#The slowburn is finally bareing fruit

[dcxdpdabbles]

#Holiday Request I love all your AUs so much, thank you for sharing them! I've been craving some Bruce/Danny lately, would you be willing to write more of Freelance Inventor?

Danny helps his mom set the foldable table, lining it up with their dinner table and the second one he had placed previously. Quickly cleaning off the surface with a wet rag, Danny ensures there is no dust before laying a lovely red tablecloth on it.

The red material nearly hides the poinsettia embroiled in the design in a darker shade of red. He runs his hands over it, smiling at the memories this cloth has brought him.

His grandmother passed it down to his mother after his parent's marriage. It was initially meant to be used for Christmas dinners only as per Fenton tradition. Still, seeing as his parents always turned that into a month-long argument, the Fentons started to use it as a Thanksgiving dinner decoration only.

He always brightened whenever his mom would come down from the attic saying the truck of unique Thanksgiving tablecloths. There were seven altogether, but it warmed him whenever he saw it.

Maddie promised to give the trunk to the first of her children to marry, and secretly, Danny hoped it would be him. His sisters liked Thanksgiving fine but not as much as he.

Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday. His family always cooked together, played games, watched movies, had silly little Fenton traditions, and it was just a time to be together.

Bruce and his kids would be coming over this year. Alfred had hurt his back and could not cook Thanksgiving dinner as usual, so Danny asked if the Waynes could join them.

Ever since their friendship, Danny has spent Thanksgiving in Amity Park. Christmas in Gotham and New Year would be a switch between them. His family had been fine with him splitting the holidays, but his Dad had been asking for years for the two to mix, and this year would finally be it.

Danny finishes setting the plates, knives and forks down. He made sure to fold the napkins into animals for the respected person sitting there. A peacock for Alfred, A butterfly for Bruce, an elephant for Dick, a robin for Jason, a bat for Tim, A dog for Damian, an octopus for Steph, a swan for Cass, a bunny for Duck, a bear for Jazz, a cat for his mom, a jellyfish for Dad, an owl for Dani and finally gorilla for himself.

Danny has his own trunk for Thanksgiving, having started purchasing solid linen napkins when he was seven. He uses multiple sizes and colors to make his animals, and when he's done, he can't help but beam at the colorful animals on the plates.

Except for Alfred's. His peacock is sitting inside his wine glass, the green and blue of his tail falling over his plate.

In the kitchen, his mom and dad are dancing around each other, wiping up a meal that, for once, isn't anywhere near ectoplasm. The pair had gone in beforehand to remove contamination and cleaned it out, claiming they wanted to impress Bruce's family. This means that their food will likely not come to life this dinner.

It also meant the Waynes would be mighty surprised by how good chiefs his parents are. In the privacy of his heart, Danny keeps the secret that while Alfred was good, he was nowhere near Fentons' level of cooking.

Jazz comes down from upstairs, looking dazzlingly in her black dress and perfectly done make-up. The Fentons always dressed to the nines for Thanksgiving, even if they only stayed in their living rooms.

"Looks great, Danny!" She says with a bright smile,e eyeing the table and smiling when her eyes land on her bear. Danny had used a white napkin to simulate Bearbert's lab coat. "Finished with the rest of the house?"

Danny waves his hand, beaming at the decorations he has set up. The entire first floor had miniature pumpkins scattered about on tabletop surfaces. The couch cushions had been replaced with light orange ones. Hung up around doorways and surrounded windows were red, brown, and yellow leaves fines, interweaved with sunflowers.

Small sunflower wreaths were also placed on the walls, and linking them together was a sheer red cloth that dropped into small hoops between them.

A few larger pumpkins were placed near the walls, and some fake leafy vines were placed on the ground to resemble a pumpkin patch pathway. Danny loved the multiple scented candles and small acorn lights he had looped around the edges of the furniture, turning off the other lights to make them pop.

It gave a homey but festive vibe that he knows the Waynes are unused to. The decorations for their Holidays were always large and expensive. Brought together by a team of interior designers who made everything look great, just slightly artificial.

Or maybe that was Danny's middle-class mindset.

The Fentons had money- with his parent's PhDs, Danny's freelance, Jazz's brilliant work, and Dani's photos- but they had always remained with a middle-class mindset, never going for the over-the-top shows of wealth the Waynes had.

Even the clothes he had on now made him feel like they were too much, despite having bought them himself. He was wearing his best suit, and Bruce took him to get tailored because heaven knows Danny couldn't tell what was considered good quality. Although they hugged his body in all the right places, Danny felt silly.

"Wonderful work as usual." Jazz's smile turned even larger. His sister considers the hung-up wreaths with a critical eye. Danny moved to stand next to her as she sighed wishfully. "Remember the year you learned how to make those?"

Danny laughs. "Yeah, you biked me to all the hobby stores in Amity Park because I was determined to make my own decorations and didn't understand why a seven-year-old couldn't walk alone."

"You threw such a fit about standing on my training wheels while I petaled." She snorts, shifting her voice higher to emulate kid Danny. "Jazz, can't you go faster! People think we need training wheels like I could ride a bike without them. I literally hit a tree the day before!"

"I was embarrassed people were seeing us 'cause I didn't realize how awesome it was for my nine-year-old sister to do something like that for me." Danny side hugs her. "You were pretty amazing growing up, Jazz. I'm sorry I didn't realize it as a kid."

His elder sister hugs him back. "It's alright. I'm sorry I was so stubborn as a kid, too. You were right back then. We could have just walked."

"Yeah, but then we would have missed out on bonding in the hospital when we went down Sisneros Hill." Danny laughs. " The matching casts were a good lesson for how breaks worked."

Jazz snorts, then bursts into laughter as the memories play again behind her eyes. Danny finds himself joining her, and his heart swells with love. Eventually, they calm down long enough for Jazz's eyes to soften at the small table with crafts supplies. "You're going to include the Waynes in the Danny's decor tradition?"

"Yup." Danny rubs the back of his head. "I figured we could do it after Dinner. Before or during Dad's karaoke."

Danny planned on having the Wayne children make their own wreaths to add to his collection. He hoped they liked it as it was a Fenton tradition he started with his family when he was nine.

The one above the little table was the first ever wreath he made at nine years old. It looked terrible compared to the others, but it made him happy.

Jazz hums "I'm sure they will love it. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what's up."

"What's going on between you and Bruce?" Jazz turns to him, crossing her arms but not looking judgmental. If anything, there is only curiosity in her voice. "You've known him for ten years, you're heavily involved with his kids' upbringing, and even though you always travel for work, you always make time for him and the kids. Are you two dating?" "

Danny blinked, taken aback. "I mean....Bruce means a lot to me, but I'm not sure we have that kind of relationship."

Jazz considers his response before carefully asking, as if worried her words will offend "Do you want to have that kind of relationship with him?"

The question causes him to pause. He finds his mind drawing a blank even if his heart leaps a little in his chest.

"I don't know. You know I don't really feel urges like that." He admits after a while, leaning back into the wall and picturing Bruce's face. It flashes with a warmth that he rarely saw the billionaire betow upon anyone else. But did that make him excited? Was it only for him? Did he want to do things with Bruce?

He wrinkles his nose at the thought of Bruce and him in bed, but the idea of kissing the other man isn't so bad. Unusual since Danny always found the action to be gross.

"I know you're asexual, but that isn't the same thing as being aromantic." His sister says gently. "You can want to have a romantic relationship with someone without the physical aspects."

"I guess I just never considered it." He admits after a moment of the pair standing there. His mind is whirling with the idea now. He thought that after ten years, he had never considered the idea that Bruce was something more.

But in a way, he was. Bruce had somehow turned into one of his most important people, always playing in the back of his mind, and when Danny thinks of happiness, he imagines the Waynes. When someone says family, it isn't just his parents and sisters; it's the rich man with a heart of gold, his butler, and his ragtag team of children.

Goodness. When did that happen?

"That's alright if you don't," Jazz tells him. She nods her head to where his parents are finishing the touches on the dinner. Dani had come down at some point- looking fabulous in her red jumper- and was helping Dad with the fudge. "They consider Bruce your lover, you know? Mom and Dad still struggle with the concept of asexual, so don't let them pressure you tonight. They will start asking for you two to set a wedding date, and although I talked them out of it, don't be surprised if they corner you later."

Danny thinks back to all the graduations, the birthday cards, the Christmas presents, and the random visits his parents would do for the Wayne children. It hits him then that they had been treating them like grandchildren since Dick was nine, and he wonders why he never noticed before.

No wonder Dad has wanted mixed holidays for years now. They thought they were grandparents.

The strangest part? Danny was okay with it if they saw the Wayne children as grandchildren. It actually made him feel warm and proud to be their son.

But that would mean they saw Bruce as their son-in-law, and Danny wasn't sure how he felt about it yet. He liked it, but he was scared of what it implied.

Why did his heart leap with joy? Why did he imagine coming home to Bruce? Why did he feel giggly and nervous like a schoolboy again?

Had Danny....been in love with Bruce for years and never noticed? Is this feeling the same as other people's when they like someone romantically?

Jazz observes his face, able to read him long before she finishes her psychology degree in profiling. She must see his thoughts because she reaches out to place a comforting hand on his arms. "Whatever you figure out, Bruce has been here for ten years. He'll be here for ten more, even if it's just as friends."

The doorbells dings. Dani bounces out of the kitchen towards it with a cheer. "They're here!"

Danny glances over, and his eyes catch Bruce's warm ones over his younger sister's head. His heart flutters as his friend gives him that unique smile despite Dani clutching him in a bone-crushing hug. His children are piled behind him, and seeing it all makes him feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

Oh gods, was he in love?

[serenity-loves-red]

Note: Y’all is shirtless Phainon the new trend now not that i’m complaining? Hoyoverse pls stop giving me ideas😩

Phainon likes you, very much so that it became a common knowledge in Okhema. He even thought he was so lowkey and excellent in keeping it a secret until Mydei asked him if you already got together when he saw Phainon looks to happy.

That was when he finally knew that his so-called secret isn’t actually a secret. He got really embarrassed when Mydei pointed it out how he was so obvious yet somehow, you weren’t able to catch on.

Idiots, some people calls you both. Others would say cute slowburn soon-to-be lovers who just need a bit of push.

For Phainon? He just thinks how embarrassing everything is.

Some groups even started placing bets on when Phainon can finally has his courage to ask you out. Not just those mixed signal moves that you always interpreted as platonic.

You, the one who made the Deliverer of Amphoreus weak on his knees just look so clueless and slow. You keep explaining that how Phainon acted with you was just like how you both normally do.

“Phainon doesn’t like me like that.” You laughed when someone pointed it out. “We’re just friends.” You always reasoned out.

A bit of oblivious to his advances that makes people who sees you two together just wants to bash your faces together to make you kiss.

Phainon somehow felt relieved hearing that and just let you believe what you wanted to. He knows now is not the right time and when it is, he will surely show you how determined and serious he is pursuing you.

And that right time came faster than he could say Amen to Kephale.

Phainon’s decision on wooing you slowly was put on a challenge when you met Mydei.

Phainon had accompanied you to Marmoreal Market when you wanted to check for some fruits. On your way, you met Mydei who Phainon enthusiastically introduced.

You already knew the man named Mydei but never actually met him. So when you did, you can’t stop ogling him.

And Phainon? Oh Kephale, he never felt this regretful when introducing Mydei to anyone before. And you– can you stop ogling over his rival? You never even looked at him that way!

He nudged at you but you just gave him a brief side eye and gestured your eyes at Mydei.

Why did it took you so long to introduce this man to me huh? I thought we were friends. He somehow managed to understand you.

Forget all those fruits! You keep looking at Mydei’s exposed chest, complete forgetting about him.

Phainon couldn’t let you do that. So without thinking straight. He pulled your arm to stop you from walking.

“Wha-“ you managed to stutter out before being boggled by the sight before you.

Phainon just lit himself on fire until his upper body was bare.

“Can you look at me now?” He said, eyes completely focused on you. “Do I really have to took off my clothes for you to just look at me?”

He looks so serious that for a second you didn’t know what to say. It was until he felt the eyes and whistles from the crowd that was slowly forming that he let go of your arm, but kept you close.

He even has the audacity to look embarrassed when he was the one who started stripping!

“Don’t mind us!” Someone quipped from the crowd. “Go Lord Phainon! You can do it!” They cheered.

Red faced, Phainon mustered all his remaining sanity and confessed. “…I love you. I’ve always did but don’t know what to say. I wanted to wait until the time is right but…”

“You don’t have to explain anything but to tell you, I already have an inkling. I just didn’t want to assume anything and make it weird for us so I waited for you confess.” You replied feeling happy despite the bizarre situation.

“And I love you too.” You smiled, holding his hand and gave a quick peck to his cheek.

“But do you really have to take off your shirt?”

Ps. It was Aglaea’s idea in making Phainon jealous by having Mydei to show up. And it worked she won the bet

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part four.

part one. | part two. | part three.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence, talks of mental health, mention of jacking off, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, oh no i made the void sexy!

a/n ; sorry for the wait! this was meant to be a longer part but i honestly didn't want to wait to post HAHA, but i really hope you guys like it !!! guys i've gotten so attached to xerox as an oc you have nooo idea

main masterlist. read on ao3!

listen to a xerox playlist on spotify / youtube music! xerox's face claim :)

John’s morning started off as routinely as ever. Get out of bed at six-thirty AM sharp. Brush teeth. Stretches. Jogging. Muscle training at the gym. Scroll through hate tweets as he cools down. Shower. Then, finally, breakfast. 

He made his way to the kitchen. To none of his surprise, you were already there—or a copy of you was—sitting at the farthest end of the island, completing a page of that ridiculously thick puzzle book of yours and nursing a mug of hot tea. Bob was beside you, hunched over what John spotted to be a Rubix cube. It was nearly solved.

John only grunted in response when Bob said, “Morning, Walker.”

He grabbed a box of raisin bran from the pantry (shoving aside multiple Avengers Wheaties boxes for it) and served himself a bowl. Then, when he made his way to the fridge—

“Where is the milk?” he asked, immediately turning to you two.

You didn’t bother to peer up from your book. “There was barely any left. We gave the last of it to Alpine.”

“You assholes,” John snarked. “You gave the last of my milk to the stupid cat?”

“It’s not yours,” Bob replied, defensive. “It’s for the entire team.”

“Well, what am I supposed to have with my cereal, then?” John hissed, much akin to a toddler. 

“Yogurt?” Bob volunteered. “There’s Greek on the second shelf—”

“I don’t want yogurt,” Walker bit back as if Bob had just offered him mouse droppings.

This time, you looked up from your book to shoot him an unimpressed glare. “You won’t die if you skip cereal for a day. Make some toast, or something. Besides—Bob and I are going grocery shopping in a bit. We’re low on eggs, and Ava wants cucumbers. If you ask nicely… we can get you some more milk, too.”

John muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” you asked with a pointed look, exaggeratingly cupping a hand behind your ear. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes, yeah, get me some milk. Jesus.” 

“Magic word?” Bob asked, looking all too smug.

John scowled. The two of you were so annoying together. “Please,” he gritted out. 

Both you and Bob exchanged amused glances, then returned to your devices, leaving John to pour his dry cereal back into the box and grab two slices of whole wheat bread to toast, grumbling about his ruined routine all the way.

Bob felt a little swell of pride at the bottom of his chest every time you accepted one of the fruits he’d offered you. It wasn’t like he could tell which apples were better than the rest—he was honestly just picking at random—but the ones you rejected and put back onto the piles were said to be bruised, misshapen, or squishy. All things he thought were quite normal qualities for fruit, but he trusted your fruit judgment.

“What’s wrong with the squishy ones?” Bob asked, picking up an apple you tossed to the side and inspecting its waxy red peel. He felt bad for the fruits discarded for seemingly asinine reasons.

The sour face you pulled made Bob’s heart trip over itself. “Just trust me. I had to have a lot of squishy fruit during my time in Madripoor. It either means they’re rotten, rotting, or they’ve got worms wriggling around inside.”

Bob blanched. Suddenly he didn’t feel all that bad anymore.

After all the fruits, vegetables, proteins, and generally healthier options were tossed into the cart, the two of you went on a frenzy grabbing junk food to your heart’s content: chips and sweets and frozen fried foods galore. The two of you stood in front of the vast refrigerated section full to the brim with dozens of options for ice cream. 

“Raspberry s’more swirl?” Bob ventured.

You wrinkled your nose in distaste. 

“What?” he asked.

“That sounds so American. And, yes, I do mean that as an insult.”

The two of you toddled out of the aisle juggling half a dozen tubs of varying flavors, none of which being the Swirly S'mores or whatever it was.

After picking up the last of what was on the list, Bob began to unload the groceries onto the conveyor belt. The cashier asked for your autograph with a nervous grin, brandishing a pen and notepad for you to scribble on. You never really bothered to come up with an autograph—you didn’t need one for the first three decades of your life, and now all of a sudden everyone around each corner of the street was asking for one. Just the other day, you gingerly signed a sweaty guy’s forehead, and the ink was already running down his face before he could turn and jog away. Ava called him a pig, and you could only pray that he was far enough not to hear.

You haphazardly scribbled XEROX in large capitol letters across the paper, hoping it would suffice. The cashier made no complaint and pocketed the autograph with a giddy air about her.

“Sorry if this is weird to ask—can you split? I’ve always wanted to see it in person.” 

You blinked. Then, with a small, relenting smile, you duplicated, and your copy waved awkwardly. The cashier snapped a quick photo of you and your copy without even bothering to ask—you hadn’t even seen her whip out her phone—and you could feel Bob’s concerned eyes bore into you. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, so you silently paid for the groceries (with one of Valentina’s credit cards), bumped Bob’s shoulders with yours, and stuffed the goods into the reusable Avengers bags Alexei insisted you take with you. It was embarrassing using your own merch, but you tried not to think about it too much.

“Are you okay?” Bob asked once the two of you slipped back into the car, having loaded the food into the back. “That was…”

“Our new normal,” you sighed, pinching the space between your brows. “I mean—it’s fine, I guess. They’re just excited. I get it. My face is never getting scrubbed from the internet now, though.”

“Yeah,” Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel you.”

Yesterday, Walker showed him a tiktok of the Void in the sky, crashing helicopters into buildings. Bob watched the screen with a small, shameful frown, until you tugged him away insisting that he helped you reach for a cup too high for you to reach. Of course, he knew that you were more than capable of getting it yourself, but he liked how you made him feel useful. Plus—he liked how your hand cuffed his shoulder in gratitude once he handed the cup to you.

“I love grabbing groceries with you,” he blurted out.

You glanced over at him, drumming your hands along the steering wheel. Then, you looked back at the road and smiled—the particular smile that made Bob’s insides melt like putty. “I love spending time with you too, Pal.”

Bucky Barnes didn’t care for many things. Flashy trends the new generation kept cycling through. Texting etiquette, or his lack thereof. The dozens of settings on washing machines nowadays. Ava’s propensity to phase straight through his room because it was a “short cut” to the gym. 

But one thing he did care about—a considerable amount more than anything else, honestly—was his cat, Alpine.

So it took a great amount of reluctance to hand her over to you and Bob for the weekend. He had to fly out for a last minute undercover mission, and he couldn’t leave Alpine all alone in his apartment for days in a row. Usually he would leave Alpine with Sam, but the two were in a weird funk as of late.

“I don’t give her more than three pieces of Whiskers’ Delights a day,” Bucky warned, having a nagging suspicion that you weren’t really listening to him. “I don’t want to spoil her.”

Your fingers curled beneath Alpine’s chin, cooing unintelligible noises. Bucky rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

“Just don’t overfeed her. Make sure you leave out a bowl of water for her, okay? And if she starts scratching stuff up, just pick her up and put her in front of the scratching post. I’ve been trying to train her to stop ruining my furniture.”

“Got it,” Bob said, before joining you in your hums and coos to the purring feline. 

“See you later, Alpine,” said Bucky, a rare sort of warmth seeping into his tone. 

Alpine flicked her tail at her father, then rubbed her fuzzy white head against Bob’s sweatshirt.

Bucky grunted out something that sounded suspiciously similar to, “Traitor.” He stalked towards the elevator with a deep-set scowl. Though, once he turned to press the button, he caught sight of you tugging Alpine into your lap, pressed up right beside Bob, your head resting on his. The man beside you was as red as a beetroot. 

And Bucky wasn’t stupid. Despite his callous nature to the rest of the new “Avengers”, he found that he was rooting for the two of you. You would be good for each other. He wouldn’t be caught dead ever admitting it, though. 

“Where’s Bob? You two are usually glued to the hip.” Ava asked out of the blue, startling you so much that you immediately split into two copies. Two pairs of your shocked eyes glared at her.

“Ava!” you snapped crossly, before reabsorbing your copy. “You gotta stop phasing into our rooms without knocking first. And Bob went out with Yelena—apparently she needed him for something.”

The woman plopped down onto the couch beside you, languidly crossing her arms. “Right.”

You let the silence settle between the two of you, picking up the book you’d been reading and carrying on. Then, feeling her fidget beside you, you asked, “Is there a reason you’re here or do you just want to spend time with me? Because you could’ve just asked.”

The face she pulled was dour, but fleeting. “Well, I just—I had a question. It’s stupid.”

“Mhm.”

“You know how the both of us were… raised in labs our whole lives, y’know the entire schtick.”

“... Yes?”

Now visibly uncomfortable, Ava tugged at the collar of her suit. “I just—I wanted to know… how you deal with it. The memories of it all. It’s just that you make it look so easy. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Me?” you said in utter disbelief, bookmarking your page and setting the book aside. “I make it look easy? Are you sure about that?” You thought about your near panic attack two days ago in the training room that left you breathless and spiraling, over nothing in particular. 

This made Ava scoff. “Okay, relatively speaking. In general, you’re still pretty fucked up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks.” Then, after a moment of thinking about it, you told her, “I think it helps that I can talk about it now. Not only to a therapist but to—friends.” The word felt foreign on your tongue, but it left a warm, homey feeling there, as well. “The puzzles help, too. Reminders that I’m safe and in control now.”

As she listened, Ava drew her knees up to her chest, chin resting over them. “I keep getting these memories. It’s like they attack me, and I—physically can’t breathe or move. Do you get those?”

“All the time,” you whispered.

“How do you stop it?”

You shook your head with a sad smile. “I don’t. I can’t just forget it all and push it away. I just… learn to live with it, learn to manage it. All the pain I’ve experienced.” You hesitated. “And inflicted.”

Pensive, Ava asked, “So you just—ride it out?”

“Not really. The past isn’t something that’ll just go away one day. It’s more of an acceptance, forgiveness, and moving on sort of thing. At least that’s what Janice tells me.”

“Who the hell’s Janice?”

“My therapist,” you said, giving Ava a nudge. “I can ask her if she can refer you to someone? Or we can just… talk to each other if that’s too much for now. I’m a good listener.”

With a brow raised, Ava retorted, “No, you’re not. You didn’t listen to a single thing Bucky said at last week’s meeting.”

 “It’s the same shit he says every week.”

