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monocaelia · 3 years ago

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the kisses they give

sometimes a kiss is all you need to know that they love you.

feat. childe, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, and xiao

genre : headcanons. fluff. slight angst for xiao.

note : a pick-me-up cause these past few weeks have not been nice to me TT i hope everyone's weeks have been good though! lots of love <3

❀ childe

to childe, giving affection is like breathing. he loves showering those he holds close to his heart with love or gifts or whatever he deems necessary to show that they mean the world to him. and kissing is no exception.

considering cheek kissing is a common greeting in sneznhaya (russia) and he grew up in a family where he was heavily doted on and spoiled by his elder siblings and parents, childe has absolutely no problem kissing the people he loves as a greeting or as his form of affection.

which is why cheek kissing or showering your face in kisses is the harbinger's go-to when it comes to loving you.

childe's kisses are filled with love and pure affection reserved for you, as if you needed him or anyone to tell you that directly. you would be able to tell from the way his slightly chapped lips peck the skin all around your face and from the way his eyes of ocean blue nearly twinkle when they focus on you.

due to his duties of working with the fatui and being stationed anywhere in teyvat, childe hardly gets any time to spend with you. so he treasures the moments shared with you during his time off.

the door to your home would slam open with a loud thunk and his hurried footsteps would get closer and closer to you before you're swept into his arms, your laughter intermingling with his as the ginger spins you around the room. it's not long before the spinning stops and your vision is obscured by orange tufts as the cheeky sneznhayan plants kisses all over your face.

no amount of protests will stop him until he's gotten his fair share of loving from you. and even if you do manage to wiggle your way out of his arms, childe would see that as a competition to see who was quicker; you getting away or the harbinger and his hungry lips. [spoiler alert: it's him and his hungry lips, to no one's surprise]

mornings on his days off aren't any better. usually they start off quiet with the golden morning rays seeping through the curtains of your shared room and the faint chirps of the morning doves outside.

but it always ends up in a fit of giggles and smooches when the sneznhayan is in need of your attention once more and decides to kiss you awake. despite your light protests for the man trapping you in his arms so he can kiss you again and again, it's not like you ever want him to stop kissing you.

each kiss that finds its way onto your face [and occasionally your lips] is proof that childe, your sweet ajax, is absolutely enamored with you and you wouldn't have it any other way.

❀ diluc

despite how diluc is around his brother, the young master of dawn winery is not one to shield his heart from those close to him. diluc is just not as affectionate as others are in a relationship, so don't expect him to shower you in kisses when he gets home or scream at the top of his lungs how much he loves you, though it would be a funny sight to see.

instead, he shows his love through his actions. shielding you from the rain with his coat, bringing you closer to him when you both have something to do in dragonspine so you won't get cold, ensuring that you get enough sleep while he stays up to keep watch of the team. it's subtle, but enough to tell you he cares.

kisses on your knuckles are what diluc would give you due to the polite and gentle nature of the kisses.

diluc would kiss your knuckles as a polite greeting, as he was raised to have respectful manners. when he first did it to you, you were quite flustered at seeing the vigilante bow before you and gently plant his lips on the curves of your knuckles.

however, now he gives them to you in more intimate situations. like after you've cleaned him up after a rather rough evening patrolling the grounds of mondstadt. diluc had come home to you in a disheveled state; ponytail messed up, dirt coating his clothing and face, porcelain skin covered in scrapes and bruises. luckily, nothing horrible on the surface.

you're shocked at the state he's in and quickly clean him up. you don't say a word to him however, in fear that he already had gone through enough and you scolding him would just add more to the weight on his shoulders. your fingers brush against diluc's skin and he leans towards your touch, the gentle and caring nature tending to his heart.

he kisses your knuckles, lips warm and soft, as a thank you for taking care of him and as a silent way of showing you how much you mean to him. you're the only one he trusts to see him this injured and the only one he's comfortable enough to let his walls come crumbling down.

diluc kisses your knuckles as a gentle reminder that he is devoted to you and only you. he finds you one night standing alone on his balcony, eyes glued to the vast orchards of grapes that surrounded the winery. it's hard to hide what you're thinking of from the attentive eyes of the vigilante beside you.

when you tell him your concerns that he should marry someone with more influence than you, diluc's brows furrow and his frown deepens. you are the one he loves, and he could care less about the winery or his business. he hesitates when you shy away from his touch, but you quickly find his hand again to hold.

the thick wall that shields diluc's heart crumbles when he's around you, and nothing proves his loyalty and true feelings more than his gentle kisses along your knuckles.

❀ kaeya

a playful and cheeky person, kaeya is someone who makes you want more and more of him. from his mischievous smile to the way your name melts off of his tongue. you can't help but miss his presence when he leaves for a mission and misses a night at the bar with you.

it's hard to miss the smirk that grows on kaeya's face when he catches word of you ever missing him. and it's even more difficult to avoid him as the calvary captain needs to tease you about it and shows up at your work or at your door to bring up the news to you, much to your dismay.

kaeya gives you brief, yet enticing kisses at the corner of your mouth to not only tease you with the idea of wanting more from him, but also because he absolutely loves to fluster you.

the calvary captain kisses you goodbye one night while dropping you off at home after a night drinking at angel's share. you weren't expecting it at all, but maybe you should have once you saw the playful glint in your companion's eye and the cheeky grin growing wider each second you stepped closer and closer to your door.

it's a quick kiss, short yet long enough to feel how soft kaeya's lips were against your skin and how good he smelled from the brief proximity. dazed, you can only stare at the captain with your jaw slack as he chuckled and closed your mouth for you so you wouldn't "catch flies."

kaeya's kisses are even more dangerous when he has an excuse to kiss you. while catching lunch at angel's share one afternoon, his eye catches a piece of your sandwich at the corner of your mouth while you're telling him a wild story about how the traveller killed all of timmie's pigeons one day as a bet.

you don't even have time to react as kaeya's cold hand grabs a hold of your chin and presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, successfully grabbing the grain from your face. the familiar scent of his fruity cologne fills your senses and it takes everything in you to not pull the calvary captain in.

there's a knowing smile on his face when he pulls away and sees your expression. his tongue pokes out from his lips as he licks it clean, smile growing when your eyes flit down to watch his movements.

it's hard to judge kaeya's true intentions when his kisses are so brief and you barely miss them, but everyone around the two of you can see the way the captain's gaze always lingers on you when you're storming away from his teasing lips.

❀ kazuha

polite and yet, always the romantic, kazuha isn't a stranger to showing or receiving affection. although he's reserved and grew up surrounded by nobility, affection is nothing the inazuman traveller strays far from.

fleeting and soft touches are what kazuha is fond of, his fingers always brushing against yours when you walk beside him or linking your pinkies together when you sleep after you've had a nightmare.

inner wrist kisses are ideal for someone like kazuha to give; intimate yet delicate, private enough where only you can see and feel the love he gives you through the simple kiss.

kazuha kisses you on the wrist in the intimate moments shared with one another on the crux. it's always when the two of you are alone and admiring the night sky and the sound of the waves gently brushing up against the side of the boat. the rest of the crew is either sleeping or drinking with the captain on the other side of the boat.

you brush his bangs aside, fingers lingering on the side of his face as you admire the beauty that the inazuman traveller holds.

he always catches you off guard by complimenting you in the most poetic ways. "the stars pale in comparison to you, my love." or "every time i look at you, my heart flutters as if carried by the sea breeze. you alone make the stars dance as if they are rejoicing that you were born into this world, the most beautiful and the pride of the universe."

his laughter floats in the air, as if twinkling like wind chimes dancing in the wind, seeing your flustered reaction to his words and he presses a quick kiss to the inner wrist of the hand that remained by his face. truly, you are the most mesmerizing being to ever grace teyvat.

kazuha's kisses are gentle against the skin of your wrist when he wakes to sound of your gentle humming. he had fallen asleep while resting with you underneath the shade of a thundersakura tree, though it's hard to blame him when your fingers are delicately brushing through his white strands of hair.

his heart swells seeing you so at ease beside him, with your ethereal smile and the way the sun seeping through the branches of the tree illuminated you like the god you were. celestia above must be so jealous of your divinity, but they could never have you so long as he was here to love you.

kazuha wishes there were more words to describe how much he loves you, but no words could ever describe how enamored he feels when you simply gaze his way. so kazuha kisses one of your wrists in hopes of showing you the devotion he has for you.

❀ xiao

xiao isn't one for affection. he doesn't seem the appeal to it: how mortals like the enjoy the feeling of another's hand in theirs or how they find peace with the feeling of another pair of lips on their own confused the poor adeptus.

not like he found any need for it anyways. being affectionate to the one you love was a mortal tradition and what did xiao know about being a mortal. more so, did he even deserve to be loved the way mortals loved one another?

xiao finds it terrifying to love you, a mortal that could easily succumb to the aftermath of his karmic debt. this debt was his own burden to carry and you don't deserve to love a corrupted being like him, someone who only brings despair and destruction to anyone who crosses his path, innocent or not.

forehead kisses are the only kisses xiao allows himself to give you.

they're intimate enough to communicate his feelings for you without saying a word, yet simple enough so that he doesn't overwhelm himself with your presence.

they're to bid you farewell before he leaves for one of his missions as the sole adeptus of liyue. xiao does not know how long he'll be gone, or even if he'd return to your warm embrace. and so, his featherlight kisses are pressed to your forehead before he disappears without a trace, leaving you to worry about his safety on the deck of the wangshu inn.

xiao gives you forehead kisses as an apology for being the one you love. anyone else could have given you a better love than he ever could, could even promise you a future together and grow old with you.

you deserve someone who could openly love you and show you off to those around them, someone who didn't have a high chance of never coming home. all the adeptus has done for you was give you the crystalflies whose light reminded him so much of the stars that inhabited your eyes and the slightly crinkled qingxin flower he picked up on the way back to you.

xiao wonders why you're so happy when he brings you those small gifts when someone else could be giving you gifts of a grander scale.

and yet he's also thankful for you for finding love in someone like him, for showing him the gentleness and compassion the adeptus seldom received in his lifetime. the pain surrounding his heart ebbs away every time you smile at him, like the warm spring sun melting away the frigid winter ice.

one day, xiao would be brave enough to kiss you the way you kiss him, to indulge in all of the different ways he could properly show you just how much you meant to him. but for now, his lips against your forehead is enough.

#genshin #genshin impact #childe x reader #childe headcanons #kaeya x reader #kaeya headcanons #diluc x reader #diluc headcanons #xiao x reader #xiao headcanons #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #didi writes #kazuha x reader #kazuha headcanons

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peachtree-dish · 4 years ago

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A Te Che Sei Il Mio Amore Grande

I'm writing fanfics again. Woot!

Inspired by the song of the same name.

Chapter One: Quando Ti Guardo

June 06, 1969

Luca drummed his fingers restlessly along the soft velvet of his armrest, his eyes switched from peering out at the Italian coastal terrain and once again reading the watch that rested against his wrist.

“You’re doing it again.”

His eyes snapped up to watch as Giulia sighed at him from behind the thick leather-bound novel in her hands. As her amused yet exasperated gaze landed on him, he grinned sheepishly.

“Mi dispiace, Giulia. I honestly don’t remember the ride being this long.” He checked his watch again and grimaced. “Has it really only been ten minutes?”

Admitting defeat, the red-headed girl marked her place and set the book aside. “Luca, it’s been nine months, si? But what is the one thing we’ve learned about time from Segnora Rosa?” She quirked a knowing brow at him as Luca slumped forward.

“Time is always constant, lo so.” He mumbled.

“Esattamente, therefore,” She continued as she picked up her book with renewed gusto, “the train will take exactly an hour every single time we travel to and from Porto Rosso.” With her argument settled, Giulia returned to her page and began reading once more. After a moment of stillness, she peered at him subtly from above her page. Luca was looking outside once more, his eyes filled with a mixture of yearning, and his mouth twisted in anxiety. With a kinder expression, she said, “If it’s any consolation, amico mio, I’m sure he’s just as nervous to see you.”

Luca puffed out his cheeks but didn’t reply, instead preferring to peer down at his clasped hands.

“Maybe you could finish the bracelets you’ve been working on, that will help you pass the time better and maybe keep your mind off things, eh?” She nodded to his school jacket pocket which held a mass of multicolored strings that had yet to be organized. Perking up at the thought, Luca agreed and set to work on detangling the threads from one another.

Outside the bright light of the morning sun blazed peacefully across the pristine indigo coastline and followed the two youths on the journey. Some miles away, a small town was anything but peaceful.

“Massimo!” A young man jumped up the paved stairways of Porto Rosso, disturbing the half-dozen pigeons resting there. At their indignant coos and squawks, Alberto quickly glanced back with a slight shout of “sorry!” before continuing on his rampage towards the Marcovaldo residence. Skidding to a stop once he passed the archway, he leaned heavily against the tree that he and Luca had slept in nearly a year ago prior and gasped.

With a large crash, both Massimo and Machiavelli burst through the front door looking frazzled and ready for a fight. The latter was fully puffed up with his claws digging into the cobblestone walkway and his pupils shrunken to small slits. Massimo swiveled his head around looking for whatever danger could have provoked Alberto’s shout, his shoulders hunched and his good arm gripping his harpoon tightly. However, when no danger presented itself, he glared half-heartedly through his eyebrows at the young sea monster who sheepishly grinned.

“Well, where’s the fuoco, eh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Massimo, everything’s fine. But!” He pointed animatedly at the large man, “you are aware of what day it is, right? We only have a few hours until-”

“Until Giulia and Luca arrive, si piccolo, lo so. You’ve only been talking about it for a month now.” Shouldering his harpoon and popping his neck, the old fisherman turned to enter the house, an unhappy Machiavelli climbing onto his open shoulder, but not before growling irritably at Alberto.

“Come have breakfast, Alberto, we’ll see what we can do to keep busy while we wait.” The large man patted Alberto’s sun-kissed shoulder before entering the house. Slumping in resignation, the teen followed behind Massimo but not before stretching to give one last searching look at the expansive cliffs that breached the horizon, hopeful to see a plume of smoke.

