with his thrusts now. You still held yourself up against the wall, albeit shakily.

"Mick, please! I'm so close—" He had slowed his pace, coming to a complete stop. Confused, all you could do was whine at the lack of stimulation. And that's when it hit you.

He wanted you to beg. He wanted you to degrade yourself, to fully give in like a wounded rabbit caught in the hinges of a beartrap.

"C'mon, sheila, you're a clever one. You know what I want." The praise from his gravelly voice, alone, was enough to get you to crumble.

"I— Please, Mick, I'm sorry for calling you 'Sniper', it won't happen again, just please—"

"You're just making this harder for yourself, love."

"Fine—Ok! Please, Mundy, I need it, I need it so bad. I want you to fuck me, and only you!" Your voice quivered with desperation. This seemed to appease him as he went back to where he left off. Every drag of his dick against your wet core felt heavenly. It wasn't long until that build-up happened again, that tight coil forming as his tip abused your g-spot.

"You're mine, roo. Got it?" He panted, groaning softly as he felt you tighten around him, as you got closer to your climax. "Say it, sheila."

"I'm yours! I'm yours, Mick!" As if on cue, you felt your orgasm crash over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your body tensing around his cock deliciously harder. This seemed to push him over the edge, his hips snapping against your ass as he went as deep as he could, filling you to the brim with his cum. He pulled out, catching his breath as he watched his seed spill out of you, as it began to drip from in-between your legs. He grinned, proud of his work. With a light slap on your ass, you slumped against the wall, completely exhausted and limp.

Sniper sat on the ground beside you, pulling your sore body towards him. You rested your head on his shoulder, comforted by the faint scent of umber and the soft thumping of his heart. Tiredly, you looked up at him.

"So, I'm going to assume you don't think I'm gonna leave you for one of our teammates anymore?" You teased slightly, although there was a hint of sincerity in your question. You really didn't want anyone else, but him, and you'd be damned if he didn't know it.

"I'm sorry about that, roo. Just really love ya, 's all." He avoided your gaze, sheepishly looking at the ground instead.

"I love you too, Mundy. I promise, you're the only one I've got eyes for. I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not, or Sniper's gonna have to hunt'cha down and give you a real bloody drubbin'." You planted a chaste kiss on his lips, effectively shutting him up. Yawning, you laid your head back down, snuggling into his side as you both laid against the wall.

Being a mercenary was, in fact, a good job.

#tf2 #team fortress two #tf2 x reader #tf2 fandom #sniper tf2 #sniper tf2 x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 sniper x reader #sniper #sniper x reader #x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #he's so crazy #i wanna have his babies

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hotcheetohatredwastaken · 3 months

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Wild's Wolf: Febuwhump Day 6 -- "You (They) Lied to Me."

Tw: Implied child abuse, medical whump, human experimentation.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Wild knew what was coming by now, when he heard the metallic chime that preceded the opening of that metal door. The hazy memory of rough hands and voices, fear and violation, and above all pain, pain, pain sent his heart racing.

Beeeeep! The door swung inwards with a slow fwoosh!

Wild backed himself into the furthest corner of his hiding spot underneath the bed, nearly sick with anxiety, as he eyed the man that stepped inside. That in and of itself was odd—these strangers usually dealt with him in overwhelming groups, so that any defense he tried to mount against them was easily crushed. The man even looked different—he wore not the universal white coats common to all of his tormentors, but instead a beige turtleneck sweater and black leather jacket. He was a lot taller than his regular tormentors, too, and broader, though he still had those rounded ears that Wild was learning to hate. The door hissed shut behind him.

He must be worse than all of the others combined, Wild determined, if he was willing to step into the room alone. And he was already coming towards him. Wild raised his shoulders, bracing himself for another fight for his life, a fight he already knew he’d lose like all the ones before it.