“Doesn’t help when you and Bob are whispering and giggling in each other’s ears, too,” she deadpanned, making your cheeks flush with heat. “You two are like little schoolgirls.”

Which was funny of her to say, considering neither of you ever really went to a proper school.

You wrinkled your nose and stuck your tongue out at her, to which she only flipped you off with both her middle fingers. “You’re deflecting!”

“That something your therapist taught you, as well?”

“Yes, actually. Apparently I do it a lot, too.”

Ava grunted in irritation. Then, finally, she said with great reluctance, “I think that sounds nice. The talking thing. With you.”

You smiled an awfully wide smile. “Yeah?”

“Don’t expect it to happen all the time.”

“Sure.”

“I’m a busy woman.”

“I’m aware.”

“And I don’t want it to be a sobfest or a pity party. I just want to—talk.”

“I know, Ava. I got you.”

“And if you tell anyone, I’ll gouge your eyes out with a hot spoon.”

“Mhm. Wait—not even Bob?”

Ava glared at you. 

“I’m joking!” you exclaimed, hands raised, though the idea of not debriefing every minute detail of your day to Bob seemed less than appealing. But, as hard as it was to admit to yourself, you cared for Ava, and you wanted her to feel safe to speak to you in confidence. “We can talk whenever you want, Ava. Real casual.”

“Will you tell me about your… feelings and shit, too? So it won’t feel like—”

“A therapy session?” you finished for her, smothering a laugh. “Yeah, definitely. Trust me, I’m not qualified to be a therapist. The nurses at my facility sure liked to trauma dump on me whenever they drew my blood, though…”

And as you dove into the stories of your past, Ava could feel the weight on her chest lighten. Not completely, not even a lot—but just a little. And maybe that was enough for now.

—

In all honesty, Bob wasn’t even supposed to be here. Yelena could’ve brought just about any of the Avengers along with her—but now that all of them were ultra famous—save for Bob—he was simply the safest bet. Plus it helped to factor in that he was practically indestructible. It was meant to be a very quick and easy stealth mission, anyway. Bob was going to create a diversion with the scientists, who were then going to alert the guards, and Yelena would sneak into the underground lab, grab a vial or two of the poisonous drug, and high-tail back to headquarters for some nerdy guy in a labcoat to start fixing up an antidote in case someone decided to commit some casual bioterrorism. 

Of course, she should’ve known that not everything would go according to plan.

It was partially both of their fault. Bob fucked up by taking the wrong turn and swinging straight into the lab Yelena was currently swiping from, and Yelena fucked up by trying to push him out the way he came instead of helping him up the vent she had busted in with. She wasn’t very used to working with others—particularly those who had virtually no prior training in the field.

There was a loud crash as Bob careened into a metal cart with her crowding motions, and a few vials precariously wobbled in their holders, before toppling to the ground. Glass shards rained all over the floor, and a puff of green smoke filled the air between the two. Yelena danced back several steps, grabbing Bob by the shoulder and yanking him away, as well. She covered her nose and mouth with her palm, and Bob copied her motions with a slight delay.

Panic settled in Yelena’s chest. She thought, at first, that it had been the poison. She was going to die in a lab choking on her own vomit, and Bob would just be forced to watch. 

But then—Yelena smelled it before Bob did. Familiar. It was sweet, almost. Like the free peppermint candies you would get at a nice restaurant after a pricey meal, or those flavored flossing picks Yelena liked to buy from the pharmacy three blocks away from her old apartment. 

In the case file she read, it was said that the poison was gaseous and was instantaneous in its harm. But Yelena felt completely fine. She glanced over at Bob, who also looked to be alright, if not a little wide-eyed and sweaty. Which was normal for him. 

If that wasn’t poison, what was it? Yelena cautiously removed her hand from her face. 

“I don’t think we’re going to die,” she said. “Which is good, because I really don’t want to die before finishing the new season of this crappy reality show where hot people try not to mash their groins together. Seriously, I cannot believe non-asexual people are real.” 

There was a moment of silence. Yelena and Bob blinked at each other.

“Oh, wow. I did not mean to say any of that. Weird. What we broke must be some sort of gaseous version of a truth serum. No wonder it smelled familiar—we used to use a liquid version in the Red Room. Are you okay, Bob? How are you feeling? Sorry I pushed you into the cart.”

Bob glanced over at himself, as if checking to make sure he wasn’t actually impaled or stabbed or on fire. “I’m, uh—I think so? I’m feeling really thirsty.”

“You know what, if we get out of here alive, I’ll buy you whatever drink you want from K-Mart.”

“Okay. God, I knew I shouldn’t have come. I fucked it all up. Literally anyone would have been a better pick. Xerox or Ava or, hell, even Walker—”

 “Okay, well, first of all, it’s not all your fault. We both fucked up. Second, I picked you, so—nothing we can do about it now,” said Yelena matter-of-factly. She strode across the lab to grab a stool for Bob to climb on so he could shimmy into the vents. “And Walker is too busy doing Buzzfeed puppy interviews to join me, which was a shock to me—I didn’t even know they still did those. Ava claimed a break day, and Xerox had a therapy—”

At the sound of your name, Bob suddenly blurted out the first thought that came to mind, “I think I’m in love with Xerox.” 

One second. Then two. 

Bob slapped his hands over his mouth with wide eyes when he registered what he’d just said. “Oh, God. What the fuck? I didn’t want to say that! Why did I say that? Truth serum, I know! But I—Wh—? I didn’t want you to know that yet?! Please don’t tell Xerox!” With each and every word he said, the tone of his voice grew increasingly squeakier.

The blonde assassin eyed her friend with an incredulous look. “... Yeah, Bob, we all knew that. You aren’t subtle at all.” With a scoff, Yelena gestured to the stool. “Now get on, Mr. Lovebird. The guards will be here any second.”

Bob’s expression was cemented into a horrified twist. As he clambered onto the chair with wobbly legs, he began to pull himself up into the vents. “Does Xerox know?” he called out, wincing when he heard his voice echo back through the cavernous metal tunnels now encompassing him.

“I don’t think so,” Yelena said from below, following his lead and slipping into the vents. “But, honestly, you should say something as soon as possible—unless you want Alexei to blurt it out on live television to appease the fans.”

“What—?!”

Before he could finish, the lab burst open, crawling with armed guards in gas masks. The lone stool sitting just beneath an open vent was more obvious than a flashing neon sign saying: IN HERE! 

Gunfire began to ring out below. Yelena and Bob scrambled onto their hands and knees and shuffled off as quickly as they could. Honestly, Yelena wasn’t too worried for Bob—after all, he was just about invincible. She, however, wasn’t the least bit bulletproof. So when Bob tugged her to move up in front of him so he could act as shield between her and the bullets, Yelena neither complained nor protested.

“Hey, Bob?” she called over the gunfire, which was beginning to fade to faint plinks behind them as they put more distance between them and the soldiers.

Bob flinched at a particularly loud gunshot. “Yeah?”

“I’m really happy for you.”

Creased confusion. “For—for being shot at?”

“What? No! For Xerox. You deserve to be happy. Both of you.”

And Bob, even though he was quite literally being hunted and gunned down, couldn’t help but feel a small spark of happiness in his chest, even if it was accompanied with the putrid stink of shame. He would be thinking of Yelena’s words the whole way out of the lab, the brief fight with the soldiers once exiting the vents, and in the car ride back to base. When you greeted him at the door, he didn’t hesitate to return the hug you had flung at him, running his warm palms over your cold forearms. He met Yelena’s knowing eyes over your shoulder.

He wanted to tell you. He did, of course he did. But—there was fear, puppeteered by the Void. Paralyzing. Stinging. Biting. 

Time. That’s what he needed. So he wouldn’t tell you, at least not for now, when everything was so good. He didn’t want to fuck up one of the few good things he’d just got in his life yet. Even if it felt like his chest was about to cleave itself into two at the thought of not telling you the truth about his feelings.

There was hardly a night that Bob spent where he wasn’t tossing and turning when trying to go to sleep. Shirt shirked off because he was so hot, and then promptly put back on because the feeling of the silk sheets against his bare skin irked him. Pacing across his room one second, then curled up in the center of his bed the next. Hands in his hair, then balled by his sides. Tried counting sheep, but they would always end up mutilated and bleating sad noises, so he stopped doing that. Pillows, no pillows. Rain noises, lofi beats, whale sounds, complete silence. Reading, scrolling through his phone, hell—even trying to jack off. 

Nothing worked. 

And so, exhausted beyond relief and near the brink of tears, Bob swiftly left his room and without thinking, he found himself automatically heading towards yours down the hall. He stood in front of your closed door, swaying on the spot. Too tired to think straight, but still had enough sense not to barge into your room unannounced. 

He did this often. Would stand in front of your room like a forlorn dog that had been kicked out—listening for signs of life in there. He would sometimes hear music softly playing, your soft murmurs to yourself, or, his favorite tinkering peals of laughter. More often than not, he would turn right back around and go back to his room, smacking himself in the head and thinking himself a loser for needing someone else to go to sleep. Because that was exactly who Bob was—a loser.

The few times he brought himself to knock on your door, however—he didn’t exactly feel like a loser when you smiled at him, hands immediately tugging him in, excited to show him a painting you’d been working on or Alpine curled up in the corner of your room. You made him feel wanted. Like he wasn’t a complete nuisance to be bothering you this late at night. The two of you would often accidentally fall asleep together. On the bed, on the floor—once even in the kitchen when you both meandered your way there for some midnight snacks and never left.

This time, Bob felt the shame weigh extra heavy as he knocked on your door. What if you were busy? Or you were tired, and not in the mood to see him? Or you didn’t want to have company? Or that he was invading your privacy? Or you—

The door swung open, and you were rubbing one of your eyes with a fist, blinking at him with an adorable sort of grogginess that only came with—

Oh, God, you’d been sleeping, Bob realized with complete mortification and embarrassment. Ugh, he was such an idiot. 

“Palindrome,” you said, voice slightly hoarse from your rest. Despite Bob’s stiff demeanor, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in. I’m glad you came. I was having a really bad dream.”

“Oh,” he said, all soft and troubled. He stepped in, immediately hit with the jasmine-scented air. You’d bought the diffusor a few days ago and the aroma was just heavenly. Bob could immediately feel his tense shoulders loosen a smidge. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, waving your hands dismissively. One of them fell on his arm, guiding him to the bed. 

Bob could feel his heart jump to his chest. If you noticed his eyes roaming all over you, you didn’t say anything. To that, he was grateful. He was already flustered enough. With your cheeks blown out into a sigh, you fell face-first into your pillows. 

“Lie down with me. I’m so cold,” you said once you turned back around to face him, making a show of curling in on yourself and shivering. 

Bob spied the thick blanket you were lying on top of. The easy solution would’ve been to peel it back and drape it over you. But the other solution sounded far more appealing to him. 

With a hum, Bob settled beside you, looping his arms around you, your back flush against his chest. The two of you slotted together like puzzle pieces sliding into place. 

“You’re so warm.”

“Yeah, sorry, I—”

“Run hot. I know. It’s so nice. You’re like my personal heater.” 

Bob liked the feeling of your cold nose pressing against his overheating bicep. “And you’re my personal, er, ice block? AC unit? Whichever sounds nicer, that’s what you are.”

You let out an amused huff at that. “Back in Madripoor, it’s almost always terribly hot. But when it reaches a certain hour at nighttime, it gets all windy and cold. We don’t have heaters in Southeast Asia like we do here—they’re impractical. So back then I would multiply and hold myself to get warm. Problem was that I’m always cold, so it felt like hugging—just like you said—an ice block. But I kept doing it. It felt nice to be held… even if it was just me.”

Bob squeezed you tighter. “Sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He wished he was better at comforting you. 

“Don’t be,” you replied, sounding perfectly content. “I’ve got you now, don’t I?”

Beneath his ribs, he could feel his heart swell. Of course you could make the most useless man in the world feel like he was worth something.

“When I was a kid…” Bob began, always nervous to speak about his past, “I would get so hot that I would get out of bed and take a pillow with me and sleep by the window.”

“That’s so cute,” you crooned. He could feel you smile into his arm.

“Mmh. My dad wasn’t very happy about it. Said I was wasting all the house’s heating by keeping the windows open.”

“Yeah, well, your dad’s an asshole. Fuck him.”

“Hah. Yeah… fuck h—yeah.”

There was a comfortable silence for a while. Bob could feel himself rocking in and out of the sweet realm of slumber. Your voice reeled him out like a fish being pulled on a hook.

“Hmhng?” was the strange noise he made, having not heard what you said.

“Sorry. Did you fall asleep?”

“Yeah.” Bob sounded sheepish. “But I want to hear it. What you said.”

“Sorry,” you needlessly apologized again, even though Bob would rather be awake so he could spend more time with you. “I was just… I said that I don’t remember my name. My actual one. Or if I ever had one in the first place.”

Bob blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think they—the scientists that experimented on me—ever gave me a name. I had a number. Patient 080. But I didn’t have a name.”

Now, Bob was nodding. “Xerox was just—a terrible nickname. It wasn’t your actual name.”

“Yeah.” You shifted in his hold so that your hand could intertwine with one of his, toying with his fingers. “But I do like Xerox now. It’s mine—I’ve made it mine. I just wonder if I ever had a real name before that. I don’t remember much from back then. It always feels like I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle.”

“Maybe…” Bob trailed off, muttering.

“What?”

“Nah, no—it’s probably a stupid idea.”

“Nothing you could say to me would be a stupid idea, Pal. Please tell me. I wanna hear it.”

Bob, wincing, suggested, “Maybe you could try to do some research? See if they have any databases anywhere or something?”

“I did. The lab is an illegal operation, so they’re wiped clean. If there are records, it would be encrypted, and in Madripoor.” You were silent for several moments. “I could go back, in theory. Look for something. Anything.”

Bob’s brows furrowed, a queer sort of dread settling in the pits of his stomach. “You wanna leave?”

Silence prickled the air like needles through silk. 

“I don’t. Going back has always been the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve spent years running away. But—it would be closure, in a way. Maybe I need to do this. You know?”

Bob hugged you close to him, breathing you and the jasmine-tasting air in. “Would you come back?”

“Of course I would. I would miss you too much to stay away. Plus—the news will go insane if one of the New Avengers suddenly disappears. Or maybe they would move on in two or three days. Just another faded headline.”

The frown wouldn’t leave his face, no matter how hard he tried. He was grateful you were facing away from him. “I’ll miss you, too. A lot.”

He could hear you smile this time. “I’ll be back before you know it. I'll only need a few days. A week at most.” You made a few noises as you thought things through, and Bob felt the inexplicable, sudden urge to kiss your very soft-looking shoulder. He managed to restrain himself, albeit barely.

“I guess it’s settled, then,” you said, completely oblivious to his embarrassing thoughts of kissing you. “I’m going back to Madripoor.”

With you in his arms, Bob fell asleep in no time. The problem now, however, were the debilitating nightmares that haunted him whenever he was unconscious. Some days it wasn’t so bad—something embarrassing at his old school, or his nights high on meth… when he definitely should’ve been doing something better with his life. But most of the time, they were really bad nightmares. His father, red-faced, belt in hand. Or his mother, bleeding and crying. His friend he would do drugs with—who he couldn’t even remember the name of—foaming at the mouth and convulsing as he overdosed. 

Tonight it was a strange combination of all three. And whilst Bob could try to keep the Void controlled and at bay when he was awake—it didn’t ever occur to him that it could take advantage of his unconscious self. 

The darkness began to consume the bed as he twitched and shivered from his nightmares. You, sleeping away a very long day, didn’t notice. Typically, you were a very light sleeper—a habit you had since your hospital and mercenary days—but you’d grown accustomed to Bob’s regular movement during sleep. 

And that was how the Void came to you in your dreams, dark as night, standing a full head taller than you. You blinked up at him, wondering if he was always this… big.

“Xerox,” he greeted, turning his head about to observe your dream-world with the tiny glints of light he had for eyes. The terrain was familiar to him—he’d brought you here before. “Do you often dream of hospitals?”

“Unfortunately,” you replied, picking up one of the half-solid scalpels with a frown. There was a hoarse scream in the distance, one that you’ve had to listen to a million times before: your own. You regarded him with a cruel sort of suspicion. “Am I dreaming you or—?”

“I came of my own volition,” said the Void. “I wanted to see you.”

“Hm.” You wanted to ask why, but you had a feeling you already knew the answer. 

“You know I will never actually go away. Not for you, not for your precious Bob.”

“I know,” you said, voice cracking. With a sigh, you sat back down on the surgical operating table. “I wish you would, though. But that wouldn’t be very realistic.”

The Void came to sit beside you, leg pressed up against yours. He was freezing cold—a lot like you, and a stark opposite to Bob. You shifted away. 

“You will always choose him over me,” said the dark mass. “But he is me. And I, him. There is no separating us. We all have our little void.”

“Nothing little about you,” you grumbled. The Void let out something akin to a laugh—like the quiet rumbles of thunder just before the angry, rageful clap.

There was silence as the two of you watched a surgeon enter, holding the hand of a little-you, leading you back to your cell. The child’s gaunt eyes were round with shock. Blood lined tiny-you’s mouth, slickened your hands and stained deep within the crevices beneath your nails. 

“It stinks of death here,” the Void said. 

“They used to make my newer copies fight the older ones,” you whispered to him. “See if any of their genetic enhancers actually worked. Most of the time it didn’t.”

Raising his hand, the Void turned the surgeon into shadow. The sight brought a small smile to your face. Swift, the Void hovered over younger-you’s shoulders. 

“Oh, precious,” he crooned to the stricken child, who immediately leaned into the darkness’ touch. “Come.”

You watched with furrowed brows. “Where are you taking me?”

“Into my world. It’s stuffy in here. Smells antiseptic.”

His hand reached out for you to take it. And you could see it then—Bob within the Void. You softened just a little bit, though you still refused to take his hand.

“I hope in the real world you’re not taking over the city again. I’m a bit too tired to deal with my shame rooms at the moment.” 

“Really? I thought they were fun. I enjoyed making them for you.” He laughed his timbrous laugh again, to which you only rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s just us two now.” The Void looked down at younger-you. “Well—three. Soon to be four.”

“What—?”

Before you could finish asking him what he meant by that, the dreamscape around you began to shift, dissipating like ink in water. You felt the ground turn from cold tile to a fibrous brown carpet. 

There was shattering glass somewhere behind you. You whirled around to see a familiar man smashing a beer bottle against the wall, going straight for a woman and a young boy at the dinner table. The Void held his hand out, and Bob’s parents immediately turned into elongated shadows. The young boy—tiny Bob—cowered away from the growing darkness seeping into the carpet. 

“Go,” the Void said to younger you, pushing the child forward. 

With a lump in your throat, you stepped forward to take the shoulders of your younger self, kneeling down and using your sleeve to wipe away the blood from your face. Then, the child, both terrified and in awe of the Void, listened to his instructions and obediently went toddling off to young Bob. 

Tiny you prodded at Bob’s shoulder, who only shrunk into himself more. It occurred to you that your younger self likely thought that this was a new opponent for you to fight. To your relief, however, your younger copy only slumped down the wall beside the boy, and began to recite the elements of the periodic table—something you used to do to help you go to sleep. Young Bob turned and listened with wide eyes. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked when you finally tore your gaze away from the children, both out of genuine curiosity and confusion.

“You had no friends,” he said. “I had no friends. At least in here we can pretend.”

“That’s all you do, isn’t it?” you asked him. “Pretend. That’s a sad way to live.”

“It’s the only way,” he responded. “This way, he—we won’t get hurt.”

“But what about our real friendships? What about the rest of the team?”

The Void stepped closer to you. “Is what we have not real?”

No. Yes. Either way, the answer didn’t sound quite right. 

“Whatever it is, it’s not as important as real life. I can’t be stuck in delusions forever. I… we have to live life. A real one.”

Something in the Void’s voice broke—Bob spilling through. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“You said it yourself. You’ll never actually go away,” you whispered. Then, you spared the Void a small, sad smile. “You can come visit. But I’m afraid you can’t stay.”

“You’ll miss me.”

“Oh, I will,” you said, not bothering to deny it. “But I think I’m far happier with where I am now. I don’t need you… hovering over my shoulder anymore.”

You looked to the children, who were now chattering quietly to themselves. Younger you looked happy to be talking to someone your age who wasn’t yourself, for once.

The Void stared at you for a long moment. Then, finally, he asked, “He makes you happy?”

“Bob?” You thought of his warmth. His kindness. His constant, soft touches. His spritely laughter. His stammering. His lopsided smile. His thoughtful gestures. His excessive emoticons in his texts. His love for animals. His strange habit of ad-libbing extra notes to catchy advertisement jingles. “Yes. He does.”

“Then I guess that’s reason enough for me to keep my distance. But I’ll come back. I always come back,” he said. “See you on the other side, Xerox.”

When you flinched awake, a loud, startled gasp emitted from you. You shot upwards on the bed, ripping yourself out of Bob’s warm embrace. The sudden movement made him jerk out of sleep, as well. 

“Wha—Whuss goin’ on?” he sleepily muttered, looking juxtaposingly alarmed and ready to go back to sleep. 

It was only when his warm arms wrapped around you again, did you realize that you were shaking. Immediately, you began sobbing. It was silent as always, but it wracked through your chest and made it difficult for you to breathe. You turned into his hold and buried your face into him, clinging onto him like an ant to sticky nectar, and he let you cry damp spots into his sweatshirt. 

“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” rasped Bob, though he really didn’t know what he was apologizing for. Still, he was almost certain it was his fault. He rubbed comforting circles into your back. “I’m sorry.”

And, once you calmed down enough to regulate your breathing, you found yourself parroting the very same words to him.

[caxde]

bright eyes | eddie munson x reader

summary you're a new neighbour in the trailer park, your's an Eddie's relationship takes a new turn, while navigating life with her little girl (4.3k)

warnings fem!reader, girl!dad Eddie!!!!, fluff, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn strangers to lovers, idiots in love!!!, , english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! 

a/n: the support has been insane, so enjoy part2 <3 part 1 part 3 (they can be read seperatly)

“Munson! There’s a girl here asking for you.” 

The raspy voice of his college snapped him back to reality. He had been working on the same bike for a while now, and had become unaware of everything else that was happening around him. 

But if there was a girl to see him, it could only be you, or maybe Robin. 

He really hoped it’d be you. 

Heads followed him as he crossed the dusty garage floor as he found his way to the opened mechanical door. Lucky for him, you were anxiously waiting there, your hands playing with the hem of your sweater. 

You had been lucky, if you actually think about it. You had left the café you started working at a few weeks ago, so you could go to the trailer park and get some sleep. This last weekend the logistic center that was 30 minutes away had called you, begging you to take the night shift since some of their employees were on vacation. You accepted, since they offered to pay you extra, and in cash. The downside was that the sleep you had lost didn’t seem to come back, and your car had been making a strange sound since then. 

Now your car refused to turn right, and if it did it took way too much strength. 

You avoided spending more than you had to, but it looked like it was finally time. Thank god Eddie works here, you kept thinking as you found your way to the mechanic. 