**************

When the train finally pulled into the stazione, Luca was already flinging the train door open and running into the waiting arms of his mother who squealed with delight and refused to set him down for several long moments, much to Luca’s embarrassment and secret delight. An equally excited Giulia was soon to follow, and she said a quick hello to the Paguro’s before launching into Massimo’s open arms. While his father patted him on the head and asked the generic questions of wellbeing, Luca tried to glance around his parents. If Massimo was here, then so was-

“I told you I’d be okay.” Luca’s heart thudded painfully in his chest for one moment as Alberto sauntered into view. Prying himself from his mother, the young sea monster swiftly walked to Alberto and embraced him without pause. Luca buried his face into the crook of Alberto’s neck and breathed him in for the first time in nine months.

Whatever nerves and fear Alberto had been holding released him the moment his best friend enveloped him in his arms. Luca had grown slightly taller over the colder months and his skin had lost its sun-kissed pigmentation, but the warmth in his eyes had not faded in the slightest.

“Welcome home, Luca,” Alberto mumbled into his friend's hair, ignoring the wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes, he pulled away with a chuckle. “Are we going to do this every time we say ciao?” Luca smiled wetly and scrubbed weakly at his face.

“I think I could get used to it if it’s with you.” Alberto resolutely decided to ignore the heat that gathered in his cheeks as Luca turned to answer Massimo. Brushing it off as too much time in the sun, he tuned into the conversation just as the gentle fisherman began speaking of their new fishing truck.

“Grazie to Alberto’s ‘knowing fish’, we earned enough for me to invest in an auto,” Massimo stated proudly, clasping a large hand onto Alberto’s shoulder. The teen modestly scratched under his hat and shrugged, turning to Giulia and Luca.

“He’s really only saying that. Massimo did all the hard work; I just stuck my head underwater a few times every day to navigate us. But!” Alberto waved towards the station entrance and began pulling Luca by the hand. “you really have to see the truck I’ve been writing to you about.”

The truck itself was what could hardly be described as new. The front bumper was barely hanging on and rusted completely through on the right side. Green chipped paint covered the doors and Luca noted with a swell of warmth the black hand-painted logo of “Massimo and Alberto Fishing co.” Most people would consider the truck like garbage, but Alberto found the faded paint and broken glass charming, and he said as much to the group. Giulia rubbed suspiciously at the truck’s tailgate, her eyes squinting as she studied it.

“The Americans call it a ‘Hudson pickup’,” Massimo announces proudly, his pronunciation heavily accented.

“I’m still not sold on it being actually safe, but I’ll admit it wasn’t too bad the first time Massimo drove it.” Daniela opined, opening the front door with a loud squeal.

“Yeah, not so much when Alberto decided to try it,” Lorenzo muttered good-naturedly. “My tail still won’t swim straight.”

“You drove the truck?!”

“You crashed the truck?!”

Giulia and Luca exclaimed, she glanced curiously at her papa who raised his hands innocently. Luca began looking at Alberto’s arms and skin, scouring for any injuries, completely ignoring the rest of the conversation.

“He’ll be sixteen this year, mia figlia, he’ll need at least a year of practice. Nessun problema, your time will come soon.”

“Oh, come on,” Alberto kindly pulled Luca’s hands away and hopped on the rear end beaming down at his family, “it wasn’t so bad for the first time. Plus, she just needs some love and she’ll be right as rain. You guys just can’t see her potential.” He patted the chipped paint fondly. “Not to mention this makes delivery way faster.” Massimo chuckled as Lorenzo continued to grumble and Daniela merely rolled her eyes.

“Si, and speaking of quick deliveries, let’s go home and eat lunch, hm?” Massimo lifted Luca and Giulia's luggage into the bed of the truck while the rest of the family, the Paguro and Marcovaldo families together again at last.

As the truck rattled through the colorful fishing port threatening to fall apart, Giulia and Luca rattled story after story to Alberto and Luca’s parents. Alberto tried to ignore the feelings of jealousy at the way his friends appeared to be so in tune. He laughed politely at their inside jokes and did his best to understand half the jargon they spouted, but in reality, he felt more lost than ever before. Stuffing the uncomfortable feelings down as far they’d go, Alberto helped the Paguro’s down first so that Daniela could help with preparing the food alongside Massimo. While Lorenzo had shown an interest in learning the human ways of cooking, he hadn’t quite managed to pull it off as well.

“You set the curtains on fire one time, and they never let you set foot in the kitchen again,” Lorenzo complained to the kids as he followed his wife.

“Except it wasn’t just the curtains,” Alberto whispered loudly to his best friends who giggled unapologetically.

“ONE TIME!” Lorenzo called hotly from inside.

Giulia smirked at her friends, “Some things never change, amicos.” Grabbing her bag, she turned to the house, “Oh, and Luca don’t forget about your gift!” She winked knowingly at a flustered Luca and befuddled Alberto.

Alberto glanced down at Luca who was doing his best impression of a frozen fish.

“Uh, was that supposed to me-”

“I made you something!!” Luca blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth. He glanced nervously at Alberto, who merely stared back stunned. Fishing in his uniform jacket pocket, Luca wordlessly pulled out the two multicolored bracelets from his pocket and held one out to Alberto. Alberto stood frozen his eyes glued to the green and purple threads glistening in the warm afternoon sun, his mouth hung loose in a silent ‘oh’. The threads danced innocently between them, and Luca felt his bravado begin to waver. When he still hadn’t said anything or moved to take the bracelet from Luca’s grasp, the younger boy grew more flustered and started to pull away, his voice shaking. “I- I’m sorry, you probably think this is so stupid.” Luca tried to not panic, desperately willing his mortification away.

Alberto’s hand shot out to pull both the bracelet and Luca’s hand back. “I can’t believe you made this for me.” He whispered, cradling the bracelet tenderly as he studied it in his palms. He traced the twining threads and smiled at how the pattern reminded him of scales. He looked at Luca and put his arm around him to pull him close. “I love it, thank you. No one’s ever given me something so beautiful.”

“R-really?” Luca asked, his expression hopeful.

“Really. Did you make this too?” Alberto squinted at the painted pearl hanging from the end of the strings, creating a clasp to hold it in place.

“Giulia's mom actually helped me design those with her paints.” Luca motioned to the pearl. “She said that gifts help make the distances feel smaller.” He pondered the delicately painted waves of his own pearl. “It’s funny when I was learning so much and seeing so many places, I never realized how far from home I would feel.” His gaze landed on Alberto, only now realizing how close they were. Up close he could see the new freckles that peppered his cheeks and how his face was slimming down. Nine months of hard work had broadened his shoulders and caused his wiry arms to harden with lean muscle. Clearing his throat, he pulled away again.

“Anyways, I guess we better go inside before the food gets cold.” Blushing as red as Massimo’s favorite wine, Luca threw one last smile over his shoulder and ran inside. Alberto grinned in response and slid the bracelet over his wrist fastening it so that it hugged him snugly. An emotion that he couldn’t quite name filled every part of him, spreading from his toes to the tip of his ears. Walking inside to the smells of homemade pasta and loud laughter, Alberto felt that the promise of a wonderful summer had just begun.

#pixar luca #luca 2021 #alberto x luca #luca x alberto #fanfic #mutual pining #they share one brain cell #Giulia has it 99% of the time #just teens trying to figure out life #a te che sei il mio grande amore

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punemy-spotted · 4 years ago

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Of Blackbirds and Barons: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: You Make The Rain Fall Harder

Relationships: Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader; CEO!Billy Russo x Reader; Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader x CEO!Billy Russo

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con; Dark!Fic; Mob and Mafia Elements; Character Death (Minor and Major); Threesome; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Blackmail/Coercion; Kidnapping; Mentions of War; Human Rights Violations; Contract Killing; Mafia AU; Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat; Complete Disregard for Actual Rules of Journalism and Style Guides; Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply

Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-con; Drugging/Date-Rape; Fingering (F-Receiving); Vaginal Sex; Unprotected Sex; Possible Breeding Kink; Kidnapping; Obsessive/Possessive Zemo; Dark!Zemo; Human Rights Violations; Discussion of Destruction of Novi Grad and Sokovia; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The problem with having sympathy for the Devil is that he will drag you down to Hell regardless.

Author’s Notes: Another series! Because I can’t get enough of Mob!AUs! Zemo makes his dark entrance. And this IS dark, so read at your own discretion. As always, all of my work is 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Masterlist

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia, that which once stood the test of time against the Tsars of Russia, began to crumble long before its borders did, its sweeping architecture and decadent mystery giving way to the sharp lines of Brutalism and the characteristic industrialism of the Eastern Bloc. Still, the Sokovian people managed to maintain their identity in the face of a new kind of empire, bringing greenery and art to a brisk, concrete world.

There is no Sokovia now, not the way one would think, but there are still Sokovians scattered around the world, clinging to the traditions of their once-home and searching for a banner to be united under.

A banner carried by a man like Helmut Zemo.

The caret blinks back at you with a mocking sort of finality, a metronome counting down the seconds to your ultimate frustration. Once. Twice. Thrice — you lose count, staring at the screen until your vision crosses and the words blur together, until only his name remains.

Zemo.

Baron Helmut Zemo.

Your notes are expansive, excessive, papers strewn about you and you look at each scribbled anecdote, each carefully dictated word, each photograph you have annotated until it is more red marker than actual picture and you are… frustrated.

Where do you put all that passion? He asked you over champagne and charcuterie.

You know this man.

You know this man like you know your own soul. You know this man who has bared his soul to you in turn and how are you supposed to impress upon the world that he has shown you the broken heart beating slow and painful in his chest in just a thousand words?

There is nothing. Nothing you can do, nothing you can saywhich could even begin to encompass the horrors which he has experienced and now as you painstakingly tap out word after word describing the grand beauty of his apartment, you wonder if this really was what your life was meant to be.

These are… fluff.

This is a man who has managed to unite an entire fractured country under his royal banner and yet the project wants to know about the indoor garden of his apartment, wants to photograph him in fine suits and know his haircare routine and this can’t be it. This can’t be the face of the man you see everywhere now, moreso since you picked up the assignment, purple-masked and surrounded by brass wings, over the homes of Sokovians all over New York.

And not just there.

I am a man, he told you with his hand on your thigh, But I can become an idea. And an idea is immortal.

You let your eyes skim over the photographs you took, a collection of banners and graffiti and billboards all proclaiming the need for the Sokovian people to come together and heal. To show that their small country — broken and divided in the wake of an attack by a rich megalomaniac’s private military — could not be taken down simply because its borders had been erased and its capitol turned to rubble.

We live in an age of information, and through information we are boundless.

It should terrify you.

It does terrify you.

But inside of that terror is a sick fascination with the man, isn’t there? That’s the trouble with you investigative types — peel back the layers enough and you find yourself capable of feeling sympathy for anyone.

He flaunts his power, and yet it’s innocent. Is it so wrong, then, to want to bring my country back to its glory?

No, you remember answering shakily, but not as well as you remember the pinpricks of heat his fingers left on your skin when that gloved hand brushed over you arm.

Breathe deep, hover fingers over your keyboard and try not to feel like you owe him the weight of the world. He approved of this, even suggested a word count and a topic of conversation — any chance to put his name out into the consciousness of the public, it seemed, to raise interest for the gallery by raising interest for the cause. Make it indulgent. My people, they enjoy art. They enjoy knowing that their leaders have preserved the past for them.

So do it.

… Baron Zemo’s New York penthouse is its own garden amongst a sea of steel and stone, a veritable museum of priceless artworks rescued from what remained of Sokovian museums and ministry buildings. It is, in its own way, an ode to the spirit of Sokovia, which lives on in the hearts and minds of its people around the world. He displays artworks of the many displaced Sokovians, gesturing broadly to a 3D model of an art gallery he intends to have built near the memorial at Novi Grad — with the consent of the Slovakian government — and speaking fondly of his intention to showcase the lost art of Sokovia as a reminder that loss of land cannot be the loss of an identity…

The artworks, they will be painful at first. But the gallery will showcase more and more, and eventually we will have hope.

He waves a gloved hand over the pieces he has preserved. Sokovian history. Scenic expanses, fields and flowers, a city skyline dotted with domed cathedrals. Each painting marred some way too, you can see when you look close. Patched canvas, the dusting of ash and rubble in the corner of an ornate frame, a trick of the light revealing repainting to cover up damage.

A stone hoof sits on a bookshelf, The attached horse and rider blown to rubble in the attack. I’m told it was of Emperor Ferdinand, but my archivists have not been able to confirm, he tells you as he stands behind you, his hand resting soft on the small of your back.

Come. There is more to be seen.

More to be experienced.

His living room is a garden.

It smells like fresh jasmine the moment you walk in, ivy climbing the walls and you swear you can hear birdsong from more than the pigeons cooing outside. Flower arrangement is an often looked down upon art, but the gardens in Sokovia were impeccable. My father won several awards for his pieces before his…

He trails off and you watch him, seeing the pain paint his face as openly as if he meant for you to watch the facade crack and then back to that placid, pleasant calm, a serpentine smile on his face as he extends to you a hand and guides you to the open air of his balcony and bids you Sitbids you Enjoy bids you I have looked forward to his meeting.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Zemo, you begin politely, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trying to avoid the way his eyes follow your fingers, feeling seen, We’re grateful for the honor of your patronage for this piece, we know you could have —

Nonsense, he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, gesturing to his butler and then leaning back comfortably in his seat as champagne and various cheeses are brought forth, You are my guest, and I am grateful you agreed to come meet me here, to assist with my… project. Now. Please, enjoy, I do not want to treat this as strictly business.

Is that why he had you come alone?

Don’t.

Don’t dwell on it.

It happens all the time, right? It has to.

A somewhat reclusive man, not keen to be in the limelight, in need of public attention to achieve his goals — you are a means to an end and he is your means to an end, surely you can understand.

Is that why he wipes the honey from your lips and kisses it off his fingers?

This is going to be a difficult conversation and you know it. You can only gush over houseplants and rose décor for so long before it becomes… trite, before you’re a part of the problem, painting a shining veneer over a half-decade old injustice

But he is warm, warm and friendly and you cannot help but laugh to his response when you draw attention to the architecture to draw attention from your blush — Very modern, yes. We are in New York, after all, and the old ways are fine for country houses but not so fine, for sunny penthouse apartments —not noticing the way he looks like he’s just smelled blood at the sound of it, the narrowing of his eyes and the hiding of his inscrutable expression behind a sip of champagne.

Well then. Shall we get started?

Of course.

Why don’t we start with your plans for opening night?Your notepad is out, the recorder sitting in front of you to pick up the sound of your voice and his, ready to commit everything to memory.