The man’s tall boots stopped at the edge of the bed. Then he crouched, stooping down to peek under the bed, and his single eye met Wild’s two. His singular eye. His other had been gouged out, signified clearly by the neat scar that ran over the closed eyelid. Vibrant, blocky tattoos streaked harsh angles across his face, and more climbed the column of his neck and poked out from the hem of his long sleeves. He was obviously strong and battle-worn, and he was coming for Wild.

A shiver of fear ran through the kid. A feral growl left him, and he scrambled back further into the little cranny made by the bed, ready to kick for all that he was worth as he bared his teeth. Oh Hylia, he wasn’t escaping this, he thought faintly.

The man blinked his singular eye owlishly at the response, then bared his teeth back in a wolfish smile. “Hey there, kid,” he said lowly, maintaining an intentionally jovial tone. “What are you doing under there?”

The professor’s voice crackled through the speakers. Behind the one-way glass, the researchers turned up the sound, tuning in through their earpieces.

The kid, of course, gave no response. Those odd long ears of his pinned themselves back against his head similarly to those of a wary cat. Time could see, now, the stark bruises left by cruel hands blossoming underneath the pale skin of his wrists and arms, the deep bags hanging underneath his terrified eyes. The hospital gown he wore hung loosely over his skinny, shivering frame. They hadn’t been kind to him.

If that was true, they’d be here for a while. He might as well make himself comfortable while he tried to earn a bit of the boy’s trust. Time lowered himself to the tile floor and sat against the wall with a groan, which prompted the boy to growl, louder that time. “Oh don’t be dramatic, I’m not threatening you, I’m just old,” Time said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m sure you’ll be making all these sounds too, one day.”

Those long ears flicked forwards curiously. A bit of the defensiveness left the boy’s coiled up posture at his tone, and the snarl on his face faded into something softer. Then his shoulders raised as he seemed to remember himself, and he shifted back again, hugging his knees to his chest as he looked away. He warbled something that Time couldn’t even begin to decipher, though it sounded familiar—and those researchers were right, that was not a human language—but given the fearful edge to his young voice, he could translate with mild confidence all the same. Who are you? What are you going to do to me?

“I’m not going to hurt you, kid, don’t you worry,” Time said soothingly. He reached into his pocket. “In fact, I’ve got a little treat for you.”

Time withdrew the crinkly aluminum packet in his pocket, and out of that a jabber nut. They were disguised as regular candy—chocolate covered walnuts would be a good comparison—so believably so that they’d been okayed by the researchers without a second glance. He offered one to the kid.

The boy gazed at the candy sitting in the center of Time’s palm, reaching hesitantly out to take it, then flicked his eyes back up to Time’s face. Whatever he saw there made him go pale, and he moved back, resolutely turning away. Still, he snuck childish glances at the piece of candy, like the refusal hurt him. His stomach audibly rumbled in the cold, silent room.

“Oh come on, drama queen, it’s not poison or anything. I know you want it,” Time said with fond amusement. He popped the jabber nut into his mouth, and he made a show of chewing and swallowing in demonstration before he fished out another for the kid. “There, I ate one. Not poisonous, see?”

The kid frowned up at him, looking between the jabber nut and Time himself like he was trying to figure out whatever trick was hiding there. He put his hand forwards as if to take it, then drew it back to his chest, his face clouded with indecision.

“Go on, it’s okay, kid.” It was like feeding an untamed, flighty cat—like one of the ones Malon kept out in the barn, who even after months of progress could be sent scrambling with any sudden move—but Time was nothing if not patient. He kept an easy grin fixed to his face and the lines of his body intentionally open and non-threatening as he scooted a little closer, shoving the offered piece of candy forwards with a little inviting thrust. “It’s for you, you can take it.”

The boy seemed to have a sort of debate with himself as he eyed the candy in Time’s hand, his hands twitching at his sides. Finally, the boy's face screwed up, and he snatched the candy out of Time’s palm. He shoved himself back into the corner of the crawlspace just as quickly—knocking his head against the bedframe in the process, which made Time wince in sympathy—and hunched over the jabber nut, turning it over and over between his fingers. Time only just held back a laugh as he took a long deep sniffffffff of the treat, then darted his tongue out to sneak a taste of the chocolate coating. He jerked back from it with a delighted sound, his long ears waggling similarly to an excited puppy’s tail.