“Hi.” Your voice was lower, barely holding yourself together. 

“Hi princess.” He tried to cheer you up, a big smile on his face and his affectionate pet name he had only for you. “What a nice surprise.” He kept walking towards you, cutting the distance until you were a step away from each other. 

“I wish it was a surprise.” The way your eyebrow furrowed let him know that you were a bit too anxious, a bit too nervous with the situation. “I need your help.” You added as your palm covered your face for a moment, trying to wipe away the panic. 

“Whatever you need, princess.” And maybe it was his sweet tone, maybe it was the nickname or maybe it was the way his hand held your arm, in a supportive and soft way, that let you finally relax. 

You walked with him to your car, while you told him what was going on. He just nodded and let you talk, knowing that that was just what you needed. 

“It just sucks, I don’t know how I’m gonna get to work now.” You kept speaking as he popped the hood up of your car, and he kept looking at the engine, and everything that crept deep into it, what everything did you had no idea. Eddie was used to people talking while he worked, but oddly enough it made him feel more important, when you were the one doing it. 

“I could drive you.” He replays. His body stood up from being bent over. He was tying his hair up, and you had lost any and every train of thought you had. You had never seen someone look as pretty with a ponytail, even when they were covered in car grease. Black stains in contrast with his white muscle top, decoration his arms in places tattoos didn’t. “I don’t mind, as long as you’re okay with carpooling with Lua.” Eddie’s nervous smile came back, an upside down grin while his eyebrows raised, eyes locked with yours. 

“I’d love that.” 

-

Breakfast was Lua’s favourite. 

A piece of toast with some sweet jam, a cup of warm milk, and some cut up fruit. 

Eddie let her eat it wherever she felt like, time proved that was the better option. She usually preferred to eat it sitting down on the kitchen counter, while Eddie sat on the stools, eyes on the same level. He usually ate the rest of the fruit that he didn’t give to her, while he downed his black coffee. Though if he was honest, he had never cracked how to brew a good cup. 

Lua would babble whatever she had on her mind, she was chattier in the mornings, unlucky for her, Eddie was not a morning person, his energy drained from another poor night’s sleep. 

Everytime he thought about it, it made him laugh. Before her little girl came into his life, he’d sleep until way past noon, usually skipping school, having a cigarette and a coffee -if anything- for breakfast, without a job - a legal one- and with no real reason to do anything with his life. 

Maybe that’s why he cares so much about her, her little light, his reason to keep going, and be better. 

While he looked at her, the world seemed to quiet down for a moment, and everything was fine. 

Three knocks at the door, and he already knew you were on the other side of it. 

“Morning.” Amusement in his voice, in a hush tone. His dippels appeared, as his smile grew wider, they way your hair fell, in a tangled mess, being the reason for it. He was just happy to see you, though he wasn’t going to admit it. Not yet. 

“Hi.” Your voice came out raspy and hoarse. You hadn’t talked to anyone yet, and it made him chuckle even more. He moved his body out of the door frame, letting you plenty of room to walk through. “Coffee?” 

“Already done.” He muttered back, pointing with his head where the mug in his kitchen was. 

You felt your face relax as soon as you saw Lua enjoying her breakfast, quietly. Your eyes closed when your earnest smile came, once her voice rang with excitement as she said your name, as her hands moved through the air. 

“Hi dude!” You matched her energy, the momentary excitement winning the battle for your remaining energy. 

Lua gave you a high five, which you celebrated with a funny face that made her laugh. She offered you a piece of fruit that you accepted in a way too exaggerated manner, that only made her giggles multiply. Unbenoughts to you, Eddie was watching attentively. 

He was memorizing the way your hair fell on your back, and the way it swayed everytime you moved. The way you fitted in your dark washed jeans, the little red shirt from the café hugged your waist and he suddenly had the wish to place his hand there. He didn’t do it. 

Instead he handed you a mug with watered down coffee, that you accepted. He grinned at  the way your nose scrunched once you took the first sip of it. 

“Yeah, I’m not the best coffee maker.” He confessed while he suppressed a laugh. 

“Clearly.” You answered in a joking manner, it wasn’t bad, you just weren’t used to black strong coffee,  not the way he was. “I’m making you breakfast tomorrow.” 

You meant it. He knew, so he accepted with a nod and another smile. 

“Wayne’s sleeping, so we try to not wake him up. It’s difficult when little miss sunshine has all the energy in the world.” He explained while looking at Lua, her beaming smile and giggles made him light up, his thumb cleaning her cheek that had some purple jam on it. 

“There’s no one else in my trailer, she can be as chatty as she wants there.” Lua understood that, as soon as she realised what you were talking about she started to clap and cheer, a soft chuckle escaping from your lips. 

Eddie could hear that symphony for the rest of his days, he thought. 

-

It became a new way to start your days. 

You’d brew some coffee, and prepare an extra mug for Wayne, that Eddie left on the counter of his kitchen before you left for work. 

You’d actually cook, eating something in the early hours for once, a new habit you never had before. 

Lua always knocked on your door whenever they were ready, the little sound on your door followed by her sweet hi, as her arms swanged up in the air. She was becoming more and more comfortable with you, letting you hold her. She even gave you a thank you kiss on the cheek once. 

Today you had some pancake batter sizzling in the pan, orange juice for her, milky tea for you. 

“Dada?”

“Yes?” Eddie raised his eyebrow as he took his first sip, his voice softening at her.

“Music?” She answered with another question. 

“Ah, yes. The beautiful melody that connects us all together.” He babeled, in that voice he used when he was talking as what he was saying was written in an antique book. He tended to do it more when he knew you would smile. 

He took two cassettes out of his back pocket, letting her choose. He wished she’d actually choose the mix he finished last night, but as always, she picked the one that had a drawing she did as a cover. 

He nodded and walked to your radio. 

It hit him in that moment, just how tangled your lives were becoming. He knew where (almost) everything in your home was, and the same was starting to happen for you. He knew that you kept honey in a reused jar, because Mr.Felix gave you local honey from a friend in the first cupboard to the right. He knew you had extra plasters in the second drawer of your bathroom because you had a tendency to cut yourself when you used a knife when you had to chop something up. He knew that the drawings on your wall were painted by you, but that the one that hung over the orange lamp was gifted to you by a kid you took care of when you worked in a hotel two years ago. He also knew that you knew where Lua likes to put her toys away, under the table of his living room. You knew that the only way she had to eat vegetables was if they couldn’t be seen. You knew that Eddie liked to have it all under his ‘controled mess’ as you called it. 

In just a few weeks you had become such an important person that he was scared of you leaving. Which people had a tendency to do in his life. 

Now he couldn’t only care about his life, he had to care about Lua’s too, and he had been trying to talk to you about it. But everytime he summoned up the courage to do so, you’d look at him with your pretty doe eyes and everything he had wanted to say left, he could only focus on how pretty you always look. 

You focused on other things. Silly, non important things. 

Like how his tongue went over his upper lip every time he concentrated to fasten Lua’s seatbelt. Or how he played with his rings when he was deep in thought, whatever it was, his thumb played with the middle one, while his left hand focused on the one in his index finger. Or how when he had a clear idea, and had to start working on something, he’d tie his hair up in a lazy ponytail, his thick neck exposed. Or how he rotated his shoulders when he sat down on the driver's seat at the end of the day, half exhausted, half excited to go back to his home. 

You walked to the car shop at around eight, as you always did. Knowing that he’d already be waiting for you outside. Since Lua was back in the house, Wayne coming to pick her up as soon as he wakes up, he always enjoyed that small frame of time to actually smoke a cigarette, his little moment, all for himself. 

Before he met you, he’d spend this moment thinking about what he needed to do, what he needed to buy, or what Lua wanted for dinner. Now, the only thought was you. You and your sweet voice, you and your angelic laughter, you and your soft skin. You, everytime you called his name. 

“Hey princess.” His pet name had also become a familiar sensation. Your heart still races a bit when it hears it, nevertheless. 

“Hey moon.” Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the earnestness of your tone, or the new nickname, but he felt his heart jump around his chest, and his cheeks changing colour, a pretty pink flush taking over them. 

“Should we go?” He added, happiness crystal clear, not only by his higher tone, but by his overall demeanor. 

“Please. I’m so tired, I think I’ll go straight to bed.” You let out in a whisper, rubbing your face in an attempt to wake up, so you wouldn’t fall asleep on the drive back to the trailer park. 

“You should eat something first.” It was his way of showing you he cared, making sure you were taking care of yourself half as well as you took care of others. 

“I know, I just really hate cooking for myself. It's boring, and then you have to clean it, and do it all again…”

“You make breakfast for us everyday,” He pointed out, his eyebrow raised in synchrony with his pitch, as he opened the passenger door so you’d climb in. 

“Yeah, but that’s different. It’s mostly for you.” You stop as you wait for him to sit on the driver sit, taking the time to make sure your seat belt is fastened. Looking at the backseat, a new habit you had developed thanks to him and his baby. “I didn’t eat breakfast before you guys came.” You admit, and he knows you’re not lying. You never do when your eyes shine that bright. You also know he is a bit worried, a frown appearing on his forehead. “I’m okay, moon.” 

“Hey, it’s not fair that you use the nickname to your advantage.” He points out, his index finger raising to the air as he speaks, his car engine starting, heading home. 

“Sorry?” You jokingly ask. Knowing that everything’s fine by the way he laughs it off. 

“Then, we’ll come over and cook you dinner.” 

“Tonight?”

“If that’s okay.” His tone showed a bit of concern now. Maybe he was pushing it a bit too much. He was just excited to spend time with you, so he tried to grab every opportunity he had to do so. 

“Yeah, I just… My fridge’s a bit empty. We should stop by the shop.” You were embarrassed. 

It was stupid. Or at least it felt stupid. Being embarrassed about it. But the only actual thing you had been buying was dedicated to the breakfast you shared together, once you were home by yourself, you usually had a soup, frozen pizza or a simple grilled cheese sandwich. You really didn't care that much, you just ate if and when you were actually hungry.

And it wasn’t that often, if you were honest. 

Eddie knew. He had a tendency to be over observant, and he had noticed, but never dared to say anything. Life was complicated enough, and that was a mantra he stood by. So he took the chance, and planned to cook you the meal he was actually proud of. 

-

The Never Ending Story played in the background. 

A familiar scene in your trailer. 

Eddie’s cooking filled the air with a delicious smell, he was concentrated in it, wanting to impress you while he cooked his ramen noodles with seared shredded chicken. 

Meanwhile, you and Lua layed on the rug in your living room, the T.V on a low volume. She had found your nail polish, and cheerfully asked if she could paint your nails. 

“What colour do you want to paint them?” You had asked, the calmest your voice has ever been, the tiniest trace of exhaustion in it. 

“Blue!” She beamed as she held the bottle. 

“Okay, careful though.” You opened the bottle for her, and looked at her as she looked at the puzzle before her. “Do you want me to do the first one?” You asked, knowing that she needed some sort of guide. You realised, she had the same face of concentration as her father, tongue out covering her upper lip. 

She started painting, the smell of polish annoying her a bit, you encourage her. Telling her in a kind voice how good of a job she was doing, even if she was getting more colour on your skin than in your nail. She giggled as she covered her face in a shy manner, proud of the job she had finished. 

“They look beautiful, bug” Eddie’s voice came right between both of you. As he sat down between you, she held your hand so he could look at them closer. “You did this all by yourself?” Even if he didn’t look at you, and even if his eyes were looking at the proud look on his daughter's face, you could feel the electricity travel from your body to his. And the warmth his touch leaves on your soft skin. 

“Yeah.” She whispers in a shy, proud giggle, nodding along, waiting patiently for his compliments. 

“She didn’t help you?” He asked again, this time his eyes were on yours. It had changed, you noticed. His eyes weren’t shining with a second intention, or a jokey flare. They were full of something else, if you had to put a name on it -without having to say it out loud- you’d say it was adoration, though you weren’t sure. You were right regardless. 

“It was all her.” You tell him. He nods, catching himself falling deeper into the abyss. 

“Dinner’s ready” He ended up saying that. He thought that saying what he was really thinking would have been too weird. Tough if he really thought about it, telling you that you had never been more beautiful wasn’t a total lie, or that out of character for him. 

Lua sat on his lap, knowing that she would be fed, since she couldn’t be trusted with noodles. Not since she had used a fork to catapult them into the wall a few months back. She was smarter than Eddie realised, and he loved her more for it. 

Eddie waited silently for your reaction, and was pleased with himself when you whispered an amazed my god once you took your first bite. He took his chance to look at you while you were eating, distracted by the food. While you took your chance to look at him when he fed Lua. 

This was something you could also get used to, you find yourself thinking. 

Having company. Having them as company.

It was complicated, and you knew that. 

And it was even harder when he acted as nice as he was doing. Even if he had cooked, he was still offering to clean up. It was also harder seeing how Lua wanted you to hold her, exhaustion after a nice meal, she was sleepy and needed comfort. You looked at Eddie, a question written over your face is this okay? He gave you his usual grin, the upside down smile that showed his dimple of course it is.

You held her, close to your chest, her little arms hanged by your side, her head resting between your shoulder and your breast. You were softer than the strong arms she was used to, and your swaying was more delicate -probably because you were afraid to do something that might upset her- you hummed along the final song of the movie that was still playing, and as she felt deeper and deeper into dreaming, Eddie finished cleaning up. 

“Is she…?” 

“I think so.” Your voice was so quiet he could barely even understand you. 

The image of you, holding her with such care, with such softness, with that much love… It became an image he would end up thinking in a recurring manner. 

“We could set her down in my room.” You point at the closer door that he had never walked through. He nodded, trying to mask his boyish excitement. 

He half expected your room to be as colourfull as the rest of your house, but your walls were white, decorated with just a couple pictures of a city he couldn’t name on the wall, your white sheets that had witnessed your meeting on your bed. 

He walked over to you, a bit closer than he had to be to hold Lua, so he could put her down. Enjoying the way his skin graced yours. 

He sat down on your mattress, and laid Lua in the middle of it, resting in deep sleep. You followed closely. Your body hitting the usual comfort that your mattress always seemed to have. He waited a second. Another image he wanted to remember happening right in front of him, your body laying down on a bed next to her baby. In another life… Maybe it could have also been yours. 

He laid down carefully, and you saw as both of you were lost. Not really sure where to look, but dying to just look at each other's eyes. As these things go, you could only avoid each other for so long. 

So you ended up lost into his gaze just as much as he was lost in yours. 

It was a bit too much. 

“Moon…” You whispered, trying to not wake her up. 

“Yeah?” 

“Is this weird?” Even if you tried not to, your words still came out as worried as you were. 

“Is it weird that it isn’t?” He asked back, the sincerity in his voice made your body relax, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“Maybe.” You admit, with a hopeful smile. You turned your focus on her for a moment. “She looks so peaceful.” 

“You should see her when she wakes up.” He adds with a smirk on his lips. His fingers pushing a hair out of her face. “She’s calmer when you’re around.” 

“We should be careful, then.” You were measuring your words now, not only speaking about her. He knew, so he just nodded. 

“You know…” He started speaking after a few minutes of comfortable silence, his body sinking deeper into the comfort of your bed, smelling your perfume in the pillows that hugged his head. “When I had her, it was only me and Wayne, her mother doesn’t want her in her life, and it was scary, and nauseating. I had no idea what I was doing.” His eyes flickered back to you. His shyness was gone, he was calmer with you near. You and the admiration in your eyes. “But I figured it out pretty quickly. She needed me just as much as I needed her. I had help, of course. But still, I wouldn’t change it for the world. She keeps me sane in a way… I know I’m a better person because of her. But I think I’m becoming an even greater person because of you, too.” 

You weren’t sure what you could say back. It was a warming feeling, having heard him say it, knowing that somehow you were in the same position as him. So you decided to be brave, to be honest for once. 

“I just worry Edds, that’s all.” You admit in a sincer whisper. He knows you’re not done talking, and he doesn’t rush you. He waits patiently, with an understanding nod and a smile on his face. “Meeting you, both of you, has been a blessing. Honestly. It’s been lonely, moving away, being here… And you guys have been so kind, and so welcoming… I really don’t wanna fuck it up.” 

“I know, princess.” 

“I just… I don’t know where’s the limit. I think… I think I kinnda like you, and if this complicates things I… I don’t know.” You were a bit embarrassed. having finally confessed what has been on your  mind for days. But seeing the beaming smile that escaped from Eddie’s lips was all the confirmation you needed. 

“I think I kinnda like you too. And I know it sucks. In another life, I would have asked you out, and we would have gone on dates, and we would spend days together but… All I can really think about, all I should think about…” He gestures to the little girl, sleeping soundly. “But we could still figure out a way…” 

“You think?” 

“Maybe.” He echoes your first maybe, the same tone, the same expression you had given him. “If you want to, we could try it out, go on a date, see if we…” 

“Work?”

“Yeah.” A lovesick grin was plastered in both of your faces. 

Hope could be felt in the room. Maybe it could work out, maybe you could have something, even if you weren’t sure what that was. Normally the uncertainty would make you nauseous, and anxious. Not this time, it actually made you excited, the promise of a something with them. With him. 

“You’d go out with me? An actual date?” He finally asks you. His soft spoken words can’t really hide the excitement that laid deep in his question. And you weren’t that good at lying, and he could read you like a book. 

“I’d love to, Moon.” It had been easier than you had anticipated. Complicated and easier seemed to go hand in hand when he came into the picture. “As soon as you fix my car.” You add in a joking tone, sticking your tongue out. 

“Oh, your car’s been done for a couple days.” He said in a sirius yet humorous tone, he covered his mouth with his index fingers as soon as a chuckle escaped your lips. 

“Asshole.” You whispered in disbelief. 

“I just liked having an excuse to hang out with you.”

Just like that, your heart was warmer once again. And soft giggles and conversation followed all the way through the night. 

Until the exhaustion caught up with you.

 You fell asleep right there. A picture that both of you wanted to remember, the little promise of something more. 

-

there might be a part 3 if you guys would like it ! xx

if you enjoyed it please leave a comment or reblog. i promise it makes a huge difference &lt;3

requests! are open

@took-me-hours-to-steal-those @edens-vices-art @micheledawn1975 @peachystenbrough @mewchiili @bylermaxmayfield @yujyujj @honeymoonmunsonn @paleidiot @ali-r3n

part 2 is up, thank for the support dudes <3

[nehswritesstuffs]

The Fall and Rise of House Corrodia - Part 5

I'm so glad that I've had these chapters completed for a while now, so I can just post on-schedule and worry about other things I wanna write this month.

Part 1 [AO3] - Part 2 [AO3] - Part 3 [AO3] - Part 4 [AO3]

A secret meeting between the Tonta Chief and a pair of Donquixotes; a prank; a mockery. [4781 words; Third Corazón AU; slowburn LawViola]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Two days later, Viola and Corazón went for a walk shortly after breakfast. She wanted to visit her sister’s grave, she claimed, and didn’t want to go alone. It meant that the other members of the Family let them be as they slipped into town and made certain they weren’t being followed anyhow before heading towards Flower Hill. Once Viola was able to confirm with her Devil Fruit and Corazón with his Haki there was no one either on their tails or attempting to head them off, they climbed the small plateau and she gathered some flowers, heading to the well-kept marker that served as Scarlett’s final resting place. She knelt in the dirt and placed the makeshift bouquet down before clasping her hands in prayer.

Who or what was she praying to? She didn’t even know anymore. It was not whatever she was told to thank before meals as a child, nor was it whatever the court once claimed gave her father the right to rule, nor was it even the trickster sun whose names were on the lips of the elderly and superstitious alike. All she knew was that it felt right, despite the fact nothing else was, and it made her heart feel heavy as she muttered the Dressrosan rites over the grave of a woman she should have had by her side for much, much longer. It was one of the cruelest things Doflamingo could have done to her—even if it was through Diamante in the end—and she swore it would help inspire her as she found revenge. She carefully wiped tears from her eyes as she stood, just barely catching Corazón crossing himself.

“I… didn’t know you were religious,” she noted. He shrugged.

“I keep it mostly to myself these days,” he said. “Haven’t been in a church in years, though.” She waited for him to continue and he shuffled on his feet awkwardly. “Doflamingo would never approve and the crew doesn’t really understand.”

“Then… you want to go…?”

Corazón did not answer, instead avoiding eye contact. Viola made a mental note to ask the crew about it sometime, though the thought was interrupted by the Tonta Chief popping up from out of the flower field and hopping onto the gravestone to be closer to their height.

“There you are!” he exclaimed. The Tonta Chief jumped into Viola’s arms to give her a hug, the worry on his face apparent. “I feared the worst for you, my dear!”

“Thank you,” she replied, tears threatening to flow again. She tamped it down and held aloft the Tonta Chief in her hands, facing Corazón. “Sir, this is the Donquixotes’ Corazón, as promised. He wanted to speak with you. Corazón, this is Tonta Chief Gancho, the King of Tontattas and Mansherry’s father.”

Then, Corazón did something that neither Viola nor the Tonta Chief expected: he placed his hand over his heart and bowed deeply at the waist, bending nearly as far as he could in respect and deference.

“Forgive me,” he said before straightening, “but I don’t have much good news concerning the Princess Mansherry.”

“Is my daughter…?!” The dwarf couldn’t bear to give the idea life by speaking of it, though he relaxed slightly as he saw Corazón shake his head.

“She is currently a hostage and there is no way for us to free her from imprisonment without angering her captor,” he explained. “It is my understanding that Doflamingo is going to use her as leverage against your people, whether that be sooner or later I do not know. She is safe for the time being, as comfortable as we can manage, and I personally attended to the minor wounds she gained during her capture. I wanted to tell you that in person and directly—it is the least I can do.”

“What does Doflamingo know of us?” the Tonta Chief asked. Corazón gestured with his hands in the Dressrosan manner, spreading them wide as they waved around in his slowly-acquired habit.

“He grew up with legends of the Tonta Tribe being mythical slaves that the Donquixotes lost when they became Celestial Dragons,” he said. “Apparently, most Celestial Dragons know about the Tontatta to some degree, and if pressed some of them might even make the connection between you and the ‘fairies’ Dressrosa is so famous for, but even they wouldn’t go as far as to say you are something that actually exists. Plenty of Founding Families have tall tales from when they ruled their home nations directly that are widely accepted amongst one another as posturing and lies.”

“Makes one wonder what the rest of the stories came from,” the Tonta Chief frowned. He then sighed. “No matter—can you at least tell me if Mansherry is safe as a hostage even in your absence?”

“Far as I can tell, she is safe as long as Doflamingo considers her an asset. Her Devil Fruit is one that has far-reaching consequences and he is not going to want to risk that going where he cannot control.”

“Do you think he is willing to negotiate for her release?”

“I wouldn’t,” Corazón warned. “Doflamingo is shrewd at-worst—he’ll find a way to make the trade in his favor no matter what. House Corrodia knows this well.”