Of course. We cannot deny the… elephant in the room, I think you Americans call it. There are many who took pictures of the aftermath of the attack, and not enough who have seen it immortalized…

… The tragedy of Novi Grad and the consequential absorption of Sokovia into its surrounding countries weighs heavy in the Baron’s living room, draped in ivy and jasmine and hanging vines but also in photographs of what was left after a private military corporation chose to turn human lives into a war game.

No one knows who Ultron is, only that he is dangerous, that his technology rivals that of the SHIELD Syndicate’s Tony Stark, that he is willing to ally himself to the highest bidder, and that he is fully capable of unleashing endless destruction upon the world…

You will never forget the photographs he shows you, all that death and destruction in the golden light of his balcony, all that warmth and all you can see is cold bodies bathed in concrete dust.

They call to you, when you close your eyes — answer for our crimes — and you remember the way his voice changes too, so soft and solemn, the brush of fingers against yours when you touch the bombed out shell of a country mansion My home, in Sokovia, to the gray-and-blood horror which forms the centerpiece of his display, and you remember your research too, that the Baron is a widow, that his title is inherited from the most tragic of circumstances, that his son was an innocent lost in the attack and you are furious too, at the senselessness of it all.

It is a tragedy yet unanswered for, more than half a decade since the dust settled.

That quote sits front and center on your mock-up, wondering if you could make whatever editor who would inevitably rip this piece to shreds — just before publishing its corpse alongside some glamour picture of the Baron his coat — finally see the error of ignoring the tragedy. You won’t, but it’s worth a shot, as you lean back in your chair and stare at the screen again.

Sometimes you think about it.

Watching Novi Grad happen from the comfort and safety of your living room, wrapped in blankets as open war broke out in the capital city of what had once been a crown jewel in an ancient dynasty. A playground, a show of force.

Sometimes you hear the screams.

The blinking carat waits for you to add more to this story, to decide where you want to go.

… The Baron plays a game with his interview, insists on knowing his guests just as we insist on getting to know the enigmatic leader who has risen up a beacon for the displaced people of his homeland. We will not be recreating our answers in this article, as they were of course of a personal nature, but we do thank the Baron for taking the time to get to know us just as he bared his soul, his sorrows, and his hopes to a gaggle of strangers seeking to make him known to the world…

Tell me of you, sweetling.

Me? This interview is about you.

And so I must tell all my secrets for free? No, I insist. A secret for a secret.

He watches you with a hunger, coal-black eyes an invitation. Slide your gaze away or fall and who knows what depths he will drag you into and what you will find there?

No.

Don’t look, don’t look as you sip the tea Oeznik brought when you politely declined the champagne — Another time, probably — and let it brace you with its bitterness, let it clear your head.

Breathe.

You’re in too deep now, trapped in this cave of wonders… and wouldn’t it be worth it? Know him as he knows you, follow the trajectory of the smiling man before you.

What would you like to know?

Tell me how you taste his eyes whisper.

Tell me what it would take says the curve of his fingers over your hand.

Let me put you on display hums the razor-blade of his smile.

Tell me what drives a woman to take on such a … dangerous line of work, is the final inquiry, innocent and curious and gentle and you sip your tea and smile.

Is it dangerous?

You must know how many secrets you uncover — and the lengths the keepers will go to in order to hide them.

If people get hurt, shouldn’t I bring that to light?

How noble of you, he tells you with another hum, with his fingers squeezing yours, with his eyes fixed on the gaze you refuse to send his way, It must be quite thrilling.

Let me thrill you too, sweetling.

Pull away.

Do it.

Pull your hand away, make an act of it, pick up a candied strawberry and press it past your lips, let the sweetness soak your tongue and wash away the bitter thoughts, let yourself be bright and chipper and pretend you are not afraid.

Because you’re not.

Of course you’re not.

You are in control here, you must be in control here.

This is nothing. This is a casual interview with a handsome man in his handsome penthouse, an interview about architecture and art galleries and you were a correspondent once and you are meant to be friendly here, not afraid, so what are you afraid of?

What is it about his coal-dark eyes and too-sharp smile that turns your blood, that sends you back into your hutch, little rabbit, what is it about the way he prowls at the corner of your thoughts that makes you shudder so?

What are you running from?

Who are you running from?

Your turn, sweetling.

Mmh?

Our deal, or have you forgotten already?

Yes. You have.

It’s his eyes, you keep insisting to yourself. They drag you in, so dark it feels like you’re drowning in the void of them, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s a chase.

It’s what you’re good at.

Right — I’m sorry, I’m…

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The fog in your thoughts doesn’t fade, confusion crossing over your features and ill delight crossing over his. All you had was tea, tea and some of the candied fruit his butler brought for your enjoyment, how can you feel so…

Hazy?

So…

Upturned?

Something clatters behind you and you realize it’s the chair you were sitting on as you stand, unsteady and abrupt, lost in the moors of your own frantic thoughts and there is his hand on your elbow, so careful and soft and there are his lips before yours, so…

Tempting.

Somewhere, a woman croons to you of falling rain and rushing blood and the room does spin round as you stand still in the open air of a desire that is yours and not your own all at once. Shhh, shhh, let me help you whispered in your ear, a hand to your cheek and you…

You blink.

Reality flows into view like a sudden bath of ice water. Jerk away from his iron grip, raise your hands and try to resist, shake your head and N-no, I think. I think I need to go, I’ll just call a cab —

I cannot let you do that, sweetling. Not when you are finally within my reach.

His hold is steady. Unbreakable, even, as he pulls you close and you might even be dancing with the way his arm wraps around your waist the moment you fall into his chest, Don’t look so afraid, sweetling. No one will hurt you, here.

I will protect you like a jewel.

Your mind is still yours — the dose was just enough — but your limbs? Your limbs are tied to his strings, lost as he guides you right back inside, lost as he gestures for Oeznik to close off the balcony.

Your place is somewhere else now.

You belong underneath me.

He guides you inside, jasmine intoxicating your senses and wisps of smoke seeming to float past your eyes. Reality blends into the fantasy, the Baron and his prize, the gentle touch against your soft cheek, the cradling against his form and he is…

Determined.

A door opens. A portal into another kind of decadence, with soft sheets and softer touches, the sliding of a mouth over yours as your escape clicks shut behind you and you are pressed between wall and man and you are consumed.

Curl your fingers into the lapel of his coat, lose yourself to the pressure of his lips, the sharp nip of teeth against soft flesh. He tastes of champagne and honeycomb and you are saccharine on the tongue, a mess of sighs and admonitions left unsaid.

My precious thing, whispered into your unfocused sighs, I will take such fine care of you.

And you want to protest, want to insist you are free you are uninterested you do not want this man and his hands under the cotton of your blouse but the words tangle on your tongue and instead all you can do is whimper.

Whimper, and hear him chuckle against your skin, a line of kisses drawn from your parted lips along your jaw until he’s found the thrum of your pulsebeat to draw a gasp the moment his teeth scrape against the delicate skin. He must mark you his, after all, and this he will gladly renew, over and over.

Over and over as he draws you to bed, lays you amongst soft cushions and softer sheets, indulges in the soft curves of you in the golden glow of the room. Your clothes — so conservative, so professional, so unnecessary — he makes short work of even with what mild resistance you manage, Shh, shh, do not fight me.

The heat is yours and not yours all at once, warming your skin and leaving you flushed, leaving a trail of burning want along your skin where his fingers trace over you and centering in your core You need this, sweetling, look at you…

Do you?

Is it you who needs this or he, he who has begun to kiss along your skin, he who presses himself between your legs so impatiently? The accusation lives in your thoughts and passes past your lips as a strangled Nnh-no, ignored without ceremony or appeal.

Protests are useless when your tongue can form no words and your limbs can do nothing but writhe, seeking structure in the grip of his sheets as he unravels you with a press of his lips to that soft center of yours, slick with a need you cannot own and yet all yours.

He maps you with a hungry gaze, fingers already tracing the plushness of your folds, gathering slick like he might have been collecting nectar and you watch him pull back, watch him bring his hand to his mouth, watch him wrap lips around his fingertip and drag the taste of you onto his tongue, One day I shall make you taste how sweet you are…

One day, after he has savored you so deeply.

You are so full of words they burst out of you on a normal day and yet nothing you say comes to light, just the bare whimpers and anxious mewls of your needy self as he returns to inspecting, to enjoying, to savoring the reactiveness of your body.

He touches. He touches as if he has owned your body a thousand times, he touches as if you are delicate, as if you are breakable, as if his fingers might lead you to shattering around him here and now and you…

Are so close, already.

So close, trying to find the strength in your muscles to pull away, to speak something beyond desperation with every curl of fingers against your cunt, with every pleased hum he utters in response to the flex of your sex. Shh… no more fighting, sweetling, I know you can be good.

He knows you can be good, he says, with all the innocence of a man trying to convince his cat to stop clawing the couch, not a man presently holding your legs open with one hand at your thigh and the other curling against your walls while you arch your back. It builds, the pressure, it builds and builds and builds and — Let go, sweetling. Let me see your ecstasy.

Is that what this is?

You keen. You keen softly, desperately, brokenly, as skilled fingers find the spot which makes you, which leaves you breathless and flushed and sobbing, a trickle of tears making their path down your cheeks as you bite your own lip to muffle the sounds you did not know you could make. Wordless and pleading and he notices with a cold smile the way you seem to succumb, hips no longer desperate to escape the curling, stretching assault of two — no, three — fingers preparing you for him.

Hips pressing back towards him now, a betrayal of your conscious-yet-barely-focused mind, that lustful sweetness in you taking over and he can only watch in awe. Awe not at your surrender but at your perfection, muttering in a language you do not understand and yet you understand perfectly what he means — he will have you, all of you.

Ah, I shall so enjoy playing with you more, sweetling.

But not now.

Now his impatience outpaces your need and both outpace his cruelty, his desire to see you beg and so instead he pulls back his hand — and hears the desperate N-no, please don’t — to bring a cruel gleam to his dark eyes and even barely conscious as you are you know he is beautiful.

Beautiful and cruel, as he frees himself and curls fingers around his cock, rubs your own slick onto that soft skin, hisses at the very feel of you like it must be a preview to how you will make him throb, and presses himself over you. Presses himself over you, absorbs the cry of pain or anguish or relief which pours from your plush lips with the punishment of a kiss just as he sinks, hips pressing against yours, stretching you with his full length and Now we are one, my sweet.

Now we are one.

He will take fine care of you but you, you take finer care of him, so plush and tight around his senses, so desperate as you cling, so lost and wanton and he kisses away the tears which continue to sting your cheeks and hisses half-sensible promises into your ear — You will always be mine — as he ruts his hips and practically shoves you forward with every thrust, dragging you back with a snarl and the pressure builds.

Builds and you moan, builds and you sob into his hungry mouth, builds and you hold to him as if he were the last thing which made sensein the world builds and you are consumed and he is consuming, and the release is both of yours, spilling deep inside of you and that too is the final shackle upon your soul.

You sit. In the darkness of your office and you remember, worrying the cuticle of your thumb and staring at the words you have typed while your memory drifts back to that hazy reminder.

… A discussion with the Baron about Sokovia reveals a country rich with history. Once a Duchy of the Hapsburgs during the era of the Holy Roman Empire, the deeply Catholic country clings to the Austrian and Italian tradition of ceremony and indulgence. Baron Zemo plays an example of the hymns sung in the many cathedrals which once filled the country, a mixture of Sokovian and Latin to raise the soul to divine heights.

The Baron speaks of the country’s culture with a warm fondness, of how even during Soviet occupation, the people managed to enjoy games like ice hockey, and football (the European, variant, the Baron would like to emphasize), and even spent time indulging in horse racing. Surrounded by Slovakia and the Czech Republic, it keeps a similar tradition, with a twist…

No, that cannot encompass all that you discussed, and yet that is what the recording shows, words traded back and forth which you do not remember, a conversation of laughter and warmth and none of it slots into what your mind tells you occurred.

You erase. You rewrite. It is the same passage, over and over, fingers acting unbidden of your frantic will and eventually you give in, demand to be done with these words and this screen, eventually you desire peace.

… Baron Helmut Zemo is many things. A historian, an ambassador, a politician, an activist. He is a widower, a man trapped in the past, a man with lofty dreams for the future. He wears his sorrow as well as he wears his happiness, and for those who still call themselves Sokovian, he is their shepherd into a new age.

And as the door to your office opens, your keeper.

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #dark!baron zemo x reader #dark!helmut zemo x reader #billy russo x reader #dark!billy russo x reader #helmut zemo smut #dark!fic #mob!AU #helmut zemo #billy russo

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shyficwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Temporary Home: Chapter 4

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Things just seem to keep getting tense around here... Will Reader ever catch a break? Will Yondu ever solve the mystery?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: This chapter is a LONG BOI. I considered splitting it, but then one chapter would have been 2k+ words and the other would have been 5k+, and for some reason I thought people wouldn't like the inconsistency lol (Feel free to weigh in. I know a few of you have said you liked longer chapters, and I haven't gotten any nay-sayers, but still thought I might as well ask lol)

And thank you to the anons and @condy-wants-a-cookie for your bad roommate suggestions! I wasn't able to add them all in, but they were all appreciated nonetheless!

Word Count: 7,321

This morning you did sleep in, but that didn't make your day much better.

You were slightly hungover, to start, and you spent most of the day in a funk trying to avoid everyone.

This wasn't completely possible, seeing as you now lived with eight other people, but the others seemed to mostly get the hint that you wanted to be left alone.

The first real interaction you had was around noon as you poured yourself some cereal and Yondu and Peter came in the backdoor to tell you they just heard gunshots from the forest.

You barely glanced at them. "Hunters." you said. "Probably hunting pigeons, but more likely they're poaching deer or fox. Happens every year."

They seemed almost surprised by your blasé attitude at hearing there were gunshots, but did seem to relax a bit that you seemed so confident. You had said you grew up here, after all.

Peter was still a little nervous however. "Do they ever come this way?"

You look up to him, knowing what he was getting at. He wanted to make sure they wouldn't happen upon your house while anyone obviously not human was outside and put them all at risk. "No. I'm pretty sure it's just a man and his boys who live a couple miles away. I've never heard the shots come closer than a mile outside the property. You're fine."