This… was odd, Time thought, eyeing those too-familiar ears, the ones he hadn’t seen in decades, maybe even lifetimes. The researchers had contacted him on the basis of getting his help in establishing communication with some feral child they’d discovered living in the forest. They’d spun a tale of a child raised completely divorced from any other human civilization before now, a golden opportunity for linguistic advancement in the study of him that Time just couldn’t pass up. But they’d mentioned nothing of the obvious otherworldliness about the kid, though the picture they’d sent him had spoken magnitudes, and once he arrived, they were talking about differences in species.

Details were being withheld from him intentionally, it seemed.

Finally, the kid put the chocolate in his mouth, biting down on the jabber nut inside with an obnoxiously exaggerated crunch! Time smiled to himself and tapped at his watch, timing out exactly minute.

Time didn’t even have to wait for that long for the boy to grow bolder. He edged forwards until he was nearly at the edge of the bed, holding his hand out in clear request.

“I’m sorry, you can’t have another one. It's not good to eat more than one at a time.” Time shook his head pointedly, then shot a glance back at the one-way window at the opposite side of the room. The researchers had said that he’d eaten nothing since they’d “gotten” him what seemed to be days ago, poor kid. “Maybe we can request some food for you, huh?”

The kid muttered something back darkly, his disappointment clear in his pout. Time glanced down at his watch. 15 seconds.

“Y’know, I wasn’t always a language professor. If you know what a professor is, I don’t know if you have ‘em where you’re from,” Time began conversationally. “Before that I was certified as a child speech therapist. Turned out to be a good thing when it came to my dissertation, because they’re really the best when it comes to the model of language learning. Y’know, one of my favorite projects, they have this dialect of ancient Mayan out in the really rural parts of Central America, way down south from here, and anyways my youngest went out with me that trip, his mother was a nervous wreck, but I told her that we just had to go, especially since they put us up in one of the nicest hotels down there…”

It was always funny to watch a jabber nut kick into effect. The boy uncrossed his arms, furrowing his brow and frowning as Time continued to prattle on—talking at length was one of his strengths, he knew, whether or not there was something worthy of being discussed. The boy scrubbed at his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears before lowering them again, his expression a perfect picture of bewilderment.

“Wha…?” the boy managed to get out, his eyes wide. “...you can…?”

“Magic,” Time whispered with a conspiratory wink—a blink, really—and a grin. The researchers watching would see nor hear any of their conversation—to their ears Time would continue to speak English, and the boy Hylian. He tapped away at his watch again, setting another timer for 10 minutes. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy bit his lip until it blanched between his teeth, studying Time’s face as if trying to determine his trustworthiness from sight alone. “...I’m… I’m not supposed to tell my name to strangers,” he said at last, dragging his fingers along the grout lines of the tile floor.

“My name’s Time Forrester. I have a wife, Malon, and a couple of kids of my own about your age,” Time answered. “We’re not strangers now, are we?”

The boy shrugged, shifting uncomfortably, but he finally offered up with a touch of shyness in return: “My… my name’s Wild.”

“Well, Wild, would you mind coming out here so that we can hold a real conversation?” Time said smoothly. “I don’t know about you, but my back’s getting all cramped, and there are two perfectly good chairs over there."

Wild shook his head, murmuring something about how they’d come back and hurt him that Time clearly wasn’t supposed to hear.

Time paused, chewing over that phrase. Then he spoke. “I know this is all confusing for you,” he said as diplomatically as he could manage. If he kept talking, he could almost pretend that his voice didn’t tremble. “I don’t know a lot, but I’ll do my best to answer any questions that you have, if you’ll answer mine in return, I promise. Is that all right?”

Wild nodded. And when Time stood, stretching out his aching back, then extended his hand down to him, Wild only hesitated for a second before he took it.

First Chapter >> Previous Chapter >> Next Chapter Coming Soon!

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