A pain shot through Viola’s heart at the mention of her family’s lineage; it felt worse somehow coming out of Corazón’s mouth than if she was saying it herself. Even Doflamingo saying it in all his smugness likely wouldn’t have the same effect. His eyes met hers for only a moment, and yet it was a moment that was louder and more concrete than anything he’d said before.

I’m sorry.

“Speaking of: have your networks picked up any news on Rebecca or Father?” Viola tried to not seem too sad, yet the Tonta Chief picked up on it, patting her thumb consolingly.

“Nothing of your father, but do know that I have on great confidence that your niece is doing well enough to stay out of Doflamingo’s grasp. She is safe… for the time being.”

“Who has her? Do they know who she is?”

“They are well aware, but I swore not to tell whom she is with or where, even if it is to tell you, Lady Viola,” the Tonta Chief claimed. “What I am to tell you is to have faith, because there are better forces at play than Doflamingo’s tiring power plays.”

“Faith…?” She let out an incredulous chuckle. “Faith in what…?”

“…in whatever it was that made you kneel at this grave.”

Viola felt her knees grow weak as the Tonta Chief hit the issue harder than he realized. She felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around her to keep her upright, while the dwarf leapt from her hands back to the solidity of the headstone. Corazón held her close as she cried into his chest, her tears full of self-loathing and demonstrative pity. He eased them both to the ground while she cried—oh, how she cried—and stroked her hair awkwardly.

What had she been doing this entire time Scarlett had been dead? The entire time their home was being played by a puppet master? These years that their father had been missing? Scarlett’s only child? She cried until she pushed herself out of Corazón’s grip with enough time to vomit into the grass, at which she could feel one hand collect her hair while the other rubbed circles on her back.

She was a failure; a disgrace to her family and her people. Since joining Doflamingo she had done nothing tangible in the effort to get revenge for that night over two years ago now. Two whole years and what did she have to show for it? A fake relationship? An even faker relationship in Prodence if she wanted? An ally she hadn’t seen in over a year? She couldn’t even say she had been able to help sweet little Mansherry—she was absolutely useless.

“You don’t need to baby me,” she croaked as she tried to shrug Corazón off. He tutted at her and gently wrapped a small bunch of her hair around the rest to tie it back.

“I’m a doctor, remember?” he said. “If I can take care of the crew after they try to drink each other under the table, I sure as hell can care for you now.” She grunted sourly. “In fact, I prefer this.”

“No you don’t,” she assumed. He instead opened a Room around them and snapped his fingers, the vomit moving elsewhere the same time her head suddenly felt much lighter and clearer. “What did you just do…?”

“I cleared your nasal cavity and sinuses,” he explained. He helped her sit upright before tilting her face towards him, which allowed his fingers to lightly pass across her makeup-streaked skin. “They’re right here, and excess tears and mucus produced from crying pool there, so to speak. That’s why you sometimes used to wake up with headaches.”

She blinked, thinking about it for a moment. “I haven’t had a headache like that since we…” His face darkened in blush—he was caught.

“I’m sorry for not asking first, but I know too well about what it’s like.” He then turned his attention back to the headstone, where the Tonta Chief was still standing. “I do have a gift for you before we part, if you’d like. It’s not much, and you cannot take it with you, but I recommend you accept.”

“What is it, young man?” The Tonta Chief hopped down from the headstone and sat in the grass as Corazón took something from the inside of his cloak and set it on the ground—a transponder snail. He unhooked the receiver and placed it in the grass before pressing a finger to his lips to signal secrecy.

“This should be a secure line, but nothing about me or Viola, just in case.” He then pressed the button to dial, the snail buzzing until something on the other end caught.

“Uh… hello…?”

“Mansherry!” the Tonta Chief gasped. “How are you?! Where are you?! Have they treated you well?!”

“I’m scared, Papa!” Mansherry sobbed. “People feed me, but no one here is familiar! They took me away from the others! I haven’t seen Miss Viola at all! Isn’t she supposed to still be in the palace?!”

“I’m sure she will visit once she is able,” the old man assured. It was clear that he wanted to hug his daughter and switch places with her, to protect her from everything she was about to endure, and it broke him that it could never happen. “We’re trying to figure out how to get you back home. Until then you have to be brave for me, okay?”

The snail sniffled. “Okay.”

“Just remember: that horrid man who thinks himself the king won’t hurt you because your Devil Fruit makes you very special, but you need to be careful and make sure he doesn’t have a reason to do otherwise.” He paused for a moment. “No one has hurt you so far, have they?”

“Only when they first found us, but they just kinda ignore me. Everyone ignores me except for their doctor—after he looked me over and helped with my cuts, he put furniture and food and this snail in my cell. He seems kind… but I thought that the Donquixotes’ doctor was just like them…? Don’t they call him something scary…?”

“Maybe he’s scary because he has to be,” the Tonta Chief said. Viola glanced over at Corazón to see he was biting the insides of his lips as he tried to stay silent, the corners of his eyes wet. “I don’t know when I can access this snail again; just remember that Papa and the rest of the Tontattas are working hard on a plan to bring you back home, because we love you. I love you.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Mansherry replied shakily. “I love you too.”

The snail went to sleep and the Tonta Chief sighed. He hopped back up onto the gravestone and bowed nearly as deeply as Corazón had. “Thank you, my lad. That was the best gift anyone has given me in a long time. Please continue to take care of her—my wife has been sickly since she was young, and we do not know yet if our daughter has inherited her constitution.”

“I shall do my best,” Corazón swore. He took Viola’s hand in his and raised them so their arms were nearly perpendicular with the grass below them. “I swear on the trust that Lady Viola has found in me. Whatever can be done for Mansherry, will be done.”

“Excellent,” the old man nodded. He mused on that for a moment before deciding. “There is much work that needs to be done in Tonta Land. I shall be in contact with you both soon.”

“We share my sister’s old room,” Viola blurted out. The Tonta Chief looked at her curiously. “In case you leave a note, I mean. I’m no longer in my old room, though no one else is in it. We would not find a message there.”

“Indeed,” he replied. He studied the pair and hummed. “He is a fine lad and an important asset. Do not waste him.” The tiny man then hopped away, vanishing into the grass.

“What did he mean by that?” Corazón wondered. Viola didn’t look at him, instead wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug as she hid her face against his chest. “Are you… are you okay…?”

“I want to be, but I don’t know anymore,” she replied. She felt him place his hands on her upper back, completing the hug. “This is getting so complicated—now the Tontatta are swept up in this for good. Doflamingo’s not going to be content just having Mansherry under his thumb, is he?”

“Time will tell,” he said, “and at the very least: we already have made initial contact and established goodwill with the Tontatta. They will likely turn towards us for guidance before making a major move. That will keep them from making unnecessary movements that might disrupt our plans.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” she said, feeling absolutely sick. “Mansherry should have never been taken; if her father and people want her back, they should be able to have her.”

“We both know it’s not that simple.” His hold tightened into a genuine hug. “In the meantime, we can at least make sure that Mansherry is safe and fed and figure out how to protect the other Tontattas. Doflamingo’s trying to figure out what to do with them now. If I can outsmart him, then we can at least get those captives out of danger.”

Viola slightly pushed away as she looked up at him, not completely breaking their hug. His eyes were sad, yet glinted in that cleverness that made his amber eyes look akin to molten gold.

“How do you expect to do that?” she frowned. He shrugged, allowing the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards in something close to a grin.

“I might be his student, but that just means he taught me everything I know,” he claimed. “If there’s anyone on this rock that can outwit that tacky bastard, then you’re looking at him.”

Her breath caught in her throat; if he was wrong, then that could mean the end of them both.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As it turned out, the subject of what to do with the non-princess Tontattas was a hot topic amongst the Donquixote Pirates. Some of them wanted to put them to use as manual labor, some wanted them to be used as spies, while others…

“…but I wanna play with them!” Dellinger pouted. He stomped his foot in protest as he attempted to make his case. “They’re dolls that move! I want dolls that move on their own!”

“You do not appreciate the enormity of this situation,” Trebol snuffled. He and the rest of the Executives and Officers were all sitting at the conference table, save for Dellinger and Giolla, the latter had until a few moments before had been attempting to put braids in the former’s hair. “You’re being childish about it; now shut up.”

“He is a child,” Doflamingo reminded him casually. “Of course he’d look at them and want them for dolls.”

“You’re mean!” Dellinger told Trebol. He kicked the man in the shin and scurried back to Giolla, leaving Trebol howling in pain at his half-Fishman strength.

“This is why I don’t like having brats around,” Señor Pink scowled.

“One would think the old man would have learned by now,” Gladius deadpanned. Trebol did not appreciate his sass, but was cut off before he could say anything.

“Whatever we do with them has to be something that will benefit us in the end,” Diamante said, with Pica nodding in agreement. “We can’t just release them all and pretend we only ever had out hands on the princess. That would never do.”

“Then what would we do?” Corazón asked. “The legends say that the Tontatta are extremely strong, but also meek—what sort of work would they be suited to? It’s not like we can parade them out in front of the populace and expose our hand. Their existence has to stay between us and only a few guards.”

“Hmm… he’s right…” Doflamingo hummed. “If these are the faeries that everyone laughs about, then using them for construction is out. Speaking of the princess: Corazón, how is she doing?”

“She’s… adjusting,” the younger man claimed. “I want her to trust and confide in me, so I’ve been careful about how I approach her.”

“You don’t want her to be scared of you, you mean,” Baby 5 snickered. “Whenever I see you wandering around without makeup, I know you’re headed down to see her.” Corazón shot her a glare and she grabbed onto Buffalo in fright.

“As long as he Gets results, that’s all that matters,” Lao G stated, “and that is Get with a capital G!”

“That still doesn’t change what we should do with them,” Doflamingo frowned. He then looked at Viola, who until then had been silent. “Violet, my dear, what do you know about the Tontatta? What sort of work would they be inclined towards?”

“Far as I know, they are good farmers, but not much else,” Viola replied. “It’s part of why when they take their reparations, it’s mostly manufactured things they can’t make themselves.” She still wasn’t certain how much knowledge he had of the Tontatta Tribe, but her explanation was likely enough to keep them from being put to work in sweatshops, and there was no farm in Dressrosa far enough from Humans to justify making them work there.

“So they only steal shit they can’t make? Interesting…” Doflamingo considered her claim seriously; with any luck, the captive Tontatta would be used as bargaining chips at worst. “I heard legends about them as a little kid, but nothing that would have suggested that.”

“It had been a while since a Donquixote was in Dressrosa before we came around, so I’m not surprised that some parts of the tales were lost,” Corazón droned, making it seem like he was clearly bored. He hooked his foot under Viola’s ankle from underneath the table as he shifted in his chair, the act visible to enough people to cement the idea he’d rather be doing other things with her. “They’re strong, but they also don’t seem that bright. I don’t know how truly useful they’d be.”

“Doffy will find a use,” Pica reminded him.

“No, Corazón is right,” Gladius admitted. “They’re worse than Buffalo with a concussion—where can we make use of them where they aren’t a liability?”

“I have an idea,” Doflamingo decided. Everyone else looked at him and waited for him to continue. “Corazón, I want you to scout a location for a factory. I want it to be a bit bigger than the Coliseum.”

“They’d get torn up in the machinery,” Viola started, only for Doflamingo to hold up a hand to silence her.

“I want them to grow fruit trees; North Blue apples, if we can get the internal climate to work well enough,” he continued. “Grown from seeds—I want each tree to be its own thing from scratch.”

“Not to question your vision, Doffy, but what are we going to do with apple trees?” Diamante wondered. “Make pies?”

“No—I want them to show me they can grow something before I consider my next step. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and it may not work, but it certainly won’t if we don’t get a decent-sized orchard going.”

“What step might that be?” Pica asked.

“I’ll clue more people in the closer the plan gets to feasibility. Monet, I want to talk to you. Everyone else, get the fuck out.”

With that, the rest of the Family stood from their seats and shuffled out of the room, leaving the young woman alone with their boss. Some of the younger ones stayed behind to attempt to eavesdrop, while the adults knew better and began to make their way down the corridor.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Machvise mused aloud.

“It must be important if we Executives are not privy to it,” Gladius replied. “Maybe another spy mission since Dressrosa was so successful?”

“Who knows?” Corazón scoffed. “Best not think about it.”

“You’re just irritated because you’re no longer the Young Master’s favorite,” Giolla smirked. Viola held onto Corazón’s arm tighter as he glared at the older woman. “Admit it: you’re jealous of her getting the attention that used to be yours.”

“I’m no longer a petulant child,” he said through grit teeth. “I get enough attention from my girlfriend, thank you very much.”

“Ehehehe, he’s blushing,” Buffalo teased. “Corazón is bllluuussshhhing~!”

“…and you’re about to be scattered across Dressrosa, so don’t test me.”

“No longer petulant, hmm…?” Giolla’s grin became nearly catlike. “Violet, dear, are you sure you enjoy being with him? You shouldn’t put out on a sense of pity.”

“Who says I’m the one who puts out?” Viola cut back. That got the entire corridor in hysterics, all aside from her and Corazón—the latter of whom looked embarrassed beyond reason. He opened a Room and suddenly the pair swapped places with a couple of birds that had been flitting around on a nearby balcony. They were close enough to hear the initial panic the birds brought, though far enough away to where their location was not discovered once the rest of the Family dispersed. Once the shouts and panic had died down, they both giggled at one another as they moved to stay away from the window.

“Serves them right,” she smirked. She looked up at Corazón to see that he was also laughing, a genuine smile plastered across his face as words foreign to her ears left his lips. There was something about it that was so interesting to her—almost magnetic—and she didn’t entirely mind. He noticed she was staring at him and he stopped, looking at her curiously.

“What…?”

“Oh, nothing… just, I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh like that before. It’s nice.”

“Uh… thanks…?” Corazón blushed deeply as the realization hit him. “I don’t think anyone’s complimented that before now…?”

“They should—you have a nice laugh. Better than Pica’s.”

Corazón choked on a cackle. “That’s a low bar and you know it.”

“It could be, but it is what it is.” She watched as he tried to find a way to counteract that; he couldn’t. “At least… it’s good to know that no matter what happens, I’ve found a friend to weather this with.”

“Yeah… a friend…” There was an odd quality to his voice… as though that wasn’t what he had expected at all. “It’s good to have friends amongst allies.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Now let’s move before they find us and that’s another round of teasing.”

He opened a Room without further question, as he could not have agreed more.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was honestly through a hefty amount of practice that allowed Viola to not make a face in disgust as she watched a gladiator behead another. The crowd in the stadium named for her lineage went wild, while she stayed silent within Doflamingo’s private box.

“Quite the show, isn’t it?” Doflamingo grinned from his seat on the other side of Corazón. He was clapping blithely; it had been his idea to turn the matches into mostly blood sport, pitting man to man until severe injury or death, and he was clearly enjoying it. Viola instead continued to fan herself, the midday sun miserable despite the shade.

“Gladiators are meant for longer careers than this,” she frowned. The victor hobbled around the ring, pumping up the crowd as they cheered his name in a rhythmic, amorphous chant.

“It’s what my family talked of, back in the Heavens,” Doflamingo replied wickedly. “All I want is to return Dressrosa to its former glory, and you can’t have that glory without a bit of pain along the way.”

“He just wants to trick people into thinking that pink’s his favorite color when it’s really red,” Corazón quipped. Sweat was beading down his face, making her glad he was wearing dark sunglasses that day and not his usual heavy eye makeup—just the lipstick was threatening to sag and only hadn’t thanks to a new sealer she had picked up the month prior. The black fabric of his clothes were hot to the touch and his hair so wet from sweat that it was limply sticking to his scalp.

“In a way,” Doflamingo chuckled. The applause died down as the ring was cleared and new participants were announced; if their attendance hadn’t been mandatory, both Viola and Corazón would have been gone several matches ago.

“You’re in for a treat, folks!” the announcer said jovially. “We have a special match set up for you today! While the finalists are getting themselves patched up and pumped up, a couple of fighters from the Donquixote Family are here to wow you with an exhibition training match! Give it up for Machvise and Señor Pink!” The crowd cheered once again as they welcomed the Family’s fighters.

“Why don’t you participate in the Coliseum matches?” Viola turned her head and saw that it was Baby 5, who was staring at Corazón with a pout. “You could wipe the floor with them!”

“It’s for the same reason Trebol and Doflamingo don’t participate,” he replied coldly. “I can’t let people see my abilities on display so frequently and openly. It would allow for dissidents to plan against me.”

“Very true,” Doflamingo nodded. “Can’t go flaunting our secret weapons so openly.”

“I wanna fight!” Dellinger pouted from his spot on Gladius’s shoulders. “I’ll kick all their asses!”

“You can barely drink from the fountains without a stepstool,” Corazón reminded him. “There will be plenty of time for fighting when you’re older.”

“But I wanna fight now! It looks like so much fun!”

“Corazón’s right,” Gladius agreed. “You probably won’t get into the ring until you’re somewhere around sixteen—our surprise for the audience.”

“I am?!” the little boy gasped happily. He bounced on Gladius’s shoulders, grabbing the man’s hair to hold himself steady. “That means they’re gonna be extra-happy when I start fighting?!”

“You will be one of the Jewels of the Coliseum,” Doflamingo assured. He stood and waited for the new players to enter the field, with Machvise and Señor Pink giving him a bow as he gestured in approval. It made Viola jealous in a way, that he was wearing his thick coat of feathers on such a hot day and not even breaking a sweat. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, for he was getting to be the praised, honored, deference-given king he imagined himself. Instead of sitting back down, he leaned on the railing, watching the only exhibition fight of the afternoon with glee. “Isn’t it a great day?”

“The greatest,” many of those in the box echoed. The only ones who didn’t were Corazón and Viola, who instead took one another’s hand. She held his gloved fingers with her own trembling ones, her breath caught in her throat as two of the men she wanted gone from her country played at one of the greatest cultural traditions Dressrosa had to offer. They made a mockery of it, getting those in the audience to laugh at their antics as they deliberately threw punches and tripped themselves.

…and none laughed more than the false king.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: Gancho is about as fooled as we are, lol.

[kyotarou]

title: a little more noise

pairing: kyōtani kentarō x gn!reader

synopsis: in a world of constant silence, he’s the noise you need in life, even if he’s a bit quiet.

warnings: fluff, angst, mutual pining, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, lotta tropes and cliches, two swear words if i counted correctly

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: i wrote this in two days which i’m very proud of, go me! always wanted to write a kyōken fic and here it is. kinda scared to post this bc he’s quite tough to characterize imo and i’m terrible at writing longer pieces. oh well :,) no indentation because that’d be such a pain. hope you like it, feedback is always appreciated! (this is also my first time writing slowburn so please lmk if it’s still too fast)

Your parents were not bad people—that was a fact. They were kind, and you did everything an ordinary family would; eat dinner together, go on trips, attend school events. Things were quiet, a little too quiet for comfort. It never felt… right. You heard stories of parents arguing, nasty divorces, and custody battles. They tore your friends apart, made them feel a pain you could never understand. You knew how terrible it was, yet sometimes you wished you went through that to fill the silence in your home. The same monotonous, “good mornings,” and “hellos,” became sickening to hear. You told yourself to push on until after graduation where you’d escape. As the years dragged on, you weren’t so sure you could keep your sanity intact.

It was how you met Kyōtani Kentarō, a second-year from your school who was in a different class. Your friend told you of a gym nearby that was secluded at night. With a sly grin, he said he met up with students from other schools to smoke, and sometimes as a hookup spot. You wrinkled your nose at his comment and flicked his forehead. These were the people you hung out with; not so bright, but easygoing and fun. They were the ones who satisfied the need for noise, the bit of excitement in your life.

You snuck out after your parents had gone to bed. It didn’t hit until halfway through your walk that several things could happen. You were alone with nothing to defend yourself with except your phone and bare hands. Looking down at your outfit, an old dark hoodie and some sweats, you hoped it was ominous enough to ward people away. Besides, the last thing you wanted was to go home and wallow in its emptiness.

To see the lights on in the gym was a surprise. Upon closer inspection, you heard the squeaking of shoes and the cannon-like sounds of balls slamming the floor. You peeked your head through the door. The only person inside was a boy, no older than you. The first thing you noticed was his oddly dyed hair which resembled a tennis ball. The second was his piercing gaze as he turned his head and stared at you. You jumped. He looked as though he was going to charge at you. Instead, the boy huffed, walked to the other side of the gym, and picked up the ball. You spotted a familiar white and blue jacket on the ground.

“Seijoh?”

The boy turned to you again. “Yeah.” His voice was low, but powerful enough to rumble the earth.

You swallowed. “I go there, too.” This was a waste of time, you thought. You should’ve gone home, and you almost did until he spoke again.

“Never seen you before.”

The ball flew into the air with the boy tailing it. His body bent in a way you didn’t think was possible, face pinched in concentration. It hit his hand then the ground with the loudest smacks you had ever heard. It was incredible, but also scary. He picked up another ball behind him and did the same, and again, and again, until his side was empty and yours was strewn with several blue and yellow volleyballs. The more you watched, the more mesmerized you became.

“Can I stay?” You felt stupid for asking, but if he was trying to concentrate, you didn’t want to disturb him. Surprisingly, he nodded. You sank to the floor with your knees to your chest and listened to the constant thwacks and smacks all night.

You only learned his name a little while after. It was by accident. You were walking by a group of boys at school when one of them called him Mad Dog-chan, and you bit your lip to stop your laughter. Luckily, they didn’t notice. It was kind of cute the more you thought about it. It fit his appearance quite well, too. That night, you found him at the gym once again. Instead of a curt nod, you waved.

“Hey, Mad Dog-chan!”

You immediately regretted your words when he stopped bouncing the ball and flashed you a murderous look. You muttered a hurried apology and sat on the floor in your usual spot. He whacked a ball a couple of times then came over to grab his water bottle. After a few quick gulps, you expected him to get back on the court, but he stared at the spot beside you.

“It’s Kyōtani. Kyōtani Kentarō.”

Some nights, he didn’t practice. You sat in a playground nearby with soda and snacks from home. Originally, they were meant to replenish his energy when he overworked himself. Now, you were the one eating most of them, with Kyōtani nibbling on a custard bun as you wolfed down chip bag after chip bag. One thing you could say with confidence was Kyōtani was a great listener. At first, you sat in awkward silence. Then, you started rattling off all the things you did that day. It led to you talking about anything and everything, including the funny-looking dog you saw on the street last week. You hoped he didn’t think he reminded you of it.

Talking to Kyōtani was equivalent to talking to a wall. If anything, you were talking at him. He barely looked your way, and if you asked a question, he responded with a grunt or a simple, “Yeah.” Even though you wished it was two-sided, it felt good. You could finally break the silence that shrouded you for years, something you yearned to do but never had the confidence to. With Kyōtani, because of how quiet he was, you felt you could say anything without judgment. You did this for a while, rambling to him in the playground while he sat and listened.