Seemingly convinced they finally left you, but you did notice no one seemed to go out until well after the last of the shots were heard, and you assumed Peter must have warned the others to stay inside just in case.

After you ate you went upstairs to grab your music, fancying a walk. However, once you got there you caught Groot sticking his tendrils in the lock of the attic door.

"What you doing there?" you say, firm enough to get his attention, but gentle enough to hopefully not to scare him.

He turned to you, pulling back his vines, looking sorry. "I am Groot."

You shook your head. "Sorry buddy, I have no idea what you're saying, let's find someone who can translate." You beckoned him to come, holding out your hand.

Groot looked sheepish, like he wasn't sure he wanted to come, but eventually he did, toddling over to you and allowing himself to be picked up.

You carried him downstairs and into the sitting room, finding everyone but Mantis, Kraglin, and Rocket sitting at the table. You walked over and asked if anyone there could translate, sitting Groot on the table.

"Sure," Peter offered, "What's up?"

"Well, I found him growing his vines into the lock of the attic door and I just want to know what he was doing." Actually, you thought you knew what he was doing. It looked like he was trying to pick the lock, what you really wanted to know was why.

Gamora looked at the tree child with both confusion and intrigue. "Groot, why did you do that?"

"I am Groot."

"No buddy, she's not going to do that. She just wants to know what you were doing to her door." Peter answered.

You raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I forgot we have to repeat the question for him. He doesn't know what you're saying. He was worried that you were going to be mad at him like you were to Rocket last night."

You were taken aback by this. "He can't unde-? But the first night you all got here-? I asked him a question and Drax translated his answer for me?"

Drax shrugged. "It was easier to make something up than explain he won't be able to understand you because neither of you have translators. What he had really told you was that he had no idea what you said."

Yondu and Peter looked at Drax like he was stupid. It wouldn't have taken much more effort to explain. He literally just did it.

You also look at Drax. "So this whole time he hasn't been able to understand a word I've said to him?" A realization hit you. "But wait- I'm pretty sure we-" you pointed a finger back and forth between you and them, "are speaking the same language??" You were wondering if they were trying to prank you.

Gamora looked at you apologetically. She would have corrected Drax when he made up an answer for Groot that first night, but she was too exhausted to deal with it, and afterwards it just never came up again. You had spent more and more time avoiding everyone anyway. "We're actually not speaking the same language. We all have translator chips, it's how we can all understand each other. It's standard where we're from. They work both ways. It's how you can understand us and how we can understand you. However, because neither you or Groot has one, he can't understand you." She didn't go into the fact that their translators didn't actually translate Groot, or how their understanding of him only came from time spent with him and Rocket's translations. She doubted they'd be there much longer for it to make a difference anyway.

"I see," you said. You frown. "I guess that explains why he never seemed to listen."

Peter lightly chuckled at that, as did Yondu.

"Anyway," Peter said, trying to bring the conversation back to what you came for. "What were you doing to her door?"

"I am Groot."

"He said he was trying to unlock it."

"Alright, kinda figured that, but why?"

Peter repeated the question to Groot and came back with the answer, "He said he was looking for a hiding spot?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"I am Groot."

"Oh that's right, you were playing hide and seek."

"Hmm. Well that's all fine, but the attic is off limits. It's locked for a reason." you say.

"She says you can't go in there, buddy. There are monsters in there."

You give him a strange look, but he gives his head a quick shake as if to tell you not to question it. You figured he probably thought the kid would be more likely to listen if he thought there were monsters and let it go.

Groots eyes went wide and he turned to you. "I am Groot?"

Yondu answered, fighting back a grin. "Yeah, really. Now run along before we feed you to them."

Peter smacked him in the arm as little Groot hopped off the table, and Yondu laughed and held up his hands in a "What?" gesture.

Almost on cue you then heard Kraglin call out, "Ready or not, here I come!" before walking into the sitting room and encountering Groot as he ran towards the door. He looked at Groot and laughed, "I don't think you know how this game works, buddy," before turning and leaving the room himself.

You also started to leave when Drax asked, "Why is the attic off-limits?"

Gamora shot him a look for being nosy but you answered anyway. "It's.. unsafe," you lie. "Old house, you know. Don't want anyone falling through the floor."

You leave them then, saying you're going out for a walk.

Your walk wasn't too long, just along the road a ways before turning back. When you got back to the house you decided to practice your archery some more. You may or may not have pretended that a certain someone's face was the target.

When you finally did come back inside you arrived to a commotion in the hall.

You didn't know what the fight was about. You didn't ask either. All you saw was Kraglin and Rocket standing in the hall arguing about some nonsense. Drax was also there, but he was sitting down on the bench tying his boots and seemed uninterested in the argument.

Then you saw Rocket go to bite Kraglin, miss, and then settle for lunging on him and Kraglin struggling to get him off. Drax didn't really do anything other than scold Rocket, and you suspected this must be so normal for him to witness that it just didn't register anymore.

Your nostrils flared and your eyes narrowed at the scene.

Rocket attacking and Kraglin flailing.

Peter came out of the sitting room, presumably to tell them to knock it off, then he saw the murderous look in your eyes and his sentence caught in his throat as he watched you storm over.

You grabbed Rocket by the scruff of the neck and roughly pulled him off, both to his and Kraglin's surprise. Rocket actually made a noise akin to a squeak.

The others watched as you wordlessly marched the fecker to the front door, earning many angry protests from the Raccoon on the way for you to let him go as he kicked and squirmed.

Hearing the sudden change in the commotion, this prompted Gamora and Yondu to join Peter in the doorway. Yondu, out of curiosity, and Gamora out of concern.

You jerked the door open, and told Rocket to take a walk before tossing him out like a rag doll, mercifully onto the grass. He landed and stared back in a mix of shock and anger, too stunned to think of running back towards you. "You can come back in when you stop wanting to being such a damn asshole." you told him, promptly shutting the door and spinning the deadbolt.

You didn't look at the others as you turned on your heels and made your way up the stairs to your room.

They stared at each other in the hallway, wondering if they had really just witnessed what they saw, and if they should do anything about it.

On one hand, you just literally threw their friend outside.

On the other, maybe it would cool him down to go for a walk?

In the end they decided not to intervene, see how it played out. Way they saw it there were two possible outcomes. One outcome, Rocket takes his time out and actually comes back calmer and ready to be civil. The other outcome, he spends his time out getting more pissed and then rips your face off when you finally let him back in.

The real outcome, however, was less conclusive.

You decided rather than waste the pasta one of the others bothered to save from the previous night, you'd re-make the sauce and heat the spaghetti and serve it for dinner that night.

You called the others to the kitchen and told them to serve themselves before leaving the kitchen. Fortunately there were no accusations of poison this time, but that could have been because Yondu saw which door of the kitchen you exited from and figured you were going to call Rocket back inside.

He was right.

You open the front door and call out into the open, "Hey, Rocket! If you've decided you want to play nice then come inside and eat!" You resisted the urge to call him 'shit-head' instead of his name. More flies with honey and all that.

You waited a bit and then saw Rocket turning the corner of the house to approach the front door. He didn't say anything, just grouchily shuffled inside and you followed in behind him. You didn't say anything either, trying not to antagonize too much.

When you saw everyone else was served you made a plate and took your dinner in your room. No one questioned. At the urging of Gamora they were still trying to give you your space.

They only hoped things would be less tense tomorrow.

***

The next time you were seen wasn't until a little before midnight, when Yondu happened to glance out the window as he was tucking into bed and saw your shadowy figure walking towards the forest in the moonlight.

He frowned. Once was odd. Twice only made him that much more curious. What was nearly the tipping point of his curiosity was the fact that he realized he would never hear you leaving the old house, which to him implied you were sneaking out. Sneaking out of your own house. The hell?

What the hell was out there that you kept disappearing to at night? Where you disappeared to when Rocket ruined dinner?

Next time he was going to stay up and catch you before you left.

***

Starting out things were indeed NOT less tense the next day.

Your day started out with Kraglin accidentally walking in on you when you had just gotten out of the shower. Fortunately for both of you you had literally just wrapped the towel around yourself before he opened the door, but that didn't make anything less awkward, or either of your startled screams less shrill.

He tried to apologize later, but you'd only responded with "Let's just never speak of it again."

Then you went to grab some breakfast, you thought toast would be nice. Only when you got into the kitchen the toaster was nowhere to be found. Maybe you put it in a cupboard? You opened the press where you might have put it, only to find your cooking pans instead.

That wasn't the particular cupboard where you kept your pans, however, and you began to have a sinking feeling as to what might have happened.

You opened another cupboard and finally found the toaster alongside the blender- again, not where they were supposed to be. You then went to find a knife, and wouldn't you know it, all your silverware was gone and replaced with towels.

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Do you like it?"

You turned to see Mantis and Drax beaming like they did a good deed. "What?"

"We re-arranged the kitchen." Drax said. "Rocket said it was a Terran custom and you'd be very happy."

You rub a hand down your face. Fecker pulled another prank. "And you believed Rocket why, exactly?"

Drax and Mantis shared a look, as if they just realized it wasn't a smart idea to believe Rocket. They only grimaced apologetically back at you with an "Um..."

After a moment Mantis asked if you were mad.

You look at them for a bit before saying, "No. I'm not mad. I'm not happy about it, but I'm not mad. But, you two are going to help me put everything back."

They nodded quietly and got to work. It took an hour to get it straight again.

After you finally got to eat you decided to tend your garden again. It didn't need much weeding, so you decided to work slow to avoid going back inside for a bit. Mantis had also come outside with you and went over to play on the swing. She had seemingly become quite fond of it in her short time here.

After perhaps ten minutes you heard a snap and a startled cry and turned to find Mantis now on the ground. The old rope had finally snapped.

Mantis looked up at you and sheepishly said, "Sorry, I broke your swing."

You look at her in exhaustion. "It's fine. Not your fault, it was old. You ok?"

Mantis nodded and headed back inside as she rubbed her smarted behind.

You turn back to your garden. Today might be another archery day.

Instead of archery you thought of another idea. Rocket had complained about sleeping in the crib at least five times since he got here, probably more when you weren't around to hear it. Maybe you could build him a little bed as a peace-offering. Maybe he'd be less insufferable if you fixed the problem he was always complaining about.

You already knew you had enough wood in the shed to do it, and you already knew the crib fit a 120 X 60 cm mattress, so you'd just build the bed to the same dimensions as the crib so the mattress would still fit- you weren't going to go to that much trouble for the shithead. And as a bonus, this was also another way to keep busy.

You sketched out a quick plan on an old notepad you kept in the work shed and got to work cutting the pieces.

It was a simple design, but one that still required the bed legs and headboard to be joined and clamped together, same as the footboard. This meant you wouldn't be finished by tonight, especially not if you decided to stain it, which was fine by you. You weren't exactly in a rush.

You did what you were able to of the bed frame before heading back inside, maybe a little more than an hour later to grab something quick for lunch. Rocket was already in the kitchen eating something out of a little packet that looked unfamiliar to you. More alien food, you thought.

He looked up at you as you walked in with a raised eyebrow. "What you been up to?"

You looked down to where his gaze met and saw you still had a bit of sawdust on your jeans. You brushed it away and said, "Nothing."

He eyed you before his expression changed to a grin. He thought he'd have a little fun with you, slight revenge for the previous day when you threw him outside. Nothing much, just something to take "Miss Cranky-Ass" down a peg. He looked at you innocently. "Hey, you want to try one of these? They're good."

You eye him suspiciously. Every instinct you had told you not to trust him.

Rocket could tell you weren't biting. "Look, I know things have been tense between is, but consider it a peace offering." He held out the bag and kept grinning.

Not a chance.

Peter walked into the kitchen at that moment, just the person you needed to see. You got his attention, "Hey, Peter, what's this little fecker trying to do to me?"

Peter looked confused. "What?" he asked.

"He's offering me whatever those purple things are, and I think you could forgive me for not trusting it right away."

Rocket made a show of looking offended, "I'd never-"

Then Peter got a look at the bag and shot Rocket an annoyed look. "Yeah, do not eat that." he warned. He looked at Rocket. "You know Terrans can't eat xanti-berries." He looked back at you, "Seriously, don't eat them. You'll be shitting yourself the rest of tonight and tomorrow."

Your eyes widened and you looked at Rocket bitterly. Your instincts had been right. Can't trust the little shit. And to think you were making him a bed so he didn't need to sleep in the crib.

Rocket was now snickering, saying to Peter, "Come on- I mean we know that's what happens to you-" More snickering. "But maybe it's just a you thing-" Snickering now turns to laughing. "Maybe- Maybe she'd be fine. AHAHA!"

The little beast was now fully laughing at his own joke.

"Yeah, no thanks," you say, turning to grab a granola bar instead.

Peter shooed still laughing Rocket out of the kitchen. "I'm sorry about him, he's-"

"An asshole?" you finish for him.

Peter rubbed the back of his head, "Yeah..." he said with an apologetic look. He could tell you were past tired of his friend's bullshit, which was bad because they hadn't even been there a full week yet.

You shook your head and went to eat in your room, maybe you'd scroll some tumblr.

***

Not much later after you had gotten bored refreshing the page, you thought you'd look for a book to read in the sitting room, and walked in on Rocket and Peter arguing over what to watch. This eventually lead to the remote being flung across the room and just narrowly missing the TV.

You rub your temples and sigh. "You know, if you break that, I'm not replacing it."

"Oh yeah, you think we're gonna replace it?" Rocket snarked.

You looked at them. "That's not what I said, is it? I said I'm not replacing it. Meaning if you break it, there just won't be one. I'm not going to reward bad behavior by replacing it if you break it."

You heard Rocket mutter, "Whatever," and not long after you started hearing the noises of them bickering and smacking at each other again.

"Enough!" you say in a loud, firm voice that honestly startled Peter a bit and caught the attention of Kraglin from the table where he was doing a puzzle he found on a shelf. Your desire to find a book forgotten you left the sitting room, saying, "God, you act like children!"

You passed Gamora on your way out and said, "How do you deal with them?!" You continued on without waiting for an answer and Gamora shot a disapproving look at the pair on the couch, clearly unhappy that they were still finding ways to piss you off.

You went back into the kitchen, retrieved a glass from the cupboard, the whiskey bottle from the other night from the fridge, and sat at the table.

