Wind + Reader - He Calls You Mom
This was an old request from my deleted blog that's been bouncing around in the back of my head for a while. Sadly, I don't have the original ask, but if I remember correctly, they asked for Wind to call reader mom after they're injured in a fight. Word Count: 2079
Wind was not a child. He was a teenager. He had defeated Ganondorf. He was a pirate and a hero and he did not like to be treated as young or incapable. Most of the group respected that, with a few reminders. Still, he was often pushed to the back of the group, both literally and metaphorically. The other, more kitted out heroes, who thought themselves more capable and had tools Wind had never had access to, usually handled any issues before he could contribute much. He tried not to let it bother him too much. With eight other experienced heroes in the group, they were bound to step on each others’ toes occasionally. At least, he thought, they respected him.
Then you joined the group.
You were…different from the others, to say the least. You weren’t a chosen hero. You hadn’t defeated some great evil. You were honestly pretty domestic, having more skill with a needle than a sword. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad. Just a person to stay at camp and make sure supplies were tended to and clothes were mended. But you went beyond just that. You fussed over them. You scolded and comforted and a thousand other things he imagines mothers did. (His grandma did some of the same things, obviously, but it was still different.) He’s sure, a few years ago, he would have enjoyed such attention. But he was not a child. So why did you insist on treating him like one?
He’s had quite enough of that, thank you very much.
“Wind!” You call out to him as he tries to leave camp with the rest of the heroes, bunching up your long skirt in your hands to keep it off the ground as you walk over to him. He cringes. A few of the others snicker. “You’ll catch a cold in this weather. Here, take a jacket.”
You hold out probably the ugliest sweater Wind has ever seen.
“I’m fine,” he groans. “Why aren’t you chasing anyone else down for this?”
“Most everyone else is wearing some kind of jacket or cloak. You’re wearing short sleeves.” You point to his tunic. He glances down.
“I have long sleeves on under my tunic. See?” he pinches his undershirt, pulling slightly to show off the fabric. You hum disapprovingly.
“That is probably the thinnest shirt I’ve ever seen,” you shake your head. Teens could be so stubborn. “At least take the jacket with you, even if you don’t end up wearing it.”
“Okay, mom,” he rolls his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. You ignore the insult and hold the sweater out again. He snatches it from your hands, tossing it over his shoulder with another eye roll.
Legend laughs. You shoot him a glare that could curdle milk.
“Thank you,” Time nods in your direction before leading the group of boys away. Wind mutters under his breath you don’t quite hear as he turns to follow them.
You smile as they walk away, watching them disappear into the forest. They were apparently going to some dungeon. That was much too fast-paced for you, but most of them seemed excited. You’re sure you’ll hear all about it when they return in a few hours. You walk the short distance back to camp and begin collecting the various tunics and socks scattered around the area, hauling them down to the small river nearby for a much-needed washing. How any of them had found success in their romantic advances while smelling like the back end of a Lynel was beyond you. Afterwards, you get out your sewing kit and go about mending the few pieces that had gotten damaged.
By the time the boys return, their clothes are clean, mended, and folded in neat piles on top of their bags. The fire is already prepared for Wild to begin cooking, and you’ve filled some canteens with water so they can wash their hands. (You’d rather not eat food prepared by someone covered in monster guts, and you don’t want the others eating with such filthy hands.)
“How did it go?” you ask, listening intently as Hyrule and Wild describe the monster in rather graphic detail. Legend sits nearby, occasionally adding his own details to the story. You had long ago established the habit of chatting with the boys as Wild prepared the food. It was a great time to check in on them. Four would usually join in, too, but apparently Wild had somehow managed to break yet another sword.
Wind walks past, tossing the jacket you had given him on the ground near his bag with probably more force than necessary.
“Hold on there, mister,” you get up, leaving Wild’s side at the campfire and approaching Wind. He stiffens as soon as he hears your voice, turning around slowly.
“What?” He sounds defensive as he asks it.
“What’s got you in such a mood?” You ask, picking a bit of something out of his hair and flicking it away with your finger. It might have been a bug or a leaf, but you’re pretty sure it was something from the dungeon you didn’t want to think about. Those places were always full of the nastiest things.
“Nothing,” he crosses his arms. “Why are you always like this?”
“Like what?” you ask.
“You’re always worried about me,” he scowls. “I can handle myself. Just because I’m the youngest doesn’t mean–”
“I’m gonna stop you right there, bucko,” you hold up a single finger, silencing the hero. “I am well aware how capable you are. If you want me to hover less, I’ll do that, but I don’t act the way I do because I think you can’t handle yourself. All of you boys need someone to look after them. And make sure you wash your hands before touching the food everyone is going to eat. Right, Wild?”
You turn slightly, looking back at the Hero of the Wilds, who was currently reaching for a vegetable and staring at you with wide eyes, clearly not expecting to be suddenly called out on his poor hygiene. You point to the water you had brought back to camp for exactly this reason, and his shoulders slump before he reluctantly gets up and trudges over to wash his hands.