Together, you sat on the swings with fruit sandwiches you made earlier that day. Your feet dragged against the sand and dirt as you swung back and forth. It seemed like Kyōtani enjoyed it. You noticed him eyeing your sandwich while licking his lips. You laughed and handed the rest to him. You started your daily tangent; woke up, ate a meat bun for breakfast, went to school, did homework, then came here. Somewhere along the way, you mentioned how you were home alone since your parents had lots of meetings to attend. You wished it was a little more lively. It was why you left the house every night, to find some noise in the suffocating void of it all.

You talked some more about your family, which you never did. You were too distracted to see Kyōtani’s head perk up. He stopped munching on the fruit sandwich and leaned forward, trying to look at your face. You continued to ramble, feeling your irritation slowly rise.

“Am I a bad person? I mean, they’re really nice, and I adore them. But it’s unbearable sometimes, and then I end up feeling like an asshole.”

You let out a dry laugh, ignoring the pain of the metal chains holding up the swing as they dug into your palms. You pressed your lips together in a thin line, unsure of what to say next. You chose to draw circles in the sand with the tip of your shoe.

“I understand how you feel.”

You looked at Kyōtani in surprise. You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. The night felt a little brighter.

The last thing your “friends” expected was for you to ditch them for him. “Looks like a tennis ball,” one of them said. You chuckled since it was your exact thought when you first met him. You were relieved but also disheartened when they didn’t seem to mind too much. At least you knew where they stood. 

Hanging out with Kyōtani was much different compared to your nights at the gym or the playground. You got lots of stares from the third-years who never thought he could behave like this. Some people in your class whispered about the two lone-wolves banding together. You pretended not to hear.

“You’ve been cheery lately.”

You stared at your mother, trying to process her words. They never asked about you, which you grew to appreciate. It meant not having to force out a conversation. You almost brushed it aside until she spoke again. Your chin rested in your palm as you picked the vegetables on your plate, stomach full with snacks.

“I met a new friend.”

Your mother raised her brows, impressed. “Oh? Tell me about him.”

“How do you know he’s a boy?”

“Just a hunch.”

You sighed, continuing to stir your food. “He’s quiet. A little weird, but he’s nice. I can talk to him about anything.”

“That’s good.”

Your father glanced at her, and she shot him a strange look. Don’t, it said. He backed off and ate as if nothing happened.

You managed to weave yourself with the other boys from the volleyball team. They were a scary bunch at first, most of them glaring at Kyōtani the moment he walked through the door, but they were nice to you. He had left his jacket at the playground one night, and you made a mental note to return it to him the next day. Except, like Kyōtani, you also forgot about it. When you saw the boys flood to the gym for practice, you raced home then back to school and shyly followed a group of girls to the gym who were there to gawk at the captain.

During their break, you nervously approached Kyōtani and poked his shoulder. They watched you return his jacket but didn’t expect his, “Thank you,” afterward. When you left, Oikawa bugged him to invite you back. Kyōtani shrugged. He usually ignored him at all costs. Oikawa took it as a good sign.

Hanging out with them was a lot more fun than you anticipated. They were better than your previous friends, and even though most of them didn’t like Kyōtani, they seemed to be warming up. Your favorite moment was the movie night at Oikawa’s house. The living room was packed, with little room to wiggle, but it was comfortable. That night, you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, and the tensions between you, Kyōtani, and the rest of the boys dissolved. You belonged here.

Yahaba caught him staring at you outside your classroom. You sat across from another classmate, helping her with a few assignments for her art class. You posed and let her take pictures. Some were silly, but the others captured your features perfectly. In one of them, you rested your cheek in your palm with the tip of your pencil wedged between your teeth. You looked at the camera through your lashes as your classmate continued to snap more shots.

“Cool it.” Yahaba clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Never said you were.”

You helped your classmate pack her things. While you followed her out the door, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger and fiddled with the hem of her skirt. You bid her goodbye as her friends called her over, then turned to Kyōtani and Yahaba. 

“Ready to go?”

Yahaba nodded, as did Kyōtani. You walked ahead of them, listing off that day’s menu. Behind you, Kyōtani’s eyes zeroed in on your moving form, the shift of your hips as you took each step. From an outsider’s perspective, it looked like he was honing in on a kill. Yahaba prodded his arm.

“Don’t be a pervert.”

You swore you heard a slap.

Friday after school, your parents were home from work much earlier than anticipated. A game show played on the television. They barely noticed your arrival until you called out. The TV turned off, and your mother looked over the back of the sofa with a wry smile. Your father drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. His eyes stayed glued to the empty screen.

“Welcome back,” your mother greeted. She glanced at the boxes in the kitchen, filled with old plates and cutlery you hadn’t touched in a while. You assumed they were throwing them out.

“So…” she drawled. “What do you think of Tokyo?”

“Tokyo?”

Your hands shook as you set your school bag down on the kitchen table. The boxes made more sense. You remembered your father talking about a school his friend’s son attended. Nekoma, was it? He told you how great it was there, that it’d be easy to make friends in such a populated area.

“Tokyo…” you repeated. A heavy lump formed in your throat. “It seems… nice. Why do you ask?” You couldn’t stop the waver in your voice. Your mother caught on too.

“Dad’s company moved areas. It’s a big shift, but it’s too good to lose. So-”

“We’re moving.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you were about to.” 

Your head hung over the table. There was a crushing weight in your chest. Of course they wouldn’t tell you. They never did. It was too much to not expect this betrayal. If you told them how happy you were at Seijoh, maybe things would’ve been different. I could’ve prevented this. You shook your head. You couldn’t stop an entire company from moving, nor could you convince your father to find a new job in Miyagi. You had to follow them like you always did.

“If we can stay, we will, but most likely-”

“I’ll start packing.”

You grabbed your school bag and stomped to your room, vision obscured by your tears. Why now? Why did it have to be when you were starting to fit in, when you found real friends who made you happier than ever? Just when things looked like they were turning around, you were back at square one. You’d be there for a while, stuck in a new city far away from Seijoh. If you were with your old group, you wouldn’t have been this upset. But to not see them again—Yahaba, Hanamaki, even Oikawa.

You opened your phone and stared at the lock screen: a picture of you and Kentarō from the movie night at Oikawa’s. His arm was slung over your shoulder, a scowl on his face, but the peace sign he held up made it worth it. You remembered taking it and everyone gasping that Kentarō would even allow anyone to take a picture of him, let alone save it. Your heart fluttered. When did he stop being Kyōtani and become Kentarō?

Kentarō faced the empty playground. He sat in the right swing as he always did, scanning the area for any sign of you. In his hand was his attempt at a fruit sandwich, messily covered in cellophane with whipped cream oozing between the bread. A bandaid wrapped the tip of his finger where he accidentally cut himself. Damn those strawberries.

Kentarō kicked at the dirt. He waited, and waited some more, but after twenty minutes, you didn’t show. He pulled out his phone and sent you a quick text. Your absence made his skin crawl. His phone lit up with a response. Sorry, was all you said.

He couldn’t shake the heaviness as he trudged home.

The view outside the window gave you an excuse to be distracted. The voices of the boys were loud, but you chose to focus on the birds circling the courtyard. Two of them swooped down and landed on the thick branch of an old tree. They ruffled their feathers and nuzzled their beaks. You saw your old friends walk out of the main building. The one who introduced you to the gym glanced up. His eyes met yours momentarily. He went back to talking to someone you didn’t recognize and led them to the other side of the campus.

You stared out the window until Mattsun shook your shoulder. You turned and put on a faux smile. Your classwork was still strewn across your desk even though it was lunch. A few drops of chili sauce had landed on your math homework. You scowled at Hanamaki, his face stuffed with food.

“Oops.”

You wiped it off with an eye roll then stuffed it into your bag along with your other notebooks.

“What’s buggin’ ya?” Mattsun asked. 

You shrugged. “Nothing. I’m ready for the day to end.” It was the last thing you wanted. There was a bit of time before you left for Tokyo, but the countdown moved fast. You ignored Mattsun’s opposing look and ate. They couldn’t know yet.

Kentarō knew there was more than what met the eye, but he bit his tongue. He was paranoid, he told himself. The guilty look on your face as the boys laughed, unaware of the shift in attitude, said otherwise. He threw his arm over the back of your chair. You relaxed, but the sad look remained. Remembering the fruit sandwich he made, Kentarō grabbed it from his bag and slid it across your desk. You raised your brows.

“What’s this?”

“I made it.”

You unwrapped the sticky mess of whipped cream and strawberry jam. Kentarō watched you take a small bite, followed by a bigger one.

“This is delicious!”

He showed you the tip of his finger. “The price I paid for it.”

Your knees knocked against his under your desk. He flinched. You pressed your finger to your lips, then to the bandaid. “Thank you. Hope it feels better.”

Your cheeks swelled as you took more bites than you could chew. Pink syrup stuck to the corner of your mouth. Cute, Kentarō thought.

“What was that?” you mumbled. A crumb lodged itself in your throat. Mattsun rushed over and slapped you so hard on the back it echoed. A handful of other students looked over. Hanamaki scolded you for gulping down your bottle of water without taking any breaths. Kentarō cheeks turned a darker shade than the strawberries when you gripped his arm for support. You didn’t ask again.

“Cute,” he whispered anyway. He knew you wouldn’t hear over Mattsun’s teasing. “You’re cute.”

Kentarō invited you to the movies. He planned on having it at home, but his parents occupied the TV, and his laptop was too small to enjoy anything. He met you at a plaza a walking distance’s away. He let you pick the movie, curious about your tastes. Action? Romcom? When he looked at his ticket, it was for the latest horror movie. Critics raved about it, calling it the best of the decade. Impressive.

The movie started a while ago. The critics were right, it was scary, a lot scarier than he expected. You enjoyed it like a comedy movie, clapping your hand over your mouth when the entire theater shrieked at the killer, including Kentarō.

“You’re a sadist,” he whispered.

“Am not, just think it’s funny.”

He shook his head. Another jumpscare happened, this time worse than before. Several people jolted in their seats and bits of popcorn flew into the air. Kentarō didn’t realize he had sank into his seat—your seat, actually—until you nudged his foot with yours.

“Scared?” Your breath was warm against his ear.

“Sorry.”

You patted his hand which clutched the armrest with a vice grip. Kentarō’s heart beat faster.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m right here.”

The movie ended and the lights switched on. People left the theater with wobbly legs and pale faces. You headed to the exit holding your empty cups and popcorn bags with Kentarō in tow. He wished the movie was longer. Not because he enjoyed it, but because the smile on your face made it worth it.

Your room was bare besides your bed and desk. Most of your stuff was packed neatly in the many cardboard boxes piled inside your now empty closet. It’d been a few weeks since that Friday, and you still hadn’t told Kentarō or any of the boys. You weren’t sure how to break the news. He noticed how clingy you became, tailing him wherever he went at school. Not that he minded. You talked less at the playground. It was him who filled the silence instead, though his daily recaps weren’t as interesting as yours.

Next week was the last with Kentarō. In your shaky hands was an envelope, the edges indented from how hard you gripped it. You took out the letter inside, read it over, then slipped it back in. You thought about sealing it for the umpteenth time that day. Before your tongue swiped against the flap, you quickly scanned over the letter once more as if the words would disappear. You’d seal it later, you told yourself.

Your over-the-top cheeriness was so evident it was painful. They asked what was up, and you said you were simply having a good day. Kentarō knew better than that. At lunch, when you were away from everyone else, he prodded your shoulder and asked what was wrong. You frowned at him, then smiled.

“Everything's fine.”

Before he could probe further, you grabbed his wrist and led him to the cafeteria.

“There’s chicken! It’s your favorite, right?”

Something slipped out of your pocket. Kentarō thought it was your school notes. He bent down to pick it up and saw it was a white envelope, unsealed. You were already gone, dragged away by his teammates. He didn’t want to pry, but curiosity got the best of him. Turning the other direction, he grabbed the note inside. His name at the top caught his eye.

Dear Kyōken-chan,

He snorted.

Sorry for not telling you this sooner. I’m still trying to process this too.

A crease formed on his forehead as he squinted. The letter was quite long, the handwriting messy. He repeated the phrases in his head over and over, but he couldn’t fully understand what they meant. He flipped it to the back and sighed when there was more. He decided to scan it this time, except a handful of words made him reread it in depth.

“Kentarō!” In your arms were several wrapped buns from the cafeteria. He tried to stuff the note into his pocket, but you already saw.

“Oh.” The buns fell to the ground. “Oh no.”

Kentarō’s face was a mix of frustration and hurt. The hand holding the letter shook, the other balled in a fist. You wanted to run, but if you moved, you swore you’d collapse.

“(Y/N),” he murmured. “What is this?”

A weary laugh escaped your lips. “Um. Can we go somewhere else?”

Not waiting for an answer, you grabbed his wrist and led him to the school’s courtyard.

“One week,” he huffed.

“One week.”

You sat beneath a large, shady tree in the farthest corner away from the main building. Kentarō rubbed his temple and sighed. He held onto your letter. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap.

“For how long?”

“Probably forever. Not literally, but it’ll feel like it.”

“So you’re graduating from Nekoma?”

You nodded. Kentarō tapped his knuckles against his cheek.

“Wished you told me sooner.”

You blinked at him wearily. “You’re not mad?”

He shook his head then turned away. You grew quiet for a moment. He took it as his chance to butt in.

“So, you like me?”

“It’s all in the letter.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

You looked away. Your hands were clammy, and the air felt ten times hotter. The word you used was stronger, much stronger than he anticipated. It made his cheeks burn and a smile threatened to pull at his lips. He wanted to hear it come to life.

“I love you, Kentarō.”

It sounded sweet, almost tooth-rotting sweet. Kentarō chewed the inside of his cheek. He liked you, he really did. He just wasn’t sure if it was the right moment to say it. Would there be a right moment? After this week, you’d be in Tokyo in another school—a rival school, to make matters worse. He wanted his words to hold weight, and in that moment, they didn’t. Not as much as he wished.

“If you don’t feel the same, I understand.”

“I do.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the bell cut you off. Kentarō hoisted himself from the ground then held his hand out. His palm was rough under yours, but his touch was gentle. Once you got to your feet, you let go, but he kept his pinky locked with yours.

Friday arrived quickly. Sadness filled the air as you said your goodbyes, thanking your classmates and teachers for the short, but pleasant year. After school, the team led you to the gym with your eyes covered. The boys’ gym was decorated with a banner and a table with food. There was even a cake, the word Seijoh iced and crossed out on top. You let out a hearty laugh before inviting the boys to dig in.

“Of course,” said Oikawa. “I paid for it.”

On one side, Mattsun smeared frosting over Hanamaki’s cheek. On the other, Oikawa tried to spoon-feed Iwaizumi only to be smacked on the head. You sat on the floor next to Kentarō and looked around with a big smile. His thumb reached out to wipe a dollop of frosting from the corner of your mouth. The phrase, “Time flies when you’re having fun,” held up its end of the bargain. When you looked outside, the sun had begun to set.

You thanked your friends, took one last photo, and managed to hold in your tears until your walk home. You promised to visit and to cheer them on at nationals, even if you were on Nekoma’s side. They laughed, waved with sad smiles, then watched you leave.

Kentarō caught up with you a third of the way home. His hand slipped into yours, a habit he recently picked up. It wouldn’t last much longer. You stopped a few houses down from yours. You didn’t want to let go, not yet.

You learned many things this year. One, life wasn’t fair. It never was. Two, people weren’t as shitty as you thought, proven in your new friendships. Three, seeing Kentarō cry made your heart ache in a way you never wanted to feel again. His head fell against your shoulder with a hard thump, tears soaking through the uniform you’d wear for the last time. You rubbed his back and pressed your lips to the top of his head.

“Stay,” he pleaded.

“I wish I could.”

“Please don’t go.”

“I have to.”

Kentarō looked up through his watery lashes. Your lips connected. Who initiated it was a mystery. His kiss was slow but fervent. You leaned in, deepening it until you swore your teeth clashed. Kentarō’s hands rested on your hips, yours on the nape of his neck. His kisses were magnetizing, drawing you closer with each movement. You broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together. He still had tears in his eyes, and so did you. You stayed like that for a bit, wrapped in each other’s arms until you knew you had to let go.

“Call me everyday, please,” he whispered.

“I promise. I swear on my life.” 

You kissed him again. 

“Goodbye, Kentarō. I love you.”

“Goodbye, (Y/N). I’ll be waiting.”

“So will I.”

Kentarō didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. You knew he loved you, proven by his daily text messages and calls thereafter. Even if it only lasted a couple of seconds, you never missed a day. Sometimes, you heard his teammates' voices in the background. The audio would become crackly before a new voice replaced your boyfriend’s: Mattsun, Yahaba, Oikawa, and even Iwaizumi. 

Boyfriend. The fact made your stomach fill with butterflies. Kentarō was yours, and you were his.

It’d been months since you last saw him in person. You finished your second-year at Nekoma, a school that welcomed you with open arms. You met lots of people, found new friends, but the boys from Seijoh never left your mind. The picture you took hung on the wall of your new bedroom, a space you were still getting used to. Summer vacation was here, and you promised to come home to Miyagi for a week or two. On the train, you checked your phone to see how many kilometers were left. Just a few more minutes.

When it came to a halt, you burst from your seat, duffle bag in tow. You sent Kentarō a text, only to be face-to-face with him the moment the doors opened. You leapt into his arms, knocking him back a few steps. His chin rested on your shoulder as you hugged, swaying side to side.

“I missed you so much, Ken.”

“Missed you, too.”

Your fingers clasped around his, resting perfectly in the dips between his knuckles. Hopefully, he hadn’t dropped his habit. The months you were apart flew by, but they were also the longest you had ever witnessed. Seeing Kentarō for the first time in a while felt like a breath of cool, fresh air.

You tugged on his wrist, ready to head to town. He stayed put.

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

He grinned shyly at you. Kentarō brought color into your dull life, your source of noise in the thick silence. The summer wouldn’t forever, and you had another year left to endure. But as long as he was there, even kilometers away, you’d get through it together.

[all-hallows-evie]

Chapter 1: Marooned

Rating: T, for language, Canon Typical Violence/Action. Honestly, this chapter isn't that bad, the T rating is just in case I forgot about something lol

Wordcount: 3,776

Warnings: Canon typical violence and adventure, female OC with name × Tech slowburn, but not too slow lol, NOT BETA'D, because if I have to stare at this first chapter again I'm not going to post it.

A/N: HAPPY TECH TUESDAY, LOOK I'M FINALLY POSTING SOMETHING, WHEEEEEEEEEEE

There were bad ideas, really bad ideas and then there was this.

The ship hums under her feet as it trudges through the far corner of the mid rim, chugging along on it’s route without any sign of trouble or disruption from it’s preplanned course.

It should have been a routine pillaging, something she had placed firmly in the ‘great ideas’ list but instead it had turned into a routine mutiny and finished the day as a routine marooning. She sighs as she lays her head back against the seamless panel behind her.

Fucking pirates. 

She has been stranded on the old freighter for at least two moons, but it was hard to say with certainty. The droids that man the ship have no need to eat so more often than not they forget to pass along anything to keep her mounting hunger at bay, adding along to the lack of any kind of panel to the outside world, getting her bearings is proving to be more difficult than usual. 

She hisses a swear to drown out the low growl of her belly and focuses her gaze on the far corner of the room. Another day, another chance to count the diamond shaped tiles above her cell, she swears the number changes every other time she counts. She doesn’t get farther than eighteen when the door of the maintenance room blows open. 

The dust fills the room, hiding everything under its grimy shadow. The grit in the air crackles as it’s pushed against the red of the electron walls that keep her prisoner with the ships cooling coils and a water filtration unit that has calcified and has never been fixed.  

"Well look at that, we found it! Lucky break!"

"Luck had nothing to do with it, if you had studied the schematics of this cruiser like I had asked-"

"Yeah yeah yeah." The first figure, a hulking shadow in the doorway brushes off the smaller one as he stomps into the suddenly too tiny room.

"The memory core should be at the end of the-" the smaller of the two figures stops in front of her cell as the big one charges towards the end of the room without stopping. They launch themselves into the piles of junk thrown haphazardly inside, "That's concerning."

"Concerning? You see someone in a cage and you go with ‘concerning’?" She replies as she pulls herself up to standing. She takes in his armor, modified clone armor from the looks of it painted pale with a bright red stripe down his chest, his eyes slightly magnified by the goggles on his face, the rest hidden by the elongated helmet.

"According to the intel we were provided there weren't supposed to be life forms aboard." He seems irritated to see her.

"Good old Republic intel, still living up to its reputation."

The other clone approaches, he rips open the metal box in his hands and yanks out the core as if the casing was made of thick flimsy and nothing more, "I've got the thing, time to go!"

She watches, dumbstruck for a moment as her ticket out starts to head for the gaping maw that used to be a door, "Wait, you're taking the old database?" The two of them stop and turn, "It's not complete! It's missing pieces of the coordinates!" Firefek she didn't want to sound desperate but she was.

"Likely story-" The big one chuckles.

"I was trying to steal it too, I almost got all of it before my crew turned on me!"

"A mercenary or a pirate? No matter, I trust you even less now."

She had never wanted to punch anyone's face as hard as she wanted to punch his, "Check the core Goggles, I swear to you! It's missing pieces!" He hesitates and in that baited pause she knows she has him, "Please, just let me out and drop me off wherever you dock next. You can have my data chip. No harm, no foul, just get me out."

The one with the goggles glares at her, the yellow tinted transparisteel of his visor snapping downl before he turns to the bigger man. Klaxons ring all around as he scans the core with a handheld device, but it's taking up time they do not have.

The two clones share a look, silently deciding her fate.

The bigger one caves first, "Aww c'mon Tech, we can't leave her! You saw what's on this ship, she'll be a goner on some mining planet!"

"Under normal circumstances I might agree but she's caged for a purpose, and I'm disinclined to put any trust in her."

"How much damage can she do? She’s smaller than you are!" 

Tech, the one in the goggles, sighs before he turns back around to face her, "If we spring you, you play by our rules. You follow our orders, no complaints, no rebuttals and if you put one toe out of line-"

"Out the airlock, understood." She nods furiously, hands pressed against the panel as she watches Tech short out the electron wall holding her hostage, the panel shudders and then it spews sparks on to the ground as the red fades and she's finally able to step through. 

"Lets go shortie!" 

"Wait, let me just grab-" She scrambles to the other side of the wall, trying to pull at something from the top of a shelf. The bigger clone reaches over and tosses the crate to the floor. She throws open the top and snatches out a bantha leather bag and a helmet.

"Run!"

Tech doesn't have to tell her twice, the three of them bolt out of the door and into the corridor, the lights above flash in time with the klaxons. There is a low rumble that joins the hum of the hyperspace engine, as whatever security droids are on board begin to activate.

"Back to the ship, short stuff!" 

The three of them book it down the darkened halls, ducking behind walls and crates as the first cluster of security droids pass through.

She tosses her bag across her shoulder, slinging it against one side of her hip, clipping it into place with snaps sewn into her jacket. They watch three more droids pass them by before she speaks again, "My name's Nox, by the way." 

"Doesn't sound like a girl's name." The big one chuckles, so deep and rumbling it almost feels like a growl.

"Well it's the only name I've got. My parents named me a bit of a mouthful, Nox just works better."