Yondu walked in about ten minutes later. "Starting a little early, I see." He wasn't actually sure if it'd be early to start drinking by Terran customs or not, but he knew from when he still had his crew and the Eclector, his crew typically weren't allowed to start in until all their day's duties were done, which, not always, but usually wasn't until after dinner. Outward appearance would have suggested otherwise, but he kept a tighter ship than one might think. Couldn't have someone piss drunk on the job and fucking everything up, now could he? That's not to say the crew always listened... but they were well aware of the consequences of getting caught drunk on the job.

You only answered back with a, "There are glasses in the cupboard if you want some."

Yondu chuckled and went for a glass, not one to refuse a drink.

As soon as he sat down you stood up. "I'll be back." you announce.

Yondu poured himself a glass and you shortly returned with another bottle of whiskey from the cellar. "Bottle was almost gone," you explain, setting the new bottle on the table and re-taking your seat.

Yondu looked at you, amused, but also mildly wondering where you had retrieved a second bottle from. He had never been bothered to explore the cellar. If he had he would have known you kept most of your unopened alcohol down there, where it could stay cool without needing a refrigerator.

Yondu took a sip, and almost recoiled, having not expected this Terran stuff to be quite so strong. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle, mind you, but he had honestly just assumed Terran whiskey would be weak. From experience with Peter, the boy always got piss drunk after only barely a couple shots of Xandarian liquor, which wasn't very strong, so he just assumed Terrans had a naturally lower tolerance. Now he just supposed Quill was a lightweight.

"Anything on your mind?" Yondu asked. If you were sitting here drinking alone surely there must be.

You glance up. "Nope," you say, as you down the rest of your glass. You pour another.

"Uh huh... right. That's why you look like a grump-ass sitting here drinking all by yourself then."

You give him a look, gesturing to him with your glass. "You're sitting right there aren't you? Looks like I ain't alone."

Yondu chuckled and shook his head. Cheeky shit. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope."

Yondu grinned and pointed at you knowingly. "Gotcha."

"What?" you say, confused by his tone.

"Ya said ya don't wanna talk about it. Means there's somethin' on yer mind."

You look at him through narrow eyes and take another sip.

"What is it? Tired of Rocket's shit? Don't blame ya. Rat can be a real asshole."

You sigh.

"So it is the rat, then?"

"Quit," you say, taking another drink and looking at him sternly.

Yondu held up his hands and backed off. "Alright. I won't push it."

"Push what?" came Peter's voice from the doorway as he and Kraglin walked into the kitchen. Peter grabbed a snack from the pantry and tossed one to Kraglin.

"Cool, didn't realize we were starting a party" Kraglin joked, referring to the two whiskey bottles on the table and you and Yondu sitting there with your glasses.

Figuring you might as well offer them some you motioned to the cupboard again. "Glasses up there. Might as well join us."

You didn't have to ask them twice. Peter got down a couple glasses and Kraglin poured them some drink.

Peter nodded to the two bottles and joked asking if you were trying to see who could outdrink the other.

You shrugged. "Nah. If we were to do that, he'd need to catch up."

Yondu laughed. "You don't wanna go there, missy. I'll drink ya under the table before you knew what hit you." He chuckled and elbowed Kraglin in the arm, who snickered, knowing full well Yondu could drink like a tank.

You rolled your eyes. "Like I said, you'd need to catch up to me first. I'm about four ahead of you.

Yondu's head snapped back to you glancing from your drink to you. "Four?" You must be joking. You weren't even tipsy yet that he could tell.

You were unable to hold back a laugh. "Nah, I'm only messing with you." You downed your glass. "I'm two ahead after that one." You poured yourself another glass. You grinned slightly. "Again, do I need to wait for you to catch up?"

Yondu grinned at you, his eyes almost inquisitive. "Ya really sure ya wanna do that?" He was confident you didn't stand a chance.

Peter laughed. "What, you scared she'll outdrink you?"

Yondu rolled his eyes and downed his glass. "No. Jus' concerned she'll hurt herself tryin'," he laughed.

Now you rolled your eyes. "Fine. Don't. I'll accept your admission of defeat." you say with a shrug as you take another sip. This was almost definitely the buzz talking. You weren't a lightweight, but you still weren't exactly the heaviest drinker.

Peter and Kraglin hid giggles behind their glasses as Yondu gave you a hard look and poured himself another glass and downed it.

"There, I'm caught up." he said, pouring himself another glass to match you. "I'll give you one more chance to back out, sweetheart."

You down your glass. "I ain't your sweetheart, grandpa."

Yondu narrowed his eyes and downed his as well. "Then it's on, pipsqueak."

"Ooh-hoho. You're gonna regret that." you say, unable to hold back a grin as you poured another round for the two of you.

Peter and Kraglin were now openly laughing at the show as they sipped their drinks.

Yondu tipped his glass to you and took a sip. "We'll see." He wasn't really concerned with the drinking game. He was fairly certain he'd win. He did, however, think the whiskey might loosen your tongue, get you to talk to him. Maybe he'd eventually get around to asking why you lived in such a big place by yourself or what was in the forest that you kept walking into.

You followed his lead, sipping your current glass rather than downing it right away. Maybe it was the buzz starting to talk, but you suddenly were curious about something. "I don't think you guys ever told me why you needed to go into hiding in the first place."

"Fury didn't tell you?" Peter asked.

"Nope. He was too busy moving you guys in and changing up my house and getting into my shit to mention it." you say, taking another sip.

Yondu also sipped. Tongue loosening: Check.

"Well it's kinda a long story," Peter began, "but short version, we were hired to do a job for these people, and we did it, but then Rocket insulted them, and stole their shit, and now they've vowed vengeance."

"And they ain't the forgivin' type." Kraglin added.

"No. Definitely not," said Yondu mournfully, taking another sip. Bad enough his crew mutinied and he blasted his ship to hell, now he had to go into hiding. Yondu Udonta doesn't hide... unless forced to by the Nova Corps because he joined his boy's little team of galaxy savers, apparently... He supposed it was better than jail. He should really thank Peter for pulling those strings sometime.

"Anyway, so when the Nova Corps heard about it they insisted we go into hiding until they could try and smooth it over."

"Hmm." You say, finishing your glass. "So they're trying to beg for your lives, is that it?"

Peter shrugged awkwardly. "More or less."

"They must really like you." you laughed, looking down as Yondu poured everyone another round.

"They should," Yondu said. "He saved the galaxy twice."

Peter looked at him and he tried to hide how his heart swelled. Receiving praise from the blue man for things other than thievery was still new to him, but he didn't exactly hate it.

Yondu ignored his gaze. He wasn't about to get caught up in sentiment. He changed the subject. "Why don't ya tell us a little about yerself?"

You pretended to think a bit before taking a drink and saying, "Hmm... Nope."

Yondu held back a sigh. Tongue loosening: Un-Check. He tipped back his glass and nodded to you, as if to challenge.

You tipped your glass back in turn and as you poured another Yondu taunted, "I think that was five now, sure ya don't wanna slow down?"

You give him a patronizing look. "Is that your way of saying you give up?" You started to giggle behind your hand when Yondu's expression read 'Oh please.' and he finished his glass to keep the pour even between you.

Kraglin grinned wide and nudged Peter, "Eh, Pete, tell her about that time you got stabbed for flirting with that A'askvarii chick."

Peter's eyes widened and he looked at Kraglin, "Not cool, dude!"

Yondu chuckled and you just looked at Peter inquisitively, having no idea what an 'A'askvarii' was. Before you could ask Yondu spoke up.

"If I remember correctly he didn't get stabbed for that one. Kree girl tried to rip out his thorax. He got stabbed for trying to pull a runner on a Rajack girl." Yondu said, grinning before taking another drink.

Peter glared at him. "New topic." He looked at you. "What got you into archery?"

You sighed through your nose. You supposed it was an innocent enough question. "Dad taught me. How'd you'd come about living in space?"

Peter made a face and downed his drink. "Uh, long story, another time..." How would he explain that the reason he was in space was because his Celestial father sent the man sitting next to you to abduct him... and make it not sound awful? Better think of something lighter. "Uh... Got any family around or is it just you?"

You eyes narrowed. Your former giddiness visibly left you.

'Oh no.' Peter thought. That apparently wasn't lighter... You must not get along with your family. He tried to fix it. "Ok, touchy subject- I mean... Oh look, your glass is empty!" He quickly poured you and him another round.

You actually almost laughed at that, and a slight grin cracked your face.

Yondu saw how your expression changed and incorrectly assumed that it meant you weren't actually that irritated by Peter's question. He then took that incorrect assumption to pose his own question. "So, you didn't quite answer the other night, and I'm still curious. How come it's just you in this big old house?"

This prompted Kraglin to add his own question. "Yeah, and I've been wondering too, how's come you don't keep any photos?"

Your glare returned. You sat your glass down and stood up saying in a slightly slurred speech, "I have to pee." and excused yourself from the table, stumbling a bit as the alcohol hit you. You righted yourself, earning a chuckle from Peter and Kraglin, who knew too well that it's always easy to believe you aren't as drunk as you are until you stand up and the room spins.

Yondu also laughed, but internally cursed himself. He wasn't gonna get any answers like this. He hoped that maybe there was still a chance to save it when you got back. He saw a hint of pain in your eyes just before you left, and it made him want to know why. He felt he was so close to putting the pieces together.

***

You head to the bathroom irritated at being asked the personal questions. Leave it up to your new house mates to ruin your buzz.

You only got more irritated upon entering the bathroom, however.

Someone had left their wet towels on the floor. Rolling your eyes in annoyance you kicked them aside to make your way to the toilet. Mercifully you didn't find any unpleasant surprises waiting inside it like you had been. Peter must have gotten the "Flush the damn toilet!" message through to Drax. However, once you had done your business you found that someone couldn't have been bothered to replace the toilet roll properly, just having sat it on the roll holder.

You sigh irritably and replace it properly yourself. Yes, it could have been worse. They could have not replaced it at all and forced you to do a mini walk of shame to the sink cupboard to retrieve it, but you were too cranky to look at the bright side.

Then you went to wash your hands, only to see someone had smeared toothpaste all over the sink, a big pet peeve of yours. Your nostrils flared and you muttered to yourself as you washed that you weren't going to clean it. Screw that.

You went to dry your hands, and find there was no towel to dry them. You gritted your teeth and ripped a towel from the small closet, hanging it on the hook when you were finished.

Before leaving the bathroom you tried to gather yourself, taking a deep breath and telling yourself to calm down. It would be ok. You were just a little drunk. It wasn't that big of a deal. You were going to go back out and try to have some fun drinking that blue bastard under the table. (This, of course, was the alcohol talking. False confidence. You really did never stand a chance of outdrinking the Ravager captain.)

You start to open the door, and that's when you reach your breaking point.

***

After you left, Kraglin nudged Peter again, whispering the words, "A'askvarii girl," to him and giggling like a child.

Peter smacked him in the arm, "Quit it! That was one time! And I was only trying to get information! Tell him Yondu!" He tried to look angry, but the whiskey was having its usual effect on him, making him a giggly little bitch.

Yondu only grinned and shook his head. "I dunno boy, you were a little too convincing if ya ask me... Nobody asked you to sleep with her."

Kraglin bust out laughing at Peter's face, which was an odd mix of horror, drunken mirth, and "Dammit, you got me." He playfully shoved Peter and Peter shoved back with a "You suck!" which prompted Kraglin to squeeze his side, which of course made Peter jolt with a laugh and smack him away.

Kraglin only did it again and Peter laughed out a "Quit it!" while smacking him again.

Yondu just rolled his eyes and chuckled, sipping his whiskey as he watched his boys mess around like they did when they were younger on the Eclector.

After a pinch to the knee Peter bolted off his chair, only to have Kraglin follow, laughing, "Come back 'ere, ya coward!" He got Peter in a headlock and started to give him a noogie.

Peter laughed and managed to worm away, taking off into the hallway.

Yondu watched in amusement as Kraglin followed Peter out of the kitchen, and listened as the sounds of their shenanigans took them from the front door down the hall. That's when he heard the sound of a door slamming and a loud cry of "OW! Mother---FUCKer!" that sounded suspiciously like you.

'Oh shit,' he thought, standing from the table to go inspect the damage.

***

It had all happened fairly quickly.

You had opened the bathroom door maybe a foot before it slammed back in your face. Literally in your face. You recoiled and swore loudly, the flash of pain made your eyes water and you saw red before you even realized you were bleeding.

Kraglin and Peter jerked away from the door in startled shock after hearing you cry out. They had only been horsing around when their antics caused Peter to fall back into the door just as you opened it. They jumped when the door slammed back open with an incredible BANG against the wall, and their eyes went wide when they saw you standing there, murderous rage in your eyes and blood running from your nose down your chin.

Maybe it was because he was the nearest person, or maybe it was because he instinctually held up his hands and said "Sorry! Sorry! It was an accident!" but Peter was the one you lunged at.

You grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him into the wall, nearly a week's worth of frustration and rage channeled through you as his body connected with the plaster.

Peter, not just going to stand there and let himself get beaten up, tried to grab your wrists and get you off him, but you evaded his attempts and punched him in the stomach.

This slightly knocked the wind from him, but he managed to grab your wrist and push off from the wall. He spun you around and tried to restrain you in a bear hug, saying, "Take it easy!" but you only dropped to your knees and lurched forward, flipping him over your back towards the front door.

Kraglin looked to Yondu, who watched from outside the kitchen door near the end of the hall. His gaze asked what to do, but Yondu only shrugged and didn't try to intervene. He knew Peter could handle himself and he was sure you needed to let off some steam, so he just enjoyed the show.

The commotion brought the others in though. Gamora and Mantis flew down the stairs, while Rocket, Drax, and Groot stepped out of the sitting room to witness the fight with wide eyes. They didn't know what had happened, but you looked ready for the kill, and to the few who could see it from their vantage, you looked almost terrifying with your bared teeth full of blood.

You now straddling Peter, attempting to throw a punch when he blocked it and flipped the two of you over. He breathlessly told you to settle down as you struggled, but you wouldn't hear it. If anything it seemed to make you more pissed off, and Gamora's cries for the two of you to stop fell on deaf ears.

You kneed Peter in the stomach and flipped the two of you back over. You weren't sure what next possessed you, but you threw your head down and sank your teeth into his shoulder.

Peter threw his head back and cried out in pain, mixing in a few curses as well.