“I don’t need you to be my mother,” Wind glares. He barely remembered his own mother. He didn’t need you acting like what he imagined she would be like. “You don’t even need to be here. We’ve been adventuring just fine before you showed up.”
“I’m not trying to be anyone’s mother,” you say, ignoring the comment about your presence. He’s probably just saying it to get under your skin. Teenagers could be quite cruel when they wanted to be. “I know full well you have a wonderful grandmother back home and can take care of yourself for the most part.”
“Then why do you act like a mother hen?” Warriors laughs from across camp. You glare at him, and he just laughs harder. Next to him, Time seems to be fighting the urge to do the same. Wind grumbles, but it’s more to save face than out of genuine anger.
“Because without me, I don’t think half of you would bother to bathe,” you roll your eyes, walking back over to where Wild was dishing up the food he had made. Some kind of meat covered in herbs that smelled absolutely heavenly.
“Hey! We bathe!” Twilight protests.
“You’re one to talk,” you laugh and grab a few plates from Wild, handing them out to the gathering boys. “You smell like a wet dog most of the time.”
“We went over this,” Twilight blushes, “I am a dog sometimes. And it’s a wet forest!”
“Okay, okay,” you hand a plate to him, then pass another to Wind, who takes it with a grumble. “I didn’t realize shape-shifting gave you a free pass to smell however you wanted.”
“It’s not even that bad!”
“Ehh,” Sky makes the so-so motion with his hand.
“I thought wolves had water-proof coats,” Hyrule muses.
“So he has even less of an excuse,” Legend snorts.
“Stop talking,” Twilight looks away, his voice tense.
“What?” Legend continues. “All I’m saying is–”
“Shh!” Twilight cuts Legend off, scanning the nearby trees. Before anyone can ask what’s wrong, a massive boomerang flies straight for Twi’s face. He rolls out of the way, plate falling to the ground. The boomerang spins back the way it had come, into the forest. You hear the heavy footsteps of some monster stomp closer.
“We were followed,” Warriors hisses. Nine boys scramble for their weapons, dinner forgotten on the ground. You stand up yourself, setting your plate quickly down by your feet. No need to waste good food just because dinner was interrupted.
“It’s one of the dungeon monsters,” Wind says as the thing steps into view. It was ugly, to say the least. Like some kind of deformed pig with the body of a very tall overweight man.
“I didn’t know they could leave,” Legend dodges another throw of the boomerang, diving forward and slashing at the monster’s legs. The thing stumbled back, but didn’t fall. You watch the entire exchange with a mix of fear and fascination.
“Look out!” Wind screams. You feel something hit the back of your head. That’s right. The boomerang. They have a habit of coming back around, don’t they? You should have been paying better attention, you think, as the ground rises to meet you and the world goes black.
“Mom!” Wind yells it without thinking, rushing to where you’ve fallen. He doesn’t even register the fight behind him as eight swords slash at the monster. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. He could probably pick you up with considerable effort, but he can’t seem to focus on anything other than how the back of your skull is coating his palm in red. “No, nonono. Please be okay.”
He can’t tell if you’re even breathing.
Somewhere behind him, the monster falls, dissolving into black goop, before even that disappears.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Wind says, cradling your upper body in his arms. “I-I’ll wear jackets and eat my vegetables and all that stuff. Just please be okay.” He can’t. He can’t let the last thing he said to you be that he didn’t want you here.
With the threat dealt with, Hyrule joins him at your side, hands already glowing with healing magic.
You groan, and Wind breathes for the first time in what felt like hours (it had barely been a minute).
“Ow,” you put a hand to your head, fingers brushing over where the wound used to be.
“Are you alright?” Hyrule asks, and when you nod he leaves, going off to tend a few other injuries.
Wind pulls you into a tight hug. The angle is a bit awkward, with you still half-lying down, but you reach your arms around him and rub soothing circles onto his back.
“Please don’t do that again,” he mumbles against your shoulder.
“I promise to avoid any and all future boomerangs to the best of my ability,” you smile, and he laughs weakly.
“I’m sorry for saying those things before,” he pulls away from the hug, wiping at his eyes to try to hide the few tears he had shed.
“It’s alright,” you sit up the rest of the way, head spinning for a moment at the slight change in elevation. A moment of silence passes. Then, “did you call me mom?”
Wind’s entire face turns pink.
“Er, no?” he laughs nervously.
“Must’ve misheard you, then,” you stand up, brushing the dirt from your skirt. “I am probably concussed, after all. Although, I can’t say I’d mind it terribly if you did.”
“Yeah, concussed,” he stands, walking next to you as you make your way back to where the others were picking up their scattered plates. You hand him your untouched plate, one of the few that had been spared in the scuffle, and move to help Wild with re-dishing the food.
Wind watches you as you move between the rest of the boys, laughing and scolding and doing other such things he thinks his own mother might have done. He wouldn’t mind you being his mom, he thinks, taking a bite of the food you had given him. Even if you were a little embarrassing sometimes. Maybe that’s just what moms were like.