"Clear." Tech calls out and they continue on their way heading to the service hangar where their ship hopefully was waiting for them.

"How'd you end up out here?" The big one asks, with every flash of light above them she can see more of the large scary face painted roughly on his helmet, lines thrown on haphazardly only to be scraped away by carbon scoring.

She is about to answer when she is shoved back into a corner by Tech. He slaps a hand over her mouth before she can yelp, the leather slightly singed, it smells of electricity and grease.

“Wait.”

"I'm getting tired of all this sneaking around, I say we blow our way outta here!" The big one growls.

"We’re almost there Wrecker, it would be pointless to try now."

She shoves Tech's Hand away, "Blow your way out of here, are you insane? With the amount of baby on board you'd blow us into the next dimension!"

There are a few beats of silence before both helmets turn towards her.

"Baby?" Wrecker repeats but is shushed by Tech.

"You don't mean baradium-"

"Bisulfate? I absolutely do! There were containers of the stuff in the holding bay."

"This Imperial ship is headed somewhere to mine thorilide?" He repeats, tone stressed over every syllable in the word ‘Imperial’.

"That or some unlucky planet is about to be wiped from existence."

"The location of the Republic thorilide mines have been kept under the utmost security for ages, not even the Jedi Council was ever advised of its location."

"Can’t say I blame them, I barely trust them with those glowy sticks of death." She murmurs, making lightsaber sounds with her mouth as Wrecker snickers.

"Stop that. Do you know where this ship was heading? Do you have a copy of the manifest?"

"What, your amazing Republic recce didn't get you that information shiny?" He glares back at her, brows pinching together behind the dark frames of his goggles, "Maker! Did those cloners take your sense of humor? Yes, I know where this ship is going."

"Bet Cid’s contact would pay more for that bit of info." Wrecker’s grin can be heard even through the plastoid of his helmet.

Tech meanwhile has typed something to a com on his wrist, "Hunter, there's been a complication."

"What kind of complication?"

"There is more on board this ship than just the republic database-"

"What do you mean?"

"This ship is a mining vessel, out to mine thorilide."

Tech’s wrist comm goes silent, just quiet static while the voice on the other line thinks, "Ordinance?"

Both clones look at her, she nods emphatically, "Ordinance, med supplies, if there was coaxium on board I wouldn't be surprised, this place is the motherlode."

"Quite a bit of supplies on board, it would seem."

The comm goes quiet again for a few moments, "We don't have time for this, it's only a matter of time before they realize that your cruiser is stolen. Grab what you went in for and leave."

Tech shakes his head, it's so tiny and quick that if she wasn't looking at him in that moment she would have missed it, "Where is it being kept?" 

"Up, five or so floors unless I've miscounted."

"Tech, Wrecker, Get out of there, now!" The voice on the other end grows more and more irritable as they stand around in silence.

"We'll be out as soon as possible." Tech replies curtly as he cuts the comm. He makes it sound so easy like they were stopping by the nearest market to pick up fruit, instead of about to hijack high quality explosives from Imperial custody, "Lead the way."

"What? Just like that?"

"Are there, or are there not these items on board?"

"Yes." 

"You swear?" Wrecker leans in close, hovering over her.

"Yeah."

Tech nods, "Vital signs are stable, no signs of heightened stress-"

"What if I'm just a really good liar?"

"You can try all you want my dear, but the data doesn't lie."

"Does he do this to you too? I'm finding it a bit creepy-" She asks Wrecker as her eyebrow raises.

"You get used to it."

"Weird, so weird…" she mutters to herself as she turns and peeks around the corner. She looks around for anything that is familiar, when she sees a maintenance lift at the very end of the hall to the right. She motions them forward, and silently they sneak their way closer to the lift. She turns her attention to her side as she digs in her bag, her fingers grasp at the odd collection of junk in her pockets until her hand finally wraps around the cool metal of her code cylinder and she can finally stop holding her breath.

Tech's hand on her shoulder pulls her back to the task on hand as he drags her back a few steps. The catwalk above them from here to the lift is no more than a shoddy looking set of grates that creak as a group of security droids march along their patrol, oblivious to the three of them below. 

“The maintenance lift?" Tech sniffs as they come to a stop at its doors. He raises hand to push his goggles back into place, "Perhaps you have failed to notice but none of us are maintenance droids, the moment you try to access that panel they will -”

“They’ll what?” She asks as she jams the cylinder into the port, the lift clicks open silently and she steps inside. 

“The alarms-”

“What alarms? According to this," she snaps her code cylinder from the panel and drops it back into her bag, lost again to the chaos of the random junk held within, "I'm a maintenance droid doing routine inspections. How stupid do you think I am?”

"Hey hey, this one's pretty smart huh Tech?!" Wrecker is thrilled.

"Pirate." She reminds, "You don't see many my age that aren't intelligent and I'll give you one guess as to why."

The doors silently click open and before they can step out a team of at least half a dozen well armed sentry droids roll past. 

They all leap from the inside of the lift and fall into a crouch behind a stack of supply crates. They wait for a few moments before Tech quickly peeks over, "They don't seem to have spotted us."

"Fuck, there weren't this many when we tried this the first time." She swears a few more times under her breath.

"We should do this my way." Wrecker offers.

"What's that mean, what does he mean?!" Nox looks nervously over to Tech, "He doesn't mean-?"

"Explosives and violence? He absolutely does," Tech sighs, “ and I'm afraid we are running low on options and even lower on time. Wrecker, what does your ordinance look like?"

“But you said I couldn't bring any?”

“Yes, and when was the last time you actually listened?”

Wrecker, the fun if not absolutely homicidal one, pulls out a couple of detonators, a roll of plastic tape, a half dozen hand grenades and three droid poppers.

“Great, nice to know you could have turned us into a small sun if I hadn't told you about the baby on board.”

"Everything save for the poppers is far too dangerous to use around those crates." Tech hisses, "Any more of those brilliant pirate ideas floating around in your head?"

She chews on her lip for a moment, wracking her brain for anything else that might be useful as she ignores Tech's sarcastic tone. Apart from the crates on this floor littered with treasure, there didn't seem to be anything of any use...except for the busted water filter. “How big of a distraction do you think it would take to get all those sentries away from the haul?”

“It would need to be something quite large or destructive enough to threaten the integrity of the ship.”

“The water filtration system on board is completely calcified, I don't think it was ever fixed since there are only droids on board. If you could flood that with enough pressure the entire pipe should burst-”

“And flood the entire floor, along with the engine room, that might just do it.” He’s on his data pad before the words are even out of his mouth, he scans the room all around and matches it with the wireframe schematics on his screen. He stalks his way backwards until he finds the panel he is looking for. He pops it open easily and then begins to slice into the mainframe of the ship, “On my count, take Wrecker to wherever the baby is, let him handle it. You get your hands on as much of the medical supplies as you can, the security onboard is a little tighter than I would have preferred so I will have to stay here and continue to flood the filter.”

“Oh, easy.”

“Think you can handle all that tiny?” Wrecker’s thundering chuckle threatens to give away their location even with the steady moan of the alarms overhead.

She grins, Wrecker is back to being the fun one, “Try and keep up.”

There is a sound of roaring water all around them as tech funnels every liquid on the ship into the filter, then a sound like an explosion a couple of feet below them rocks the ship like a lightning strike. 

The sound of the alarm overhead changes as every droid on the floor turns away and heads to a lowering platform, all instructed to assist with the burst pipe.

“That’s our cue!” 

She shoves Wrecker forward playfully before they both break into a sprint toward the storage rooms where their bounty is being held. She points to one of the rooms as they approach, "This one's your big boy!"

The door is sealed shut, but not for long. Wrecker doesn't slow, instead he hunches low, bringing his shoulders down and tucking his chin into the collar of his armor before he barrels straight through, punching a hole through the doors with enough force to make even her teeth rattle.

She dips into the storage room across the hall, thanking the stars that her haul wasn't locked away like his was. She rips open any crate within arms reach, tossing open the tops and letting them scatter around the room wherever they land. She snatches bacta patches and hypos by the handful and packs the crate as full as she can, slamming her entire body weight against it to get it to close. She drags it out into the hall, placing it by the door before she bolts into the room right beside the one Wrecker is standing in. 

Wrecker watches her disappear into the room, the four small crates of explosives tucked carefully under his arms, “Wait, where are you-”

His question is answered as another crate hits the floor beside him. She comes running out of the room, grabbing this second crate by the handle and yanking it along, “Perfect! Not a single explosion! Love that for me!”

Wrecker bends down to offer her a hand but she has already snatched up the first trunk and is flying down the hall with them. She's faster than Wrecker would have believed she would be capable of with the two crates almost her height. She almost trips over herself as she stops and with a swift kick, the second crate lands at Tech's feet, “Come on 20/20, cut her loose, let's go!”

“What’s in that- I specifically ordered you to only carry medical supplies.”

“Yeah well, it sounds like you are used to not being listened to so, ship. Now!”

Wrecker races past, hopping off of the side and down to the level below, the halls are empty as all hands are called to help with the floor that is flooding. 

Nox peeks over the side, she watches as Wrecker sets the small boxes of baby down beside him, "Toss your crate!" He calls up. She nods and yanks the crates handle, flipping it up and off of the edge with a nudge from Tech. 

She helps him in turn, as they gingerly haul the crate full of ordinance over the edge before tossing it below. 

Wrecker sets the crates to one side before turning back to catch Nox, but she's already climbing down. Her fingers dig into spots on the wall where she should not be able to have any grip. She finds her own way down and with a little hop, lands right beside Wrecker as Tech lands beside her. The clang of his boots echoes down the empty hallway. "We'll need to make our way through the flooded floor of the ship in order to get back to the hangar." Tech types away at his data pad again before picking up the side of his crate.

Nox follows close beside the two clones, tossing the crate up onto her back to avoid making any unnecessary scraping sounds as they get closer to the flooded area, the sound of pouring water gets louder and louder with every floor. The next floor they walk through has the water barely deep enough to wash over the toes of their boots, but it rises rapidly after that. By the time they are on the same floor as the hangar, the water has risen up to their knees and Nox has a harder time trying to distract her mind from where all of this stagnant water has been hiding this whole time.

“Holding out ok over there tiny?” Wrecker chuckles. 

She turns to answer, when everything becomes...not alright. Her next step slips out from under her and she goes flying forward, crashing face first into the dark disgusting water, the crate on her back keeping her under the surface as she struggles to pull herself back up to standing. 

A hand at the back of her collar pulls her back up into fresh air, slimy water pours from her mouth and nose as she gags. She doesn't need to clear the water from her eyes to know what the dark figures that are starting to line the hallway are. Tech and Wrecker are on either side of her, blasters raised as the sentry droids file in.   

“I'm hoping you can fight better than you can swim.” Tech calls over as Wrecker leaps over them both and charges straight into one of the sentries.  Tech keeps a few of the others at bay, clipping them with bright bolts from his twin deecees, but it's not enough. She rubs the slime from her face and charges right behind Wrecker, using her entire body to check a droid in her path, she grabs the blaster from its hands as it goes tumbling backwards and into the water. Techs shots ring out around her as he stays behind, watching over the crates behind him. Wrecker tears through any droids that get within reach, sparks flying on to the water before they sizzle and die. She concentrates her fire on any droids Tech misses until the hall is clear.

"There'll be a second platoon on their way, we better get a move on." Tech calls back to them, she tosses the almost empty blaster into the water beside her.

"Are you always just, you know?" She makes growling and ripping sounds at Wrecker.

He laughs, "Not often enough." 

She stifles her laughter behind her hand as she walks back to where Tech is to retrieve the case of medical supplies, for a brief moment the last couple of days are forgotten and even the slime on her skin is the last thing on her mind. For a brief moment she was back with her men, waiting for that score of a lifetime, but when she grabs the handle of the crate and looks back it’s the clone armor that reminds her she is in fact alone. The sudden quiet of sadness doesnt last long as the doors behind them open and a new series of drods begin their march towards them. 

“Incoming!”

-----

Tag list: @themarvelbunch @agentwhiskeysdarlin @pascalisthepunkest @ashotofspotchka

[sirsapling]

MORE TAGGED POSTS

I got tagged in a bunch more things I didn't respond to fast enough, so UNDER THE CUT THEY GO. 

I have too many things to respond to, so I won't be tagging, but consider yourself tagged if you want to do any.

IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS

Tagged by the wonderful @bardingbeedle​

Pass the happy!🌻🌿 When you receive this, list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications!

Lying in warm blankets in an cold room. Bonus points for snow outside.

A fresh Buzz cut

Talking to @bardingbeedle​

Having long, passionate rambles about the Marvel Ultimates

Hashbrowns, bacon, maple syrup, maybe a pancake, and a sausage too.

Tagged by the chaotic @s-hylor​

top 3 cities you want to visit: Toronto, again. Colorado (I know its a state not a city I just want to visit ashes AND GET SNOW). And I would like to go back to Italy again. (I also want to visit, just, all of my fandom friends but I don't want to drop all their locations lol)

favorite marvel character: Ults!Steve Rogers and then Ults!Tony Stark. Not counting stony, Anthony the brain tumor, and not counting clones, Gregory Stark.

white chocolate - yay or nay?: Love it, love it, love it.

favourite board game: God Save The Queens- A board game about Bees I invented with 3 other people at University last year for a project.

how many countries have you been to: 10, I have been very luckily graced with the ability to travel to Europe with school a lot.

(Wales, France, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, America [Florida, Boston, New York], Spain, Portugal, Italy, and finally Canada.)

favorite thing to do on a rainy day: Anything indoors I might usually feel guilty about doing when its sunny. Tv or games particularly

favorite holiday: Christmas. I am a Christmas slut, call me festive sapling I LOVE Christmas.

pen or pencil: Pen. I once bought 7 in lisbon at the same time bc they were perfect and I didn't want to run out.

favourite kind of soup: Cupasoup Chicken noodle, I don't really like soups tbh, I like broths, and gravy type things I make too much of and eat like a soup (like golden Currys or korma sauces)

your typical order at a cafe or coffee shop: Caramel Frappucino or an iced Mocha. If I'm gonna pay a fuck tonne for coffee I'm gonna get a drinkable dessert.

favorite ride at an amusement park: Any slow rides that show you shit, like spaceship earth at EPCOT. I’m not really a speed dude.

the color of your sneakers: RED, red shoes are the shit folks, a good pair of red converse goes with everything.

favorite pbs show (or little kids show if you didn’t have pbs):  Uh I used to watch pokemon then winnie the pooh every single night. But little little kids show I used to watch a show called 64 zoo lane with my grandma so I have fond memories

Rules: name your favorite female characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people.

Tagged by the wonderful @ashes0909​

Natasha Romanov - Marvel Cinematic Universe

Carol Danvers - Marvel 616

Janet Van Dyne - Marvel Ultimates

Izumi Curtis - Full Metal Alchemist

Martha Jones - Doctor Who

Garnet - Steven Universe (if she doesn't count bc, space rock, Connie)

Rosa Diaz - Brooklyn 99

Ann Perkins  - Parks and Rec

Princess Caroline - Bojack Horseman

Pam Poovey - Archer

LOOK I know there was a lot of cheating here, but I don't have non marvel fandoms really, and I have a hard time remembering a lot of the TV I enjoyed.

Rules: Share your top 10 AO3 additional tags. Tagged by the mysterious @nigmuff​

look I don't know if I have enough tags to make this a justified representation, but the ones shown are v much on brand.

Fanfic trope meme

I was tagged by the delightful @capnstars​ and @crownofstardustandbone​

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or !!!secret dating!!! // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // oh no there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut AND fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it  // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or !!!!middle-aged romance!!! // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates  // sci-fi or magic au // body swap or genderbend  // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

Look guys, I’m boring. I like domestic 30-40 year olds in secret relationships. We knew this.

And now buckle the fuck down folks because I'm about to answer 50 questions about me no one is gonna stick around and read.

tagged by @bardingbeedle​ the only person who would put up with reading this much about me.

What is the colour of your hairbrush?

I have a buzz cut, I don't have a hair brush anymore.

Are you typically too warm or too cold?

Too warm. I have been warmer than most people my whole life, and I often need to sleep with a fan on.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

Working on a sketch for an MTH fill (update from the end of this: I have spent an hour doing this fuckin thing)

What is your favourite candy bar?

Bounty. My favourite candy is Reese’s Pieces but I like a bounty. Or like, and chocolate without fruit in it tbh.

Have you ever been to a professional sports event?

Yes, one of my parents referees Championship Football here in the UK. I have been to a few of his games. I also went to the London 2012 Paralympic closing ceremony, if that counts.

What is the last thing you said out loud?

‘Oh, this will last me a few days’ I was talking to my mother about 1/2 a can of pringles, I was lying.

What is your favourite ice cream?

Vanilla. I am boring. But the best ice cream i’ve had was a cream/milk flavoured gelato in Florence, that shit slapped. I also like cheap strawberry ice cream when no one is trying to put strawberry bits in it.

What was the last thing you had to drink?

Dinner. A spinach, banana, summer fruits and coconut yoghurt smoothie (with extra raspberries). Its my nightly dinner to cheat more veg into my body.

Do you like your wallet?

Very much. It’s about 7-8 years old, it is faded to hell but it has spiderman and a pony ride stony pin

What was the last thing you ate?

See above smoothie comment, but if that doesn't count, a sugar free mint polo.

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

Nope. I don't buy as many clothes as I want to, bc mens clothes in larger sizes are hard to find or expensive here.

The last sporting event you watched?

F1, I don't keep up but I watch a little with my dad every now and then.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn?

BUTTER. They don't really have it here, and I don't go to movies much when in the states. But @festiveferret​ introduced me to it when we saw Ant-man and the Wasp, and much like poutine and Tim Hortons, I still crave it.

Who is the last person you sent a text message to?

My dad. 

Ever go camping?

Yes, I was a Scout. I have done enough camping to not want to do more, it was fun when I wasn't organising it.

Do you take vitamins?

Yes, but not as often as I should, and as much as my mother bothers me too.

Do you go to church every Sunday?

Nope, not even when I considered myself christian. I go only go to church for other peoples events, and I’m an agnostic now.

Do you have a tan?

I cannot tan. I just can't, I burn lobster red in 5 minutes outside without literal sun cream for BABIES

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?

Chinese food, It was easily what taught me to like more foods also, I don't eat tomato so I can't have most pizza. I love a good garlic base/bechamel, but you can't really get that here easily (yes yes I could make my own but that ruins half the point of pizza)

Do you drink your soda with a straw?

I don't drink carbonated drinks, because its like drinking pain. The fuck is wrong with all of you.

What colour socks do you usually wear?

Various colours, but I consider red on the left, blue on the right, my lucky socks. No I don't know why, but I take all exams and interviews wearing them. It’s just a thing.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

I don't drive, but if I did, No. Theres a lot of questionable laws out there but Traffic laws aren't one of them.

What terrifies you?

Pfft, most things from spiders to rollercoasters. But more seriously, Being shouted at. Shout at me and I start hyperventilating, its a thing. Also not knowing if someone is mad at me. I’m not good at reading people,

Look to your left, what do you see?

The wallet shown earlier, and the sugar free polos mentioned after that.

What chore do you hate?

Vacuuming. It makes everything in my body hurt. I would rather clean toilets.

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?

@s-hylor​

What’s your favourite soda?

See above. I do not like your pain liquid. Apple juice for life.

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thrus?

Either delivery or kiosk, I don't like talking to people where possible, I often need tweaks I don't want to have to remember to repeat.

Who’s the last person you talked to?

@downeyhills​

Favourite cut of beef?

I don't generally eat beef, lamb, or most red meats. I love crispy chilly beef, but as anyone can point out its bc your generally don't feel the texture of the beef.

Last song you listened to?

Everybody Wants to Rule the World | Tears for Fears | Pomplamoose

I’m on a Pomplamoose kick, and I also just love this song anyway.

Last book you read?

Understanding Comics (The invisible Art) - Scott McCloud

Favourite day of the week?

Friday nights. The weekend is ahead and @loraneldin​ and I take to wrangling our beloved usual suspects through another week of Ults Book Club.

Can you say the alphabet backwards?

I can barely say it forwards.

How do you like your coffee?

With milk and sugar, or ultimately, in a Caramel Frappuccino bc I'm a bitch like that.

Favourite pair of shoes?

I have walking boots that don't make my flat ass feet feel like they’re dying. OR my black and green crocs (Fight me, they’re useful).

The time you normally go to sleep?

9-10 is what I'm working on, but I fluctuate depending on if I'm working on something or not.

The time you normally get up?

5-6 If I have a choice in the matter, but often 7-8 if I didn't get to bed at the right time. I’m more about getting the right hours in for my diet than time specifically.

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets?

Sunset is the prettiest, but I like to be awake to see the sun rise.

How many blankets on your bed?

One big thick comforter, because that's the uk standard, and I get too hot otherwise.

Describe your kitchen plates

Two types, big wide white ones with a navy blue rim. They are so large I never use them, and little Navy saucer plates I use a lot.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage?

I don't drink, so no. I drink apple juice or Shirley temples when I'm in pubs/bars

Do you play cards?

Sometimes, I like to teach people to play Old Maid. It’s the monopoly of card games.

What colour is your car?

Again, I do not drive. 

Can you change a tire?

I am aware I just said I don't have a car, but I do know how to change a tire. Everyone should go learn its pretty simple.

Favourite job you’ve ever had?

I have only had one job really and two job experience jobs. I did experience in a school library for a week and that was v fun and chill. I did all the jobs they had prepared for me in 2 days so I alphabetically reorganised their fiction section for the rest of the week. I LIKE ORDERING.

How did you get your biggest scar?

I no longer have a gallbladder, so I have 3 scars across my torso from that, the biggest right in the middle of my ribs. Non surgical wise I have matching scars on my knees from ripping holes in them when tripping. I have weak ankles and also I got both of those at different times.

What did you do today that made someone else happy?

I gave my spare animal crossing Iguanodon skull to a wicked artist I follow on twitter so he could complete his dino park. 

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 18

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

-/

Fury is etched into every trail of light beneath his skin, in his irises, the very posture he maintains. His shoulders are tight and tense, and if he were a younger, more reckless man, he is certain some volume of arc energy would have skittered across his skin like wayward lightning. Instead, he remains confined to his chair, watching Shaxx backpedal to explain himself while he attempts to maintain some modicum of control over his anger.

“Ikora had asked me,” The larger Titan is saying, “To give her time to test Miyu’s skills. To see where she stood with her Light.”

“Ikora knows nothing of what is happening with her Light.”

“She knows-”

“She has not seen,” Zavala barely restrains himself from bellowing. “There is a point after which Miyu’s Ghost cannot heal her.”

“Resurrection-”

“It does not work like that.” The Commander laces his fingers and squeezes the combined fist his hands make. “It helps, but not completely. The situation is unique. Delicate, if you will.” His eyes level with Shaxx, hard and unyielding. “How long did she say she would need?”

“I have Arcite running matches in other arenas. She did not say.”