Yondu cocked his head, seeming unsure on whether he wanted to be impressed or not to see you, Miss SHIELD Agent, fight dirty. Kraglin finally spoke up to say, "Hey, hey, now! No bitin'!" as if he were refereeing a wrestling match.

Right about then you felt large strong hands grip you about the waist, surprising you into releasing your bite on Peter as they pulled you off of him. The arms moved from your waist to secure your wrists and before you knew it you were being restrained in half a bear-hug by one very strong arm as you were turned away from Peter and pulled towards the front door.

Drax paused to open the door and, turning you to face him, flatly said. "You need to take a walk."

"Drax!" Gamora hissed, appalled that he was throwing their host out of her own house, despite the circumstances.

Rocket, of course, laughed and asked how you liked it, like an asshole. It was only then he saw the blood around your nose and mouth and his expression changed slightly to reflect his shock, now wondering if you had actually taken a chunk out of Peter when you bit him. Were you some kind of maniac?

You spat blood at him, only for it to land on the floor at his feet as he was standing too far away, and then slammed the door behind you on your way out.

Gamora came the rest of the way down the stairs to inspect Peter's shoulder, seeing the blood on his shirt.

"It's fine," he assured, "It's hers, not mine. See, she didn't break skin." He pulled back his shirt to prove it. "I think I accidentally broke her nose though. That's what started it."

Gamora looked at him in confusion. "You broke her nose?! What the hell, Peter!"

"It was an accident!" he said again.

Gamora took a step back. "Ok. Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning."

"Well, we were all drinking-"

Gamora threw up her hands. "Oh, well that explains everything!" she interrupted bitterly. Dumb stuff almost always seemed to happen when those guys and alcohol mixed.

Rocket spoke up. "You were drinking and didn't invite us? Rude."

Gamora threw him an unamused look. "Not the point, Rocket."

Peter tried again. He explained he and Kraglin joined you and Yondu drinking, you got up to use the bathroom, he and Kraglin started horsing around, and one thing lead to another until he fell back against the door as you were coming out of the bathroom and it must have hit you and pissed you off.

Gamora looked at him. So it really had just been a big drunken accident. She also then realized Drax had not only just threw their host out of their own house, but threw you out while you were also drunk, broken and bleeding.

They were sooo getting kicked out.

"We should call her back in." said Gamora. "You shouldn't have thrown her out, Drax. This is her home. We're only guests."

Drax looked confused. "Why? It worked with Rocket. I thought I was helping?"

"Don't bother trying," said Yondu nonchalantly. "Bet she's already well into the forest by now."

They looked at him. "How would you know that?" Gamora asked.

He shrugged. "It's where she went the other night she got mad. Saw her heading there out the window when Rat there destroyed the kitchen and ruined diner." He left out the bit that he'd also seen you head there in the middle of the night too. He was saving that bit of mystery for himself to solve.

Rocket just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at being called out for his past grievances. It got cleaned, didn't it?

"I'm sure she'll come back when she's ready," Yondu added. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't tempted to go look for you, if for no other reason than to see where you kept going to out there, but he had a feeling that if you didn't want to be found, he wouldn't find you. He might have some experience tracking, but he couldn't also forget what you did for a living. While he might not know much about what your job entailed, he got the feeling you weren't just some desk-jocky.

Besides, if you found your way back, drunk, the other night, he was sure you could do it again.

Begrudgingly Gamora agreed to wait.

And wait they did.

#gotg #guardians of the galaxy #x reader #yondu udonta #peter quill #kraglin obfonteri #Groot #Drax #rocket raccoon #mantis #gamora #star lord #drinking #fighting #mystery #room mates

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exphhoria · 4 years ago

Note

May I request albedo x shy reader where albedo and reader has feelings for each other but reader is too introverted to do anything and albedo doesn't want to tell as he thinks he scares her as reader always gets red and is stuttering when he talks to her. Klee finds out about this and makes it her mission to get albedo and reader together.

Klee gets albedo to play hide and seek with her and invites reader to play together with her. Albedo is counting down while klee and reader hides. Klee and reader hides in a location that klee always hides in so albedo would find them quickly. While they're hiding where albedo is within hearing distance, klee ask reader about whether she has feelings for albedo or not. Reader then admits to having feelings for albedo and makes klee promise not to to tell him. Albedo having heard all this comes behind reader and says why not, proceeds to bring reader to a private location and tells reader his feelings.

If this is too detailed a shy reader x albedo headcanon is enough.

With a Shy S/O

Character(s): Albedo

Format: Drabble

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 775

Note: Thank you for requesting! I'm so so sorry it took so long to get to, I’ve been pretty tired recently and have been doing other stuff. I’ll try to get to my other requests soon too^^

You turned around the corner of the library only to bump into your crush, Albedo. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, in fact you loved every moment you got to spend with the alchemist. It was just that you were always messing up in his presence.

“Ah, Y/N, what a coincidence to run into you here,” the beautiful man in front of you said, smiling faintly as he picked up your fallen books.

You felt a smile tug at the corner of your lips as you focused your gaze on the wooden floor below. “Y-yeah, what a c-coincidence,” you squeaked as turned away, “I uhm, just realized I have to wash the dishes and do laundry... bye!”

A:N: Me being a huge extrovert: cannot relate

You ran off leaving Albedo crestfallen. You didn’t even grab your library books before sprinting away. Were you that scared of him? Albedo didn’t think he was particularly scary, was it because you knew his secret?

As you came to a stop, you held your blushing face in your hands. You weren't sure when you started acting like this but all you knew was that you were failing... by a lot. You would confess to him except you couldn't gather the courage to do so. I'm such an idiot is what you thought to yourself as you stood there, frustrated.

Hearing the soft echoing of footsteps against the pavement outside of the Knights of Favonius headquarters, you turned to find Klee skipping towards you. Dodoco bounced up and down in sync with the young pyro wielder as she grew closer. You smiled sofly, kneeling down to meet her height as Klee jumped into your arms.

"Y/N! Y/N! Let's play hide and seek!" Klee exclaimed as she giggled.

You uttered a small, "Okay," and followed as she led you away.

The walk was pleasent with the ducks quacking, the pigeons cooing, and the clouds above fluffy and white. Klee hopped cheerfully ahead of you, leading you towards the whispering woods. There you saw the last and first person you wanted to see, Albedo. Upon noticing you, he smiled which caused your cheeks to heat up.

Continuing onward, you kept your gaze focused ground, the luscious grass glistening with early morning dew. Eventually, the young vision wielder came to an abrupt stop which caused you to bump into her and trip.

However, instead of feeling the damp grass you had predicted, you ceased falling. Your eyes widened as you saw that the one you pined for had caught you. Immediately your cheeks flushed and you scrambled over to Klee in embarrassment.

She huffed as she rested her hands on her hips in disaprovement. Disregarding the previous scenario, she brought you all into a triangular-like group to speak. “We’re going to play hide and seek! Albedo-onichan, you’ll find us!” she explained excitedly.

Once you both nodded, she grabbed your hand and dragged you into the woods. However, what you didn’t know was that this was a spot Klee always chose when playing the game. Boldly, she asked, “Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“Albedo-oni,” she pouted.

You found yourself suddenly interested in the ground as you stared at the blades of grass. Barely audible, you muttered, “... yes”

At that, you heard two gasps. One was soft and the other not so much. The noisy one came from Klee, but what about the other? Tracking down its location, you peeked over a thick bush. Hiding behind it was Albedo?! You were about to run away however, he managed to take hold of your hand.

“A-Albedo- did y-you uh, did you h-hear what I said...?”

He nodded, saying, “Can we speak somewhere private?”

Agreeing, you walked a little further into the dense woods, finally satisfied with your distance from Klee, he let go of your hand and turned to face you. “Well you see, I,” he paused, “I like you too.”

Shocked, your hand shifted to your now agape mouth. You could feel the burning in your cheeks already. You looked at him through a sideway glance and whispered, “Y-you do?”

A faint smile appeared on his lips and he brought you close to him. “May I?” he asked. To answer his question, you shut your eyes and closed the distance between you two. A smile still evident on both of your lips, you broke the kiss and hugged the genius alchemist.

A/N: “I’m not depressed, I’m a genius” wheeze

Looking up at him, you inquired, “D-does this mean we’re dating?”

Albedo looked at you with a perplexed expression covering his features before responding with, “I believe so.”

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laughingmango · 4 years ago

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[Ghost Trick, Yomiel & Cabanela] At night, before the cover of sleep

Ghost Swap treat for @turn-tail-for-the-road! "Cabanela finds himself possessed by Yomiel who sometimes takes over his body in times of stress" got me thinking...

A slow fall dotted by spotless manipulation.

He hears him once, from afar: obnoxious lively clucking from across the street, some posturing for a joke, and at the sound of that voice Yomiel freezes even in the safety of his ghostly form, at once he’s back in that interrogation room, no way out, for all his aimless wanderings through the city he will always be dragged back in the darkness of that interrogation room, forever.

There is no escape, and it occurs to him then and there, as if divine inspiration were cutting through his panic with a bolt of righteousness, that this predicament can go both ways. Yomiel crosses the street along with a bored pedestrian, who will never notice she lacks the memories of going from sidewalk to sidewalk, and hovers around his mark, hopping from core to core in the busy downtown street. He tells himself that he is thinking about what he is about to do. That he’s considering the pros and cons and all that careful planning. Truth is, one moment he’s still deep in that same thick fog of panic, the next he’s possessing the Inspector, faltering on too-spindly legs in the middle of a complex dance step, and Yomiel is dead certain that he’ll ruin his life somehow, anyhow, he’ll figure it out as he goes, he’s invincible and they don’t know what’s coming. He forgot what feeling in control feels like – satisfaction prickles like he still had nerves and skin to feel it with, and blood to rush to his head.

“What was that?” asks the other detective with an amused frown, offering an arm for the Inspector to lean on as he loses his balance. “Weight of our sins catching up with you yet? Ha ha.”

Yomiel sees that the big guy is about to pat the Inspector’s back; what he does not expect is the strength that goes into it, and so his borrowed body stumbles forward. Yomiel’s spirit seizes the chance to leave him barreling forward as if the slap itself had cast him out, hoping at least the Inspector will fall but no, of course not, life’s never that fair, dancer’s instincts kick in and he elegantly lands on one knee before dusting off that hideous coat of his and cracking a puzzled smile at his friend.

Yomiel metaphorically catches his breath holding onto the core of a fire hydrant nearby. He’s invincible and they don’t know what’s coming, and they can’t begin to suspect his presence (Jowd’s words ring in his ears, inebriating like a morbid inside joke). There are more ways to make the man pay than out in the open, more ways to chase that strange and dreadful high. Yomiel will bid his time. It’s all he has left.

So he follows the Inspector at night, as he goes back to the sanctity of his home, away from the spotlight, from all the eyes trained on him and his quirks and mannerisms that are a headache and a half and frankly impossible to mimic convincingly. Here, at the end of the day, no-one is watching, no-one will ever know. Not even the Inspector himself.

Yomiel waits, vague expectations of the vague yet undoubtedly terrible things he would do bubbling up inside him and falling flat against his muffled ghostly senses. There is a distinct pleasure to be taken in noticing that the Inspector’s trademark spotless style also applies to his flat, and applied to a flat it’s just sad. The place barely feels lived in, showing no signs of love for it nor for its owner anywhere, not a single picture of a friend or relative hung up on the wall – Sissel’s little cat house has more personality than this.

At last his target slips into some decadent silk pajamas and goes to sleep, humming a happy tune to himself like an innocent child. The moment he falls asleep, when any missing, strange and fading memories will feel like dreams, Yomiel reaches out and grips him hard enough he could crush his soul. He takes a deep breath in this hateful, inhospitable body. The thrill is there again. He can do anything. Anything at all.

Filled with an intense sense of purpose, he stubs this body’s toe, vigorously, puts him back to bed and slips away into the night. It feels good.

On a different occasion, he takes a post-it with an important-looking phone number scribbled in pencil, underlined and all, and lets it fall out of the window.

A few months later, he concocts an elaborate scenario to take some cash out of the bastard’s wallet and drop it into his funds for buying top shelf cat food for his little boy. By elaborate he means a pigeon – leave the cash outside the window with the Inspector’s body, drop him in bed, leave, all that’s routine. Coming back manipulating a pigeon to pick it all up and bring it to his own body, that’s elaborate. Look, flying is complicated, he never really got the hang of it.

It becomes something of a habit. Relieves stress like nothing else, really.

It only happens once after Alma’s accident. Alma’s accident has changed many things. Yomiel’s schedule is busy, now, and even on the evening he has set aside to return to his little habit, he’s late into the night. He slides into the flat to find the Inspector already in bed, snoring most odiously. Reaching out to his soul gives Yomiel a moment’s insight into the man’s dreams, which are as sterile and loveless as his waking hours: in his dream, he is running through a gray expanse, chasing something that remains forever out of reach, his legs are burning, his lungs are burning, he can’t find the strength to cry but still he pushes forward. Like everyone else in town, Yomiel has heard that a spotless career is all the Inspector cares for now (unlike everyone else in town, Yomiel had an inkling already, and vindication feels sweet). To see him long for clout and money to the point of chasing them in his dreams fills Yomiel with a distant rage.

He slips into his body and walks up to the window, slamming it wide open, imagining that he could feel the cold winter air. No-one is watching. No-one could stop him even if they saw him slip a leg across the windowsill, sitting with his legs astride, ready to push this body down toward the distant pavement below… nobody but Yomiel himself, holding this wretched life in his hands. He savors the moment. As he pulls back and hops toward the safety of the apartment, he savors the sweet taste of righteousness, too.

The thing is – unlike some people, he’s not a murderer.

And that reminder feels ever so good.

#ghost trick #turn tail for the road #ghost swap #yomiel #cabanela #fanfiction

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mostly-delusional · 3 years ago

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Like a phoenix, I will rise

!!!SPOILERS FOR KAZ'S BACKSTORY!!!

I dwell in the nothings and the nowhere places

The void of emptiness is my home

Kaz stared at his reflection in the mirror. A new face was looking back at him, one he didn’t, couldn’t recognize as his own. His clothes were damp, heavy with the burden of the ordeal he had just gone through. Wet locks of hair fell in his eyes, drops of water dripping from them one by one. His eyes were puffy and red, traces of tears washed away by the water. His skin itched, as if hundreds of insects were crawling upon it. His head felt heavy and he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He was soaked from head to toe, and his breath came out in short puffs. His chest thumped at a pace he could not keep up with.