Zavala growls. “When you receive confirmation that they are finished, I would like to know about it.”

“You have my word. If Ikora says-”

“I do not want to hear what Ikora has to say, unless it comes from Ikora herself. That is the only way things will improve.”

Shaxx dips his head in a nod, still trapped in the Commander’s ferocious gaze. It’s been some time since he’s seen his friend’s wrath on full display. “As you wish.”

-/

Ikora circles her, like a lioness would her prey. It’s fitting, as Miyu’s heartbeat is akin to that of an antelope, a thready, unbalanced flutter in both surprise and panic. The Awoken woman holds out both hands in a non-threatening manner, knees bent to lower her center of gravity. She balances precariously on the precipice of fight or flight.

“Well?” The Warlock Vanguard asks, tapping the barrel of her trusted shotgun into the cupped palm of her other hand. “I’ve offered you the first shot. Let’s see it.”

“You took my gun,” Miyu chimes, quietly.

“I did not take your sword, though. Make your move.”

Miyu knows that Ikora is angry, that likely this morning’s events have reached her ears to cause current events. There is very little that Ikora is not privy to. That much has always been true. She sighs. “Ikora, I do not-”

“I do not care if you do not wish to fight me. You will.”

“Please, Ikora, let me explain.”

The other Warlock’s nostrils flare. “There is nothing to explain, Grey.”

Miyu shakes her head, knowing Ikora wants her to rise to the bait. “You and I both know that’s not true.” She lowers her stance further, despite herself. The fine hairs at the base of her neck stand in anticipation. Ikora almost always gets her way, and it is unlikely this time will be any different. “You truly wish to fight me?”

“I wish to see just how fruitful your efforts have been, to encourage you to continuously defy my orders.”

“If,” She looks up through dark lashes at her Vanguard leader, her quiet voice low and reedy, heavy with humidity and the threat of something building, “If you had tried to listen to me when I asked, it wouldn't be like this.”

Ikora tuts. “I told you to speak up. If you do not make yourself a priority, how am I supposed to?”

“Ikora. Things, they aren't - I didn't want to defy you. But at least…”

“At least?” Ikora echoes, sing-song and mocking in her delivery.

“At least Zavala cares!” Miyu roars. “You couldn't care less if you tried.”

That elicits a frown from the other woman. “That's not true.”

Miyu juts her chin up. “You're intrigued by me because I'm a puzzle to solve, a problem to unravel. There's no autonomy in your reactions at all, except to keep me away from Zavala because you're upset with him. And that's only for you! You care about what Osiris says, about 'fixing me,’” She quotes with shaking fingers. Her eyes blaze with solar fire, chest heaving as she all but screams, “But I'm NOT broken!”

And yet, despite herself, when the fire takes shape in the palm of her hand, it burns her.

Ikora calls the slippery cool of the void to deflect the attack away as though it is childsplay, an affront to the skillset any Warlock should have.

“That is all you have? Pathetic.”

Miyu snarls at that and calls more flame to her palm. Tamashii appears beside her. “Wait,” He cries. “Yu-mi, wait!”

“She wants to see,” She bites back at her Ghost, her wrath visible in her cold gaze. “I'll show her if I must.”

“It's too risky,” He tells her. “We don't know how much I'll-”

“Quiet, Ghost,” Ikora barks. “This is a matter between your Guardian and me.”

His white and gold shell prickles and pushes out with his outburst of, “I will not! You have no right to treat her this way.”

“Tama,” Miyu calls. He turns to face her. She sees his worry, carved into every shifting twitch of his shell. Her voice is firm. “Daijoubu. Let us go. Everything will be fine.”

“Miyu,” He replies, eyeing Ikora warily before hovering closer. His voice drops. “Anata no koto ga shinpai desu.”

She tips her lips into a gentle smile. She knows his concern. Appreciates it. He is her guiding Light, and through all her lives she’s always known that to be the truth. “Hikari no Tama, it will be alright.”

The last time he'd called her that, it was when she begged him to phase into her, to release his physical form so that he would not be a target in the hours after the Cabal attack. He shudders. Her choice of words frighten him. He does not like the helpless feeling that accompanies watching his Guardian teeter on the edge.

“I trust you,” He says, despite it. “I won't interfere.” She nods. He dips his cones in a resolute nod. “For now.”

Miyu smiles harder at that. “I'm counting on you,” She murmurs. And then she calls on the flame.

-/

He flies faster than he ever has in his life. He knows the transmat location by heart; He moves before he’s materialized in the familiar spawn. He ducks just below awnings and ceilings in the covered areas, phases through door frames and arches at a speed that he’s sure less experienced Ghosts - or those with a need for speed would adore.

But he does not adore this.

This skill, this speed, was gained from dazzling, daring maneuvers on repeat for centuries. From learning terrifying enemies. From fight or die, from promising ‘I won’t leave you,’ from learning how to fight in the ways only a non-combatant knows how.

If he had a body, he wonders if he’d be out of breath. He figures he probably would. But, he does not, so it’s only panic that shakes his voice when he finally reaches his destination.

“Zavala!” He cries, in a yell that makes the other person in the Commander’s office turn. “Help her! I-I can’t-”

It’s Shaxx, Miyu’s Ghost realizes belatedly. “Gho-”

“Tamashii, tell me where to go.” Adelaide appears in a flash of Light beside Zavala, the back plates of her shell spinning in preparation for transmat.

Shaxx looks between the gold trimmed Ghost and the Commander. He stands. “I’m going too.”

“No,” Zavala and his Ghost say in perfect sync. The Commander’s frown is deep, his eyes blown wide with worry he cannot contain. “This is not a public matter,” He says, tone brokering no argument.

“I-” Tamashii spins anxiously, looking between the two Titans and their Ghosts. “We need all the Light we can get. Ophiuchus and I could not bring her back together.”

Shaxx winces when Zavala’s fist leaves the top of his desk in dust and splinters.

[fandomfanfics12]

We Are A Family-part 1

Title: We Are A Family. Pairings: Steve x tony, Peter x Wade, Nat x Clint, Sam x Bucky. Part: 1/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slowburn. Summary: When Nat comes into the avengers tower with baby Peter Parker, the avengers didn't know what they were getting themselves into. But now that Peter is here,Steve and Tony both feel protective over him. It doesn't help that Peter hates everyone other than Steve and tony. But as Steve and tony raise Peter, they start to fall for one another. Will this superfamily work out or will it all turn to hell? A/N: so I can't do summaries lol. I hope you enjoy this fic I have no idea how long it's gonna be and I don't have an updating schedule but I'll try to update as frequently as possible. I just had this idea one day and I really wanted to write it so if it turns to crap i apologise in advance. Hope you enjoy.

Tony Stark was not good when it came to commitment. His relationship with Pepper had ended almost as quickly as it had begun. One thing he was committed to was the Avengers. They had become his family and despite many of their flaws, he didn't want to live his life without them. Well, there was one avenger he would happily get rid of. Captain America, Steve Rogers, the man his father loved more than Tony. He was so noble and brave and everyone adored the war hero. He was also mr perfect and very annoying. He constantly scolded Tony for his bad habits. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony merely shrugged it off, but everyday he had to resist punching mr perfect in the face. Today was especially difficult. 

“You put the entire team at risk Tony!” Steve hissed and Tony rolled his eyes. He was glad that Steve had his own apartment in Brooklyn, that way tony didn't have to share a roof with him. “It was a calculated risk that worked and finished the mission in our favour!” Tony shouted back. Steve rolled his eyes. “You put us all at risk like our lives don't matter! If this had gone wrong you and everyone else could have died!” Tony shook his head. “Give me a break Rogers, you know that what I did was good and you're just pissed because you hadn't come up with it yourself.” The other avengers were silently watching. Steve opened his mouth to retaliate when Romanoff walked in. Tony briefly glanced at her and then did a double take. Because in her arms was an adorable brown eyed baby. “Why do you have a kid?” Clint asked and they all stared at him. “He was at the front door.” “So you decided to bring him inside? There's probably some mother worried sick-“ “We are in the middle of nowhere. He's barely a walking toddler. He didn't make his own way here, he was dropped off. And there was a note.” Nat responded dryly. “So what are we supposed to do with him?” “The note said he was special. I think the parents were hoping we would run some tests.” Nat murmured. Tony withheld a groan. More work. “Does he have a name?” Steve asked softly, studying the child. “Peter.” Nat confirmed and Tony nodded his head. He studied Peter once more, the kid met his gaze and smiled. “We’ll take turns looking after him.” “We’re going to have to baby proof the house.” Tony thought of the weapons room and cringed. This was the worst place to keep a toddler. “A floor would be easier.” Tony murmured and the others nodded in agreement. They'd childproof one floor to prevent Peter from doing anything stupid. “Who is going to take the first shift?” Nat asked. “I'll do it. I've got to run tests on him anyway, how long will the shift last?” Tony asked. “Every two days?” Clint suggested and the others nodded in agreement. “Okay.” Nat handed Peter over to Tony. The kid was lighter than Tony had expected. He instantly wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck and the other avengers smiled. “I'm going to take him down to the lab, I'll let you guys know if I find anything.” Tony left with Peter, unsure on what he was about to get himself into. — Four hours later, Peter was playing with a toy car and tony was studying his cells. They were clearly mutated, but he wasn't sure how that affected the child. When tony glanced at him, Peter was gone. “Shit.” Tony looked everywhere in the workshop, no sign of Peter. He ran a hand through his hair. Less than four hours and Tony had already lost the kid. The others were going to kill him. He knew the kid had to be somewhere in the workshop because it would be impossible for him to have gone anywhere else. Tony searched and searched and finally sat down on his chair. Maybe his mutated genes allowed him to turn invisible. To vanish completely. Tony heard a giggle and looked up at the roof. Peter was crawling on the roof and tony frowned. This kid was going to be a lot of trouble. But at least now tony had an idea on what Peter’s mutated cells did. He reached for the kid and found he could not touch the ceiling. So he got into the iron man suit and got Peter that way. The kid giggled, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “I'm going to have to run some more tests.” The kid frowned at him, no longer giggling. He mumbled something incoherent and Tony sighed. “I know it sucks but it'll help us know what else you can do?” The kid continued to scowl and for a moment tony worried he would start screaming or shitting. Thankfully the kid didn't do either. He just scowled at tony, waiting for him to start running more tests. Tony glanced back to Peter’s mutated cells and found them going crazy. Reacting to the suit? Tony put Peter down and looked at the cells again. They were fine. Were they reacting to Peter? Tony picked Peter up again and drew some blood. The kid whimpered but didn't move. “Now you get a lollipop.” Tony murmured. Peter smiled. Tony turned to get a bandaid but when he turned back, the prick of where the needle had been was gone. Tony searched Peter’s entire arm and there was no blood. Not on the other arm either. Peter watched him curiously. Tony took Peter’s hand, glanced at him apologetically and then pricked it. Peter whined but then stopped as the skin knitted over the wound. Sealing it. Tony stared at his finger, stunned. “That's a cool party trick.” Tony told him and Peter giggled. It was a little reassuring knowing that if Peter hurt himself he would be okay. There was a knock on one of the blacked out glass windows and tony looked up. Steve was waiting on the other side. “Yeah you can come in.” The door opened and Steve walked over. “Found anything?” He asked and watched as Peter played with the toy car. “He's going to be a handful.” Tony confessed. “What makes you say that?” Steve had a soft smile on his face. “His cells are mutated and he can heal faster and he can do other things.” “Other things?” Steve looked at tony with furrowed brows. “He was crawling on the roof.” Tony confessed. It seemed that that was the moment Steve noticed the iron man suit. “You're joking.” “No I'm serious Peter-“ was no longer playing with the car. He was crawling up the wall, heading for the roof. “Dammit.” Tony rushed over and plucked him off before he could do anything. “I see what you mean.” Steve murmured and tony looked down at Peter. “New rule, no climbing walls or roofs understand?” Tony asked and Peter scowled. “He's a toddler-“ “He's advanced and knows what I'm saying.” Tony muttered and he was almost positive that it was completely true. “So was he born with mutated cells or?” Steve trailed off and tony looked up at him. “I think he was born with normal cells and something happened involving radiation.” Tony confessed. But what? What could have done this to him? Tony sighed, he was tired and he knew he would need coffee soon. He wanted to keep testing and researching Peter’s DNA but he had no idea on where to start. What he did know was that he needed to find the kid’s parents. Just because the avengers were baby sitting Peter didn't mean they could keep him. Even though the kid was adorable and intelligent. Don't get attached to someone that isn't yours and someone that you cannot keep. Tony thought as he watched the kid. But it would be easy, too easy, to grow attached to Peter. Tony shook his head. “Do you think the parents are going to come and pick him up?” Steve asked quietly. “No, I think we’re going to have to find them. The parents probably found him on the ceiling and panicked. They're not going to expect us to have determined what's going on.” “Then why bother dropping him off?” “Because they had hope.” — As it turns out, Peter was very intelligent. And very adorable. And tony could feel himself growing more and more attached with every passing moment. When he told the kid to go to bed he would do as told. When tony told him to sit still, he would do as told. When tony gave him his lollipops he would giggle and clap his hands. Tony was tempted to extend his two day care but knew that would seem strange to the others. When the two days were over, tony was hugging Peter tightly. “You're going to stay with Steve now alright Pete? I had fun hanging out with you but it’s Steve’s turn now.” Peter scowled and Tony chuckled. Steve walked in and smiled. “Ready?” He asked and tony wasn't. “I'll see you soon kid.” Tony told Peter, Peter smiled when he saw Steve and started giggling. “Any tips?” Steve asked. “He’s smart so if you don't want him to do something tell him. Be good for Steve Peter.” Tony told him and Steve raised a brow. “What did you feed him?” Steve asked softly. “I gave him fruit and lollipops and he's a big fan of potato chips. But I think he has a slight nut allergy.” Tony murmured and Steve nodded. “Noted.” Then Steve left and Tony watched them go. He didn't want to give up Peter. Not even a little bit. But it was imperative that they find the kid’s parents and learn as to what the hell happened to him. — Three days passed and Tony couldn't wait to see Peter. Clint was looking after him and he said he was bringing him in today. Tony didn't know why he was so excited, he barely knew the kid. But he was extremely excited and tony kept checking his watch. When Clint came in, Peter was screaming and crying. “What did you do to him?” Tony demanded and took Peter instantly. He bounced Peter in his arms and glared at Clint. “He hasn't stopped crying since Steve left.” Clint breathed. “You've had him four hours!” Tony exclaimed and Peter stopped crying. “I did everything Steve told me too. He wouldnt stop.” Tony rolled his eyes. “What's wrong?” Tony asked Peter and the kid was smiling at tony. “He's not going to tell you.” Clint stated. “Time for you to go back to Clint now Peter.” Tony handed him back and Peter started screaming instantly. “He hates me!” Clint handed Peter back and tony held him tightly. “Fine you don't want to stay with Clint? You can stay with Bruce.” Tony told Peter and he only screamed louder. “Would you like to stay with Nat?” The screaming continued. Tony bit his lip, he could offer the kid to stay with him. Maybe Peter wanted Tony. “Do you want to stay with me?” Tony asked softly and he stopped crying. “Seriously?” Clint raised a brow. “What can I say? The kid has taste.” Tony smirked but he felt relief. Because Peter would be with him. Because Peter wanted to be with Tony.  “We should let the others know that he’s fussy on who he stays with.” Tony murmured and Clint nodded. “I'll call them in.” He declared and Tony sat down with Peter in his lap. — When the other avengers came in they all sat down around the table. “So the kid is fussy? Who does he like so far?” Bruce asked. “Tony and Steve.” Clint answered. “Anyone else?” Nat raised a brow. “Apparently not.” Tony looked down at the kid, hope flared in his chest. He would get to spend more time with Peter. Sure, he would have to go to Steve sometimes but…tony was going to get more time with Peter now than he was before. “We have a problem.” Clint murmured, looking up from his phone. “What?” Tony tensed, his grip on Peter tightened. “The kid’s parents are dead.” “What?” Steve was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and he looked to Peter. “How?” Nat demanded. “They were in a plane crash. A pretty bad one. It says that Mary and Richard Parker had a son named Peter, it is unknown if he was also on the plane.” Tony looked down at Peter who was watching Clint. As if he understood exactly what was going on. Tony swallowed back a lump in his throat. Peter was an orphan. “Next of kin?” Nat asked quietly. “His aunt may and uncle Ben. They're looking for him. They're convinced he wasn't on the plane.” Clint confirmed. “Is there a way to contact them?” Bruce asked. Tony didn't want to contact them. Didn't want to give up this child. If anything he was tempted to say that he would adopt the kid. That he would take care of Peter full time. But that was crazy. Still, looking at the kid, tony didn't want to give him up. I like you kid, I wanna keep you. Tony was in such deep and unending shit. “Can we really trust these people to look after him though?” Steve asked. He was standing beside tony now, looking at Peter and tony recognised what Steve was feeling. He wanted to keep Peter too. “They're his family.” Sam murmured. “Yes but with Peter’s mutated cells, these people are normal. They wouldn't know how to truly look after him.” Tony explained. “So we teach them.” Bruce murmured and Clint called the contact number. Tony and Steve shared a look. “Hello? Hi. My name is Clint Barton. I think I have your nephew.” Clint gave them the address and hung up. It was done. Peter was going away. — Steve could not explain how wrong he felt inside. He just understood that Peter was his. His son. He was convinced that Peter belonged with him. The only person who he would be satisfied with looking after Peter was tony. Because Steve knew that Tony felt the same way. Peter was theirs. Because the way the kid looked at them, it felt Like he knew that he was their son. Steve was willing to coparent Peter with Tony. But he was not willing to give Peter up altogether. “We can't let them take him.” Tony whispered and was holding Peter tightly. “I don't think we have a choice.” “Do you want to let him go? Be honest with me Rogers.” Tony growled and Steve sighed. “No, that's the last thing I want to do, but I don't think we are in a position to decide that.” And they really weren't. When May and Ben walked inside the avengers compound, they looked like Peter. Steve hated that, because he knew they would take him away. They spotted Peter and May began crying. “Peter.” She whispered and pulled Peter from Tony’s arms. Tony tensed but let him go, Ben and May hugged Peter tightly and Steve inhaled sharply. He was theirs. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” May sobbed and tony looked away. Steve wanted to comfort Tony, sure they didn't get along and didn't agree on much. But they agreed on this. On Peter. And now they were going to lose Peter. Both of them. “We need to talk about Peter.” Tony’s voice was husky and raw. “Is this about his powers? Because we already know and we are more than ready to take them on.” May explained and Steve felt himself deflate a little. He was hoping they wouldn't know. That they wouldn't be able to handle it. “Right. So you know about crawling on the roof?” Tony asked and Ben chuckled. “Yes we do.” “Oh. Well, all the best.” Tony mumbled and left the room. Peter stared after tony, a frown on his cute little face. “Bye Peter.” Steve murmured softly and Peter’s eyes widened. Because that was what Steve had said to him before Sam took him away. Instantaneously, Peter began screaming and crying. “Oh no.” May began to bounce him and tried to calm him down. Ben stroked his hair and whispered sweet nothings. But Peter just continued to scream and scream and scream. Steve instinctively reached out and took Peter from May’s hands. He hugged him tightly and rocked him gently. “Shh, it's gonna be alright Peter. You're gonna live with your aunt and uncle now. Full time. No more being passed from person to person.” Steve had calmed him down but he started screaming again. “It's because he missed his parents.” Ben murmured and Steve wanted to tell him he was wrong. It was because Peter knew that he wasn't going to see Steve and tony ever again and he hated that idea as much as they did. “Maybe we could visit.” Steve whispered and Peter settled a little bit. “Visit?” May tilted her head. “Well we should monitor his powers as he grows older-“ Steve began to explain but Ben interrupted. “He will not be a part of this. He will not become an avenger. Peter is going to live a normal life and you and your team will not be allowed to visit!” Ben hissed and Steve’s hold on Peter tightened protectively. “I just thought-“ “I don't care what you thought! Peter is ours and you will not be a part of his life. Now give him back!” Ben growled. Steve looked down at Peter. Studying his face, the kid stared back. Like he was begging Steve not to allow this. Or was Steve seeing things he wished were true? He handed peter over and Peter began screaming and crying. May and Ben simply left, and even when they were long gone, Steve could still hear his screams. — “We have to get him back.” Steve sat down on Tony’s chair in his workshop and ran a hand through his blonde hair. He could barely sleep last night, his mind was on Peter. “As you said, we aren't in the position to decide who he lives with.” Tony murmured bluntly. Steve inhaled sharply, it was true. “Yes, but we need to change that. Make him ours-“ “You don't even like me.” Tony grumbled. “When did I say that?” “You implied it, several times.” “So you're saying that it didn't feel like Peter was your son?” Steve demanded and Tony sighed. “It did. And I know it did for you too, but he's not ours Steve. He’s theirs and now we’ve lost him.” “We can get him back.” “What makes you so sure?” “Because that's all I can think about. Is getting him back.” “Then we’ll get him back.”

[i-have-homework-but-i-still-here]

Danny, darling, you're basically married

#Holiday Request I love all your AUs so much, thank you for sharing them! I've been craving some Bruce/Danny lately, would you be willing to write more of Freelance Inventor?

Danny helps his mom set the foldable table, lining it up with their dinner table and the second one he had placed previously. Quickly cleaning off the surface with a wet rag, Danny ensures there is no dust before laying a lovely red tablecloth on it.

The red material nearly hides the poinsettia embroiled in the design in a darker shade of red. He runs his hands over it, smiling at the memories this cloth has brought him.

His grandmother passed it down to his mother after his parent's marriage. It was initially meant to be used for Christmas dinners only as per Fenton tradition. Still, seeing as his parents always turned that into a month-long argument, the Fentons started to use it as a Thanksgiving dinner decoration only.

He always brightened whenever his mom would come down from the attic saying the truck of unique Thanksgiving tablecloths. There were seven altogether, but it warmed him whenever he saw it.

Maddie promised to give the trunk to the first of her children to marry, and secretly, Danny hoped it would be him. His sisters liked Thanksgiving fine but not as much as he.

Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday. His family always cooked together, played games, watched movies, had silly little Fenton traditions, and it was just a time to be together.

Bruce and his kids would be coming over this year. Alfred had hurt his back and could not cook Thanksgiving dinner as usual, so Danny asked if the Waynes could join them.

Ever since their friendship, Danny has spent Thanksgiving in Amity Park. Christmas in Gotham and New Year would be a switch between them. His family had been fine with him splitting the holidays, but his Dad had been asking for years for the two to mix, and this year would finally be it.

Danny finishes setting the plates, knives and forks down. He made sure to fold the napkins into animals for the respected person sitting there. A peacock for Alfred, A butterfly for Bruce, an elephant for Dick, a robin for Jason, a bat for Tim, A dog for Damian, an octopus for Steph, a swan for Cass, a bunny for Duck, a bear for Jazz, a cat for his mom, a jellyfish for Dad, an owl for Dani and finally gorilla for himself.

Danny has his own trunk for Thanksgiving, having started purchasing solid linen napkins when he was seven. He uses multiple sizes and colors to make his animals, and when he's done, he can't help but beam at the colorful animals on the plates.

Except for Alfred's. His peacock is sitting inside his wine glass, the green and blue of his tail falling over his plate.

In the kitchen, his mom and dad are dancing around each other, wiping up a meal that, for once, isn't anywhere near ectoplasm. The pair had gone in beforehand to remove contamination and cleaned it out, claiming they wanted to impress Bruce's family. This means that their food will likely not come to life this dinner.

It also meant the Waynes would be mighty surprised by how good chiefs his parents are. In the privacy of his heart, Danny keeps the secret that while Alfred was good, he was nowhere near Fentons' level of cooking.

Jazz comes down from upstairs, looking dazzlingly in her black dress and perfectly done make-up. The Fentons always dressed to the nines for Thanksgiving, even if they only stayed in their living rooms.

"Looks great, Danny!" She says with a bright smile,e eyeing the table and smiling when her eyes land on her bear. Danny had used a white napkin to simulate Bearbert's lab coat. "Finished with the rest of the house?"

Danny waves his hand, beaming at the decorations he has set up. The entire first floor had miniature pumpkins scattered about on tabletop surfaces. The couch cushions had been replaced with light orange ones. Hung up around doorways and surrounded windows were red, brown, and yellow leaves fines, interweaved with sunflowers.

Small sunflower wreaths were also placed on the walls, and linking them together was a sheer red cloth that dropped into small hoops between them.

A few larger pumpkins were placed near the walls, and some fake leafy vines were placed on the ground to resemble a pumpkin patch pathway. Danny loved the multiple scented candles and small acorn lights he had looped around the edges of the furniture, turning off the other lights to make them pop.

It gave a homey but festive vibe that he knows the Waynes are unused to. The decorations for their Holidays were always large and expensive. Brought together by a team of interior designers who made everything look great, just slightly artificial.

Or maybe that was Danny's middle-class mindset.

The Fentons had money- with his parent's PhDs, Danny's freelance, Jazz's brilliant work, and Dani's photos- but they had always remained with a middle-class mindset, never going for the over-the-top shows of wealth the Waynes had.

Even the clothes he had on now made him feel like they were too much, despite having bought them himself. He was wearing his best suit, and Bruce took him to get tailored because heaven knows Danny couldn't tell what was considered good quality. Although they hugged his body in all the right places, Danny felt silly.

"Wonderful work as usual." Jazz's smile turned even larger. His sister considers the hung-up wreaths with a critical eye. Danny moved to stand next to her as she sighed wishfully. "Remember the year you learned how to make those?"

Danny laughs. "Yeah, you biked me to all the hobby stores in Amity Park because I was determined to make my own decorations and didn't understand why a seven-year-old couldn't walk alone."

"You threw such a fit about standing on my training wheels while I petaled." She snorts, shifting her voice higher to emulate kid Danny. "Jazz, can't you go faster! People think we need training wheels like I could ride a bike without them. I literally hit a tree the day before!"

"I was embarrassed people were seeing us 'cause I didn't realize how awesome it was for my nine-year-old sister to do something like that for me." Danny side hugs her. "You were pretty amazing growing up, Jazz. I'm sorry I didn't realize it as a kid."

His elder sister hugs him back. "It's alright. I'm sorry I was so stubborn as a kid, too. You were right back then. We could have just walked."

"Yeah, but then we would have missed out on bonding in the hospital when we went down Sisneros Hill." Danny laughs. " The matching casts were a good lesson for how breaks worked."

Jazz snorts, then bursts into laughter as the memories play again behind her eyes. Danny finds himself joining her, and his heart swells with love. Eventually, they calm down long enough for Jazz's eyes to soften at the small table with crafts supplies. "You're going to include the Waynes in the Danny's decor tradition?"

"Yup." Danny rubs the back of his head. "I figured we could do it after Dinner. Before or during Dad's karaoke."

Danny planned on having the Wayne children make their own wreaths to add to his collection. He hoped they liked it as it was a Fenton tradition he started with his family when he was nine.

The one above the little table was the first ever wreath he made at nine years old. It looked terrible compared to the others, but it made him happy.

Jazz hums "I'm sure they will love it. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what's up."

"What's going on between you and Bruce?" Jazz turns to him, crossing her arms but not looking judgmental. If anything, there is only curiosity in her voice. "You've known him for ten years, you're heavily involved with his kids' upbringing, and even though you always travel for work, you always make time for him and the kids. Are you two dating?" "

Danny blinked, taken aback. "I mean....Bruce means a lot to me, but I'm not sure we have that kind of relationship."

Jazz considers his response before carefully asking, as if worried her words will offend "Do you want to have that kind of relationship with him?"

The question causes him to pause. He finds his mind drawing a blank even if his heart leaps a little in his chest.

"I don't know. You know I don't really feel urges like that." He admits after a while, leaning back into the wall and picturing Bruce's face. It flashes with a warmth that he rarely saw the billionaire betow upon anyone else. But did that make him excited? Was it only for him? Did he want to do things with Bruce?

He wrinkles his nose at the thought of Bruce and him in bed, but the idea of kissing the other man isn't so bad. Unusual since Danny always found the action to be gross.

"I know you're asexual, but that isn't the same thing as being aromantic." His sister says gently. "You can want to have a romantic relationship with someone without the physical aspects."

"I guess I just never considered it." He admits after a moment of the pair standing there. His mind is whirling with the idea now. He thought that after ten years, he had never considered the idea that Bruce was something more.

But in a way, he was. Bruce had somehow turned into one of his most important people, always playing in the back of his mind, and when Danny thinks of happiness, he imagines the Waynes. When someone says family, it isn't just his parents and sisters; it's the rich man with a heart of gold, his butler, and his ragtag team of children.

Goodness. When did that happen?

"That's alright if you don't," Jazz tells him. She nods her head to where his parents are finishing the touches on the dinner. Dani had come down at some point- looking fabulous in her red jumper- and was helping Dad with the fudge. "They consider Bruce your lover, you know? Mom and Dad still struggle with the concept of asexual, so don't let them pressure you tonight. They will start asking for you two to set a wedding date, and although I talked them out of it, don't be surprised if they corner you later."

Danny thinks back to all the graduations, the birthday cards, the Christmas presents, and the random visits his parents would do for the Wayne children. It hits him then that they had been treating them like grandchildren since Dick was nine, and he wonders why he never noticed before.

No wonder Dad has wanted mixed holidays for years now. They thought they were grandparents.

The strangest part? Danny was okay with it if they saw the Wayne children as grandchildren. It actually made him feel warm and proud to be their son.

But that would mean they saw Bruce as their son-in-law, and Danny wasn't sure how he felt about it yet. He liked it, but he was scared of what it implied.

Why did his heart leap with joy? Why did he imagine coming home to Bruce? Why did he feel giggly and nervous like a schoolboy again?

Had Danny....been in love with Bruce for years and never noticed? Is this feeling the same as other people's when they like someone romantically?

Jazz observes his face, able to read him long before she finishes her psychology degree in profiling. She must see his thoughts because she reaches out to place a comforting hand on his arms. "Whatever you figure out, Bruce has been here for ten years. He'll be here for ten more, even if it's just as friends."

The doorbells dings. Dani bounces out of the kitchen towards it with a cheer. "They're here!"

Danny glances over, and his eyes catch Bruce's warm ones over his younger sister's head. His heart flutters as his friend gives him that unique smile despite Dani clutching him in a bone-crushing hug. His children are piled behind him, and seeing it all makes him feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

Oh gods, was he in love?

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 15

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Sunsinger.

Previously

-/

Nothing changes, and yet, everything does.

The Commander himself is incredibly subtle. She sees him only a touch more than usual - an extra minute here there after a training session, a late night meal in the quiet of his office, taking the long way back to one of their apartments. He does not push her - and very rarely do they engage in anything that would be frowned upon. Certainly no trysts in the office, but a chaste kiss at the corner of her lips if there’s no one around to see, or a hand that barely brushes the small of her back as he passes. She’s as naive and delicate as she is old, her Ghost says (only when they’re alone), and it translates well into blushes that make her cheeks feel like fire.

The handful of times they spend alone, away from the Tower, in the hazy, ethereal glow of the Traveler, however… Those are something different entirely. Where she is meek, she becomes bold, hands skirting over taut muscles and fingers making quick work of well-worn braces and buckles. Where she felt doubt she radiates confidence, bright eyes warm and gentle, her advances becoming more and more sure.

For his part, Zavala does not mind, for the more he learns, the more he’s transfixed by the bloom of this woman into someone he desperately wishes to know everything about. There’s more to her than the gentle, timid creature he sees in the waking hours. And every day, he uncovers a little bit more of her that she keeps sequestered away.

It’s a few weeks after their discovery of the spark between them that Ikora sends for Miyu. The wayward Warlock follows her into her study, a dusty, well-worn nook that looks comparable to the Speaker’s quarters in the old Tower.

“How are you faring,” Her mentor asks, her voice mellow and cool. “You have not checked in with me recently.”

Miyu dips her head, but looks up into the other woman’s eyes as she speaks. “About the same,” She admits. “I have not made any significant progress.”

In that same breezy, unimpressed tone, she continues, “And your work with Zavala bears no fruit as well?”

Ikora’s eyes narrow at the breath that lodges itself in Miyu’s throat. Beside the pale-skinned Awoken, her Ghost spins his segments and watches his Guardian carefully from a respectable distance.

“I did not hear you,” Ikora says, though she knows full well her subordinate has not spoken.

Miyu flinches at the curt tone. Though she has no recollection of what being a child is like, she suspects how she feels now is close to it. “No, Ikora.”

“I had presumed,” She turns her back, wrapping her hands around the opposite elbow, “That you would consider that you are under my jurisdiction. My student. However, perhaps that was not made abundantly clear.” She paces a few steps before turning back around. “Do you understand the current political state?”

Dark eyebrows furrow. “I don’t follow.”

“Certainly you’ve heard some of what is going on in the Tower, if you haven’t heard it directly from the Commander,” Ikora grouses. “It is no secret-”

Miyu shakes her head. “Ikora, really, that’s-”

“I’m sure he’s plenty kind to you,” She says, easy. “He has always liked taking broken things under his wing.”

Tamashii trembles in rage, his optic narrowing. “Ikora-”

“Enough.” One teal and two amber eyes direct to the pale-faced woman. Her eyes are as hard as they are bright, the spectral glow under her skin well defined in her anger. “What the Commander is helping me with is personal and none of your business. Have I not done as you asked?”

“I asked you to cease this nonsense. You are not a Titan. You are a Warlock. Do you hear me? I am who you seek for issues with your Light.”

Miyu looks up, mustering the least offensive gaze she can. “With all due respect-”

“I’ll not have any more argument on the subject. Whatever lessons, whatever you think it is that’s transpiring between you is over.”

Miyu’s face goes blank. “Is there something you wanted of me, then?”

“Osiris will see you in two weeks’ time.”

“Fine.”

Ikora watches her closely, dropping her defensive stance in lieu of tucking her hands in the long sleeves of her robes. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t doubt that Zavala is trying to help you. He is a good man at heart. However, I know what is in your best interest. Like you, I’ve had-”

“I don’t believe you do,” Miyu says finally. Her fists are clenched. “Visions or not, you have absolutely no idea what I’ve gone through.”

“Believe what you will,” Ikora says, strangely aloof. “Regardless, Osiris will see you in two weeks. Prepare accordingly. As for the rest, I expect you to follow my orders.”

“We’ll see,” She growls scathingly under her breath, turning her back on her Vanguard in a whirl of dark robes.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” Miyu says louder, equally detached. Ikora hears everything. Tamashii watches her carefully. She gives him an inscrutable look and straightens. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

“There will be consequences,” Ikora warns her. “The Tower is uneasy, as it stands. I am not the only one you're making look bad, you know. Did you know they think he's turning you against me?” She waits for a beat, but there is no reply. “I see,” She croons, as if Miyu’s replied and she’s found it interesting.

Miyu stays still for a moment, but she does not turn back around. She knows, alright, but the less information she gives Ikora, the better. So, she allows her Vanguard to taunt her.

“You know, but still you persist. I’m not so foolish as to miss those feelings you wear like a coat of arms. If you won’t do it for me, I wonder: would you do it for him?” She calls mockingly, as the other Warlock takes her leave.

-/

She's been ignoring his messages for three and a half days. He looks at his tablet more frequently - and then mentally rebukes himself for doing so. She is a Guardian. He knows that she too has much on her plate...

Except, he's removed her from active duty.

...And, any requests for her to be deployed anywhere have to go through him.

Adelaide tells him not to worry. She forgets that he sleeps very little and can hear the sound of her pinging Tamashii, even when she's trying to be quiet about it. Part of him wonders if perhaps - based on what appears to be his partner's lack of success - she's been sent to see Osiris without his approval. He would have approved, without question. He's told her that.

On the afternoon of the fourth day without contact, his little Light hovers delicately in front of him. He lifts his gaze up to her optic, his brow raised.

“She hasn't left her flat,” Adelaide says softly.

Bright blue eyes blink back, one elegantly sculpted brow arching. “Adelaide-”

Her segments spin. She sighs. “Something happened. Tamashii wouldn't tell me.”

The Commander remains silent for a long moment.

“Zavala,” She presses a fin against the lower stripe of the ice blue tattoo on the left side of his face. “Tamashii can't convince her to come out. But we think maybe you could.”

“If her Ghost cannot-”

“She's not in love with him,” Addy presses. “Not like that. Not like she is with you.”

“Adelaide!”

“Oh, come onnnn.” She hangs back and shrugs. “You'd have to be blind not to see it.”

Zavala sighs. He does see it. He's been trying not to, but… some things are hard to ignore. It is very early. This - it isn't some defined relationship. It's companionship and comfortable and - and -

“I know you're in love with her, too.”

The gentle ripple of starlight under her skin gets more abrupt when he's jolted by his Ghost's easy-going, child-like tone making such a serious assessment. It becomes almost hostile in nature, a combination of surprise and hot embarrassment. He isn't ashamed of what she's saying; It's been centuries since he's come to terms with being an emotional man. While he might try to hide it with walls taller than those around the City…

Adelaide sees straight through him, every single time.

He slides a finger over her top cone, the one that's centered over her optic. “After I finish for the day,” He says. “Let him know I'm coming?”

“I already did,” She coos, cones tilting toward him and spinning as she warbles.

Zavala chuckles. “Of course you have,” He intones in that smooth, rich tone. She's a balm for his ever-fraying nerves. “Thank you, Addy.”

She bumps his forehead lovingly in reply.

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 07

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

Miyu doesn’t actually hate the Crucible. Once, in her younger days, before the Cabal and her faulty Light, before every Titan carried a shotgun, she loved it. She could glide through the air with a hand cannon tucked into the sash at her waist and a sword in her hand and she would burn bright like the sun.

But it’s not the same as it was, at the beginning. The Guardians are different. She is different, too. She has to fight smarter, use ranged weapons to make up for her newfound shortcomings. She is not proud of it, either. There is nothing she wants more than to dance through Shaxx’s arenas with her blade like she had in the days of old, carving up those who stand in her way. She realizes that halfway through her eleventh match, on her fourth day of being required to participate in the Crucible. She’s so utterly frustrated.

She throws caution to the wind, and winds up doing somewhat better - earning more kills, but dying three times as much.

Shaxx pulls her out after that match, throwing her a bottle of water that appears from out of nowhere. There’s a logo for some gun manufacturer on it, but she’s not paying attention to that as she guzzles it down.

“You are far more disciplined than this, old friend,” He says, when she rests upon a crate across from him. The Crucible does not take his eyes off the screens, making a series of comments over the in-arena PA system. When the match breaks, he twists to regard her. “You should be running circles around these newbies.”

Miyu sighs. “I know.”

“And yet, what are you doing about it?”

“Things are different now, Shaxx,” She says, quietly. She’s never needed to be loud for him to hear her. “You know I am having difficulties.” Ghost hovers nearby, eying the Lord Guardian of the Crucible warily. “Everyone does, it seems. I’m working on it.”

“So I’ve heard,” He says in reply. “Fruitful efforts?”

“They would be,” She says, sounding exasperated, “If I were given space and time to experiment on my own.”

“Ikora wishes to help you,” Shaxx reminds her. “You are better than this. You are a fighter. One of our best.”

“I was,” She agrees. “Now, I’m washed up. I’d probably be a better fighter if I was Lightless.”

“Don’t say such things,” The one-horned Titan growls, swinging all the way around to regard her. It sounds like he’s gritting his teeth behind his helmet. “I refuse to believe that you’re throwing in the towel.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“The woman I remember would not have been this subdued. You have never been cocky or loud, Miyu, but you’ve always had that unassuming grace, that confidence in your stance that spoke when you moved. I don’t know what’s been done to her, but I hope you find her soon.”

She rolls her eyes behind his back when he returns to monitoring the matches currently in progress. “That woman might never come back,” She mutters hotly to herself. “Then what?”

Ghost chirps and hovers before her after ten minutes of listening to the Crucible Handler’s commentary. “I got a message,” He says, quietly enough. “He says he’s free now, if we are, for that… thing we were talking about.”

“I-”

“Just go,” Shaxx grumbles, loud. “You’ve satisfied your daily requirement with me, piss-poor effort though it be.”

“Clearly she’s doing her best,” Ghost replies back on her behalf with equal snark, but Miyu pushes him down, between her flat palms.

“Thank you,” She says, and takes off in a billow of robes.

Shaxx does not bother to reply.

-/

The skies have been overcast all day, but now, as she traverses to the training compound, she can tell that it’s going to rain. It will likely grow cold afterward, becoming a catalyst for the leaves to change colors, in the city below. She thinks that would be nice. Miyu has always welcomed change. Better to welcome it like an old friend than fight it every time it came around, she’s always thought.

Zavala is waiting for her when she arrives, dressed in a similar tunic, without armor. She holds Ghost out and allows him to transmat the majority of her own heavy entrapments away, leaving her in a faded Crucible robe that’s mangled and frayed, boots, and bond. Her arms are bare, the sleeves of her robes singed and burnt away.

She catches him looking at her arms and holds them out.

“I haven’t been using it,” Miyu tells him quietly. “No sense in hurting myself when everyone else is trying to.”

“You do not like Crucible,” He reasons.

“I do, actually,” She quips back, her mouth twisting into something almost smile-like. “Or, more aptly, I did, but... everyone solves things by shoving a shotgun down each other’s throat, and I enjoy a more riveting battle.” She palms the hilt of her sword, belted by a second sash around her middle.

“A swordswoman?”

“Yes. Muscle memory leads me to believe I may have been versed in swordplay... before.”

Zavala nods, but does not inquire further. That’s fine by her. She hardly ever shares this much, but somehow it’s easier when it’s him. Ghost makes an indignant sound in through their link. He’s been behaving a bit shifty lately. She knows what he’s thinking, but he’s wrong. He insists he’s not, but at least they’re on the same page in that there are bigger issues at the moment.

She refocuses, as the Commander sits down in front of her. “You were meditating, you said,” He looks up at her and gestures in front of him.

“I was.” She unties the belt holding her sword and lays it down beside her on the ground, dropping to sit cross-legged in front of him.

“If you return to that mantra, do you think it might happen again?”

“I’ve tried, but to no avail.”

“Recount it to me, then,” He encourages, voice dipping lower. It makes her back straighten, warmth spiraling through her chest.

“A candle,” She begins, tentatively.

“Go on.”

Her pale eyes slip shut. “And a voice.”

“Do you remember what it said?”

She nods. “The Speaker used to say it,” She recalls. “The Light lives in all places, in all things...”

Zavala watches her carefully as she recants the well worn phrase, her shoulders loose and curved, her breaths deep and controlled through her speech. Her lips barely part as the words tumble out.

“... even in you, though broken you may seem.”

Miyu drifts a bit after she explains it in full, and he encourages it, allowing a blank, empty canvas to replace her overthinking mind. She does not hear when he stands and steps toward her, crouching in the space in front of her and placing a large palm on her shoulder. His hand is warm and ungloved; she can feel the warmth of it through the tatters of her robe.

Her eyes flick up and meet his as they blink open. She does not startle, and for that he is grateful. “Ready to begin?” He questions quietly.

She nods, and Zavala rises, extending a hand to pull her to her feet as if she is featherlight. To him, she may very well be. Extending her free hand, her Ghost takes his cue and transmats her sword away. Then, he hovers off to the side, watching intently. Beside him, the Commander’s ghost appears, her white shell glimmering with Light.

“It will probably be easier if you are inside it,” He informs her, his fingers flexing at his sides. “When I call upon my Light,” He breathes in, then out as if he is meditating, his hands rising up and out, “The void feels as though it blooms in my chest and unfurls outward. I describe it to new Titans as being akin to filling a cup.”

The Warlock watches him with narrowed, scrutinous eyes. Her brows knit together slightly as he continues.

“The Ward itself rises from the ground up,” She looks around him and sees that it does, “And then coalesces together at the top above me, last.”

“It normally doesn’t take that much time,” She says, when it finally knits together above them.

“No,” He agrees, dropping his hands to the side. Around him, everything is tinted with lavender-lilac void Light. “I figured you would want to see it slowly at first.”

The Warlock hums drifts slowly around the edges of the shield and reaches out her fingers, tentatively. The first time, they pass through. The second, she skims them along the inside of the bubble of energy.

“It's cool to the touch,” She says. “Almost frigid.”

“A common association with the void.”

She nods, studying it. He steps beside her as she comments, “I've been in the presence of other Sentinels, but to clarify, the Ward has to break to allow enemy attacks to get through, yes?”

He agrees, and she tips her head back to regard him. She steps through it and back before it dissipates in trails of latent Light.

They repeat the process several times, until a light drizzle begins to fall on the open-air arena. Miyu tilts her head skyward when it becomes more of a true rain than a cool mist, faltering in her measurements of the thickness of the overshield. Her eyes blink wide as she stares up into fathomless clouds.

When his shield dissipates again, the excess water runs down the remnants of his Light as the void ebbs away. She steps back into the space where his shield had been, takes two strides across soil dotted with raindrops now that it's no longer protected.

“I don't expect you to stay out in the rain,” She murmurs. “I appreciate you indulging me.”

He hums. “A little rain is not a deterrent, Miyu. If anything, it's refreshing.” Cool blue eyes regard her almost fondly, though she's certain she's imagining things. “I will need a moment before I will be ready again.”

“Oh, of course,” She urges. “I don't mean to be so demanding.”

“You are not,” Zavala assures. “Your focus is admirable. But if you don't mind, I am certain my Ghost has messages I should address, if you can spare me a moment.”

It's clear that she's embarrassed, occupying his time. She nods, the aura under her skin swirling in time with her strangely elevated heartbeat. “Of course. Please, take whatever time you need. I should think on practical application, anyway.”

The Commander nods, and his ghost, hovering nearby, transmats forward instead of sailing through the rain.

“Ghost - Tamashii,” Miyu breathes, the words tumbling nearly soundless from her lips, “My sword, please.”