Don't look back and maybe all of it will disappear. You'll wake up in a few moments. All of this will be gone. It's just a bad dream. Jordie will shake you back to reality and hold you close to him. You'll be fine.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried driving out the images of his brother among a hundred other bodies. But in the darkness behind his eyelids, Kaz could only see himself pushing against the waves in the Reaper’s Barge, his brother by his side. He could still feel the waves hitting him, trying to propel him towards the horror that had lain behind him. The stink of bodies was still fresh in his nose and bile rose up to his throat. A faint sound of giggling reverberated in his mind.

Saskia.

Jacob Hertzoon’s daughter. But she wasn’t actually a part of his family, was she? No, just another con artist. Kaz felt his heart shattering into a multitude of little shards. He felt himself slipping away. He tried holding onto that nine-year-old part of him, but to no avail. It was too late now.

But it is here that my soul can create itself

And I'll emerge full born as my own

His eyes shot open. Kaz looked into those brown orbs in the mirror. But they weren’t his. He saw hatred pooling inside them, their brown darkening with hunger.

Kaz Rietveld was dead. The little boy who clutched his brother’s hand a little too tight when afraid, who brightened at the sight of candies and toys, who was far too innocent for the sordid streets of Ketterdam was dead. He was floating somewhere in the Reaper’s Barge, forgotten.

I walk in the gutter of my humanity

As one who is disfigured and frail

Yet still believe, that one day I will be transformed

And in spite of my limits, I will prevail

The streets looked mammoth without Jordie by his side. Kaz felt small walking among the crowd. No one paid him mind, as if he were a phantom passing through. People pushed past him and he struggled to stay on his feet. They were mindlessly walking on the streets, eyes set on defined goals. Kaz wanted to scream. He wanted to ask them to stop and look at him. To let him pass through. To help him. But everyone just went about their business and he could do nothing but stare at his feet helplessly. Tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes and a sob threatened to tear past his lips.

“Lift your head up and walk right through them. Don’t stop, don’t hesitate. If you do, they’ll just drag you back to the bottom of the Barge. Ketterdam is not a place you can afford to be soft in, Kaz. You need to make a place for yourself. Will you do that? For me?” Kaz didn’t know if it was Jordie’s voice in his head, or if he was just being delusional. But he pushed his fear aside nonetheless.

A man harshly collided with Kaz and he staggered back.

“Watch where you’re going, boy!” The man bit out.

Jordie’s words echoed in his mind and Kaz simply stomped on the foot of that man as hard as he could before running away. He didn’t stop running until he reached the doors of a dingy looking building. A rusting crow sign hung on the door with the words ‘The Crow Club’ engraved on it. He pushed open the double doors and walked inside.

The place could hardly pass as a gambling club, what with the chipped paint on the walls and the dank atmosphere. Thugs and thieves huddled in every corner, their raucous laughter banging on his eardrums. He pushed past them and walked around the tables when suddenly a hand shot out and seized his wrist.

Kaz bristled. He could hear waves slapping against his mind again. The voices muffled, as if his head was pushed under water. His own shouts of help began blaring like an alarm inside his head.

He needed to get the hand off of him and leave this place.

“Let go!” Kaz cringed at the rasp that escaped his lips. His voice was barely recognizable, sounding like two rocks being rubbed against each other. His throat itched and forming any words hurt. Still, he conjured every fiber of confidence and said, “I told you to let go!”

“What do you think you’re doing in here, huh?” The man ignored what Kaz had said and tightened his grip. “A little pigeon like you shouldn’t be lurking around places where you’re not supposed to be.”

Kaz was disgusted. The man’s touch reminded him of the countless bodies he had been surrounded with in the Barge. The contact of his skin felt like someone was clawing at his arm.

“I’m here for a job. Get your filthy hands off of me.” Kaz snatched his wrist away.

The man laughed, his head tipping back in merry. “Would you look at that? Pigeon says he wants a job.” He sneered and the other males sitting around the table laughed along.

“Don’t listen to them. They’ll realize who you are and what you can do soon enough. The door across the room is the office of this club’s owner. Go to him.” He could hear Jordie again. His brother’s voice guided him to the wooden door, leaving those laughing men behind him.

I must wait for my value to be recognized

By others that have forced me down here

And until then I shall be my own counsellor

To nurture my progress through the years

The old man argued a lot and tried to push Kaz out of his office. He even called a few of his bouncers to drag Kaz outside, but Kaz bit one of their hands as they tried getting a hold of him.

“Get that filth away from me or I'll rip them out of their sockets and feed them to you.” Kaz glared up at the men towering above him, and then turned back to Per Haskell as if his bouncers were a bunch of flies he had brushed aside. “I know how to land a punch when necessary. I can pick locks and steal. I’m better than any of your errand dogs.”

“Are you now?” The old man challenged.

He wasn't. The lie had slipped through effortlessly and Per Haskell didn't need to know that as long as Kaz got the job.

“They’ve been sitting out on the tables wasting away their money, not even noticing the notes being slipped out of their pockets by the waitress. They’re a bunch of rabid dogs who need to be controlled. I can do that. Give me the job.”

It wasn’t an offer or a request. Just a full-fledged order. “They won’t listen to you if you talk to them like a lonely child in need of help. Don't let them see your weakness.” Jordie had reminded him before Kaz had pushed open Haskell’s door.

I shall become the hero of my tragedy

The master of my fate and intent

To become the very person that I need to be

The force that will plot my ascent

Kaz never looked back after that. He pushed through life, kicking down anyone who tried to drag him back to the Barge. he learned the ways of gambling, picking locks and stealing without being caught. He learned how to think like a businessman and how to outsmart people. Even Jordie's voice had silenced, taken over by the whispers of revenge.

Kaz was well on his way to become the king of the Barrel and he wasn't going to back down until he claimed the crown.

The words written in red are taken from a poem on google.

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 4 years ago

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Camping double date with Miphlink and the Yiga Husbands??

This is a TERRIBLE idea. Why? Because Kohga loves to live like a king, so camping is something he HATES. Unfortunately, Sooga got to pick the double date idea, and he LOVES camping. So, let's go!

"We could've gone sunbathing on a beach. Could've even gone to the shores of Zora's domain. But no. You just. Had to pick the FUCKING woods!"

Sooga chuckled as he checked the sturdiness of the tent. Mipha and Link often went on double dates with them(to show their support), and the four of them took turns on where to go. It was Sooga's turn, and he picked a camping date. Not JUST a camping date, but a camping date up on Satori fucking mountain. It meant they had to fucking HIKE. And Kohga was hating EVERY moment of it. It must’ve been obvious, given the fact that Mipha was staying with him as Link and Sooga lead the pack. Sooga was grinning as he walked backwards, clearly not trying to sound giddy.

“Master Kohga, this is a nice change of pace, is it not? The smell of trees, the plentiful resources? It’s lovely. I mean, not as lovely as you, but still lovely.”

“You’re using flirts to keep me from going home.”

“Is it working?”

“...kinda. But don’t push it.”

Sooga nodded. Him and Link were having just a ball during this little trek, and it was JUST because of that, that Kohga wasn’t making him pick him up. Mipha chuckled, lightly nudging Kohga.

“Do be patient. Love is full of that. I’m sure he appreciates being out here.”

“He better, I’m taking all his future turns.”

The climb was slow, exhausting, and Kohga was SO goddamn happy when Sooga and Link started to unpack their things, ready to set up camp. It was near the top of the cliff, and a number of trees decorated the rocky land. Kohga sat down on a log, groaning. Kohga wasn’t in bad shape, but hiking was just AWFUL compared to working out at home. Dirt, animals, all of it just sucked to him. He’d MUCH rather be working out at home (Kohga could name other ways he could work a sweat with Sooga).

“Why THIS spot? There’s BARELY any stable ground, and these trees barely leave us rooms for the tent.”

Sooga nodded as he finally undid all of his prep work.

“It’s true, but this spot is special, I swear. Now, if you’ll excuse us. Link, you first?”

Link nodded, and started to clear the trees and bushes. Not all of them, but enough to give them actual stable land to pitch tents in. Kohga watched as Link and Sooga chopped the trees, tossing them in the corner for firewood. Mipha chuckled as she sat next to Kohga.

“Hey. At least we can watch the boys do a little bit of labor.”

Kohga gave her a bit of a side eye. Mipha was really starting to know him.

“I mean, true, I do like watching cute guys do hard work. Think Sooga’s showing off for me?”

“Absolutely.”

They both shared a bit of a giggle, and immediately Kohga felt just a bit better. Even if a fuck ton of bugs kept hovering around. They both finally finished, pitched their tents (one for each couple, for privacy of course), and Sooga immediately started to make a fire. He was pretty good at it, getting it ready and roaring just when Kohga was starting to lose patience. Sooga patted the dirt from his hands, and walked over, grabbing Kohga’s hand and kissing the back of it.

“I left some food for you in the pack, but I’m going to catch something more...lively. I will come back in a moment.”

He turned to Link, who was already starting to unpack the food bags.

“Link, keep an eye in my stead. Precious cargo here.”

Sooga walked off to god knows where, and Mipha smiled her precious little smile.

“He loves you very much. I can tell.”

“Yeah yeah. Makin’ me trek all the way up here, all sweaty and shit. He loved me, he would’ve picked an ACTUALLY good trip.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Mipha, I love ya, but stop being right about things.”

Link even seemed to smile about that, bringing a bunch of bananas over to Kohga. At LEAST he packed him something good to eat. Link helped a bit too, going to a nearby tree to pluck some fresh durian fruit. Link gave them both fruit as he tended to the fire, and Kohga SAW that swoon on Mipha’s adorable face.

“Hey, I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“You swooning over your man, you little minx!”

Mipha stammered, but as Link looked over, shooting her a wink, she knew she had been had, hiding her face in her hand, and trying to hide at Kohga’s side. Kohga laughed, shaking his head.

“You two! Got it SO bad! It’s precious! You two really deserve to be together.”

Mipha peered past her hands, to make sure Link wasn’t looking anymore, before looking back up at Kohga.

“Well thank you. Father appears to think so, as does Sidon. Can I uhm...tell you a secret?”

“Shoot little red.”

Mipha covered the side of her mouth with her palm, keeping her voice low.

“I made Zora armor for Link. I’m planning on giving it to him this week.”

That was Zora lingo for ‘marriage’ essentially, and Kohga nearly jumped off his seat, hands thrown about wildly.

“YOU’RE SERIOUS?!”

The sound of his scream made Link miss his shot, about to shoot a bird for dinner. Upon missing, he turned to scowl rather heavily at Kohga, who muttered an apology. When he turned away, Kohga finally found his heart back in his chest, rather than his throat.

“You’re gonna get MARRIED?”

“I’m planning on it, yes!”

“Mipha, lil’ red, I love you to bits, but you’re SO young! How could you want to get married NOW?”

Mipha turned to look at Link, gently cocking her head in a loving, adoring fashion.

"I'm certain I'll never find another for me. I adore him with all my heart. I want to marry him. Very, very much. Do you...not think it's a good idea?"

"No no! I mean, great that you wanna settle. It's great. I fully support you both. I just...the idea of getting married is weird to me, I guess. But I mean, so long as I get to be the best man."

"That's my brother."

"Okay fair. What about flower girl?"

"Riju."

"Ring bearer?"

"That's Midnight."

Kohga threw his arms in the air, in total disbelief.

"Who's Midnight?!"

"Link's horse."

"...That's actually super cute."

"Isn't it? If it helps any, you can help me pick my wedding outfit."

"Deal."

They both shook hands, satisfied with the deal. Kohga held onto her hand for a moment, clearing his throat.

"But uh...don't tell Sooga, yeah? He's wedding crazy, and if he hears you're gonna get hitched, he's NOT gonna let me hear the end of it."

"End of what?"

They both turned to see Sooga, carrying an entire honeyvore bear over his shoulder. Kohga should've been surprised by his man carrying a whole ass bear like a sack of flour, but he really wasn't.

"Nothing. See you got dinner."

"I did. I was going for a mountain goat, but this one didn't seem to know how to behave. I trust Link has been taking care of you in my stead?"

"Totally. Cut us up some fruit like a good boy and everything."

Kohga pinched Link's cheek as he came over, eager to show his arms full of freshly killed pigeons. Sooga chuckled, rustling Link's hair.

"Quite the provider you have here, Mipha. Should you two marry, I can assure you'd never go hungry."

Kohga tried not to groan. Marriage ALWAYS came up with his ass. It seemed to make Link a bit nervous too, as his face turned dark, and he went back to tending the fire. Mipha giggled into her palm.

"Thank you, Sooga. That's sweet of you to say. But I'm not looking on proposing here and now, so."

Sooga shrugged as he started to cut through the animal's hide, getting it ready for the flames.

"The future is fickle. Who truly knows?"

There was a smirk in his tone, even Mipha seemed to catch onto it. Kohga rolled his eyes. The idea of marriage was so ridiculous to him. Being tied down to one person forever? Fucking ONE piece of ass forever? Not his thing. But hey, he wasn’t Mipha. He scooted over next to Sooga as soon as he put the meats over the fire.

“Sooga, how much longer till it’s ready, you think?”

Sooga chuckled. His Master LOVED to eat, and while he was no chef, he could cook some good, fresh meat over a campfire. He cut a piece of the meat, showing Kohga just how raw it was.

“It’ll take a good minute, Master. Unless you’d like it raw, then I can serve you a piece now.”

Kohga stuck his nose up at it, and Sooga, for some reason, found his face so charming.

“Who wants to eat raw ass-”

Link snatched the piece from his hand, stuffing it in his mouth. Kohga sighed.

“Right. Link. The guy that will actually eat ANYTHING. You remember the time he just, ate some fucking rocks?”

“I recall, yes. Yet, he makes a VERY good fish pie.”

“Hey. Bad enough we HIKED here, don’t you even bring UP fish.”

Sooga gave a light shake of his head, even as Kohga smacked at his tit. He was lucky he was fine, else Kohga wouldn’t put up with his nonsense. They spent a good moment in idle chit chat (how restoration to kingdoms were, recent training practices, new dishes, the usual stuff you’d talk about with folks you more or less considered family), before Sooga handed Kohga a healthy plate of food. Fried wild greens, and spiced meat skewers (Kohga ALWAYS had Sooga bring goron spices whenever they went out. Kohga put it on EVERYTHING, especially meat). Kohga helped himself, digging into his meal hungrily. Sooga was a shit cook in a modern kitchen, but when it came to spicing and cooking meat out in the wild, Sooga was damn good enough. Juicy insides, and a nice, crispy outside. Him and Link didn’t talk as much, in favor of eating ravenously and enjoying their meals.

“Sooga, you don’t like goron spice?”

“Not especially. I always give my portion to Kohga, who loves it. But I prefer mine lightly salted. And I'm not the only one, it seems."

A raven seemed to trot over to them, eyeing Sooga curiously. It welcomed the slices of meat Sooga tossed its way, and Sooga noticed Kohga’s look of interest.

"Birds always did seem to like me, for whatever reason. Watch."

Sooga brought his hand down, and almost immediately, the bird jumped into his hand, eyeing everyone curiously. Kohga leaned over and lightly poked its head, making it squawk.

"Huh. That's why Revali thinks you're hot."

Sooga shook his head, as if something smelled.

"I wish you hadn't told me that. Makes me wish birds hated me."

"What if it was Teba?"

Sooga took a moment in hesitation, before lightly nodding.

“I like Teba.”

“EVERYONE likes Teba, can’t say I blame you here.”

Sooga gave the crow another scrap of meat, before motioning for it to leave, which it did, but not before looking back at Sooga once more. Mipha handed her plate to Link (who always ate whatever she couldn’t finish), before softly nodding.

“That’s honestly quite charming. I’m personally really good with fish, though it might be a Zora thing.”

Then the most odd thing happened. Link put his plate down (with food STILL on it), and nearly leapt towards Mipha, clearly excited. She seemed surprised for a moment, before chuckling.

“Oh, you want me to show them, don’t you?”

Link nodded again, wildly. Mipha held onto her head fin, and the spots on her skin seemed to glow, which seemed to glow brightly as the sun soon seemed to die down.

“Woah. Since when could you do that?”

“Always. It’s made to attract fish, bugs...Hylians.”

Link was just enthralled in her spots, fingers carefully brushing against her skin. She sat there, as flattered and flustered as a young princess could be, while Link just sat there, adoring her like something out of a story book. Sooga looked down at Kohga, who was enthralled with them both. With the moon gracing the sky, now was just as good of a time as any.

“Master Kohga, I think these two need a moment of privacy. Could I...show you something?”

Kohga nodded, quietly helping them sneak away. This somehow ended with Sooga leading Kohga god knows where, covering his mask with his hands.

“Sooga, why can’t I just close my eyes?”

“You peek.”

“I won’t this time! Maybe!”

“Relax, Master Kohga. We’re almost there. Now, be silent.”

Kohga stopped talking, and just trusted Sooga to guide him. He was about to take another step, when Sooga stopped him in his tracks. His voice was in a hushed, low tone.

“Open your eyes.”

Kohga did just that, and couldn’t believe his eyes. Blupees. Blupees , surrounding a lake, littered in cherry tree petals. They all sat there, hopping about, grooming their long, orange feelers. They hadn’t been noticed yet, and it was incredible. Some sipped at the lake water, some seemed to hop amongst the piles of petals. Kohga kept his voice low, in disbelief.

“You...knew they’d be here.”

“I did. This trip was the perfect opportunity to show you something as beautiful as you are. I take it you’ve never seen them up close?”

“No. Only in books. They’re...so different in person.”

Kohga took a step forward, making a branch snap. They thought it had been the end of it, when one of the blupees turned to look at him. But then, it chose not to run. Rather, it hopped right to Kohga, standing on its rear legs and eyeing him curiously. Kohga glanced at Sooga, before looking back towards the creature.

“Thought they were skittish?”

“They’re supposed to be. Unless they consider you not a threat.”

“W-hey! I’m plenty threatening! Go on, get!”

Kohga knelt down and pointed at it, only for it to bump against his hand, and snuggle into it like a stray cat. Kohga grumbled in a mixture of confusion and amazement, before another blupee walked over. Then another. Then another. They all scattered about him, clearly fascinated and eager to rub their little faces against him. It made Kohga fall on his ass, trying not to step on them. Sooga knelt down to him, ever ready to be of assistance. Though, it seemed the only thing his master was in danger of, was getting a permanent scowl. He chuckled.

“I don’t think they find you too threatening. Foolish creatures, honestly.”

“I should be making these bunnies shake in their boots dammit.”

Kohga raised a hand in accusation, before a blupees seemed to fall right into it, desperate for a good petting. Sooga took a small step forward, careful not to spook them, before he clunked his mask against Kohga’s.

“You...never cease to amaze me, Master Kohga. You’re incredible. These creatures thrive on purity. I can only imagine how much of it is in your heart.”

Kohga scoffed, playfully pushing his face away with his hand.

“It’s nothing like that, these things are just dumb. But… this is sweet. YOU’RE sweet. And as much as I hated the hiking, the bugs...this was nice. I don’t ever think I’m going to forget this, Sooga.”

“So I did good for my turn?”

“Good enough to try again, yes. God you’re so dumb and pretty.”

Sooga chuckled. He parted his mask, as well as his master’s, and was about to lean in for a kiss, when suddenly a shadow peered over them. Both of them jumped a bit, scaring a few of the blupees. Kohga stood aghast at the creature, while Sooga looked stiff.

“Is that...the Lord of the Mountain?”

“Yes. Aka, one that brings curses upon the land it walks.”

Sooga brought out his weapon, and aimed it right between its faces. The creature stared at him, before slowly walking past Sooga, and stopping right in front of Kohga. It slowly brought its head down, right into Kohga’s lap. It looked at him with it’s intense, bright eyes. Kohga looked unsure of what to do, before he slowly, carefully, brought his hand right next to his face. Kohga motioned wildly with his free hand, totally in disbelief.

“I’m petting it! I’m THIS cool! Can you SEE this?!”

The Lord seemed comforted by his hand, eyes lidded as Kohga’s hands nestled and scratched at it’s fur. It was brief, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression in Sooga’s mind. The creature pulled away after a moment, before dipping its face into the water, taking a sip. Then it took a step towards Sooga, and promptly spat water at his face. With a snort, and a stomp of it’s hoof, it turned, and started to graze within the water. Sooga turned to look at Kohga, who was trying VERY hard not to laugh.

“Pffft! It spat water at you! Holy CRAP, he does NOT like you!”

Kohga lost it at that point, pointing at Sooga and just losing himself in laughter. He only stopped once Sooga knelt down, and held his hand in his own.

“I’m. So in love with you, you couldn’t even fathom it-”

“This shit again.”

“Say the word and I’d be your husband IMMEDIATELY.”

Kohga groaned, using his other hand to smack his forehead. It wasn’t entirely Sooga’s fault that he was so lovesick though.

Not when the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, got to pet the Lord of the Mountain.

#asks #kohga #sooga #lord of the mountain #mipha #link #listen #seriously if it has hooves it HATES sooga and loves kohga #also all birds are pretty much attracted to sooga #rito women? sucker for him #the only one who has a REMOTE chance with him tho is teba

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consumeconstantly · 5 years ago

Text

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 1

Summary: The first thought that comes to mind as he looks at the scene in front of him is: wow, she’s cute. The second thought is: holy shit, did she just flip a six foot, two hundred fifty pound man into the ground without blinking an eye?

Thank goodness there’s time for second… and third.. And fourth impressions?

Seriously, how many creepy people and criminals does this girl deal with on a daily basis?

1(you are here) | 2 | 3 | ao3

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Damian Wayne is sure that if his elder siblings were watching him right now, they would be screeching at him to go help the girl. But-- well. His siblings and his father aren’t watching, and he isn’t sure whether or not the girl needs his help. The weirdly hooded man who is rapidly closing in on her might just live in the same direction. Surely, this time, his instincts are wrong. He’s only following them for peace of mind. Nothing is going to happen.

Otherwise known as: Damian isn’t particularly feeling up to saving another girl outside of his Robin costume and then being come on to. Why girls always have to have a Thing for people who saved them, Damian will never understand. He can’t imagine attempting a relationship with somebody who saved him, though admittedly the pool of candidates of people who are superior to him in capability is small, and far too annoying or old for him to ever consider dating them. And even thinking about having a relationship with somebody who couldn’t take care of themselves gives him the chills.

This leads to a very contemplative two minutes of walking the same path that the girl and the hooded person were taking-- he is not following them--until the girl who is being stalked darts into an alleyway. Of course, the hooded person follows her.

Is she trying to get herself killed? Damian can’t believe the sheer idiocy of the girl. At least the last girl he saved hadn’t done anything as stupid; her attacker cornered her near her home. Gotham girls know better than to duck into random alleyways. There is too much crime in Gotham for anybody with self respect to be so dumb.

With a sigh, and a wish that his brothers and father hadn’t beat a moral conscious into him, he lopes over to the alleyway, expecting to have to break up whatever futile struggle the girl put up with her stalker, or maybe even knock out the guy because by now, she must either be unconscious or on her way to other unpleasant circumstances.

Except.

By the time he gets over to the alleyway, the girl walks out unscathed, phone pressed to her cheek.

“Yes, you should check 12th arrondissement, two streets down from the Opera Bastille. He’s 6 foot, blonde haired and brown eyed. Wearing a grey hoodie and adidas.” The girl brushes past him, blinked at his appearance, then continued on the phone. “No problem, officer.”

Damian looks into the alleyway and there the man is, head lolled to one side. Unconscious, probably. His hands are tied up with a pink plastic zip tie. He looks out of the alleyway, eyes trailing after the girl who just left. She barely reaches his shoulder. Maybe, Damian thinks drily, Parisian girls are different.

At least Damian won’t get another adoring fangirl today.

Damian is sitting at a coffee shop across from the Louvre. It’s overpriced, and the coffee tastes awful, but it’s still coffee, and he’s tired. He’s here to check out the akuma that the Paris media keep reporting about, even though the Justice league of America shouldn’t have to deal with Europe’s problems, and also largely believed that it was a publicity stunt on Mayor Bourgeois' behalf.

Now, the Justice League of America isn’t really sure what is happening, but surely it can’t be that bad if the city has no damage, right?

What a joke. Damian has been here three days (count them-- three) and he is almost sure that he has been transported into some alternate dimension where some little kid’s imagination went wild and plopped the ever loving conundrum of Paris, France into Damian’s hands.

On the first day he arrived, there was a pigeon akuma-- apparently, one of the more frequent ones that popped up. Ladybug-- one of two consistent Parisian Heroes-- made quick work of him once she arrived on the scene, but it took her a while to arrive. Almost a whole half hour. Which meant that the streets of Paris were filled with bird poop and flooded with more pigeons than Damian knew existed, and he lived in Gotham. The other hero, Chat Noir, arrived after Ladybug, but handled the situation more warily. He later found out that this was due to the superhero being allergic to feathers, as witnessed by a video on this site called the Ladyblog.

Due to some freak magic power called the Miraculous Cure that Ladybug called after her battles, the streets had been blessedly cleaned, and the pigeons flew back to their mostly hidden existence. The world was right, once more. Then, on the second day, he tried and failed to save that weird girl who knocked out a man who had a good hundred pounds on her. He’s not sure that tried and failed is applicable to the situation, as the girl seemed competent enough to take care of an issue like that on her own.

Today, another akuma appeared. His name is Deliverer, a postman who had one too many customers complain about a package not being delivered in a timely manner.

Damian isn’t really sure how he felt about having people turning into villains over such trivial things. He is also no longer sure whether he is the best choice for this mission. His emotions tend to run hot, and there is the chance that he might become compromised. Because if there are people out there turning into villains over not being able to feed some pigeons, there is no way that Damian’s own annoyance with his family and the random people on the streets won’t be taken advantage of. However, out of his family, it’s not like there’s any better choice. Dick, maybe, but he’s busy with Kor’i and his daughter, and they won’t want to move to France. And he doubts that the superheroes of Paris want a metahuman trying to solve the case in Paris after seeing how much damage a normal citizen can do when akumatized.

It only takes ten minutes for Ladybug and Chat Noir to arrive on the scene this time. Whether it is because it is a new akuma, or whether it is because they were closer to the scene of the crime, Damian can only guess. He thinks it to be a combination of the two; Mr. Pigeon is a very common akuma and the people deal with his issues quite often, thus he is probably lower on the priority list. The heroes have their own lives to deal with, Damian is sure.

In any case, Damian rushes to the akuma when he gets an alert from the Ladyblog and is able to catch the tail end of a battle where Ladybug doesn’t even have to use her Lucky Charm. She just takes the clipboard after some bizarre yoyo moves and snaps the clipboard over her knee. When the butterfly flies out of the clipboard, she purifies it. Easy breezy, and no involvement from Chat Noir, yet again. The cat looks tired and Ladybug says something to him, her posture reminiscent of a mother scolding her child, after which he flees the scene.

Then, Damian gets caught up in a wave of exhaustion. Forgoing sleep for the past two days trying to catch himself up on the situation in Paris before making any major reports back to the league will do that. He needs coffee, badly, which is why he finds himself in this tourist trap coffee shop with some of the worst coffee-- wait. That girl seems familiar.

He spends a few seconds trying to place her. Short, pig-tails, part asian, blue hair and blue eyes. The girl he saw coming out of the alleyway yesterday. Of course. She is on her phone walking slowly and frowning, purse hanging at her side. Damian traces her movements. She is naturally graceful, but closes in on herself. He looks a little closer. Her eyes look red. Perhaps she is dealing with the aftermath of yesterday’s situation.

From the side, a guy darts out at her, reaching for her purse. The girl drops her phone to the floor in shock, clutches her purse, and then side-swipes the guy. A hand to his neck, a foot to his knees, and then her arms pulling his behind his back. She pulls a zip tie from her purse and ties his hands up, then picks up her phone almost exasperatedly and before calling someone.

Vaguely curious, Damian picks up his coffee and approaches the girl and criminal. Several others have done the same, only to be waved off with a blindingly bright smile and a yes, she’s fine, thank you very much.

“Need help?” More of a courtesy than anything else.

“No thanks, Monsieur.” The girl looks down at the time on her phone, then scrunches her face up. Freckles dot her pale skin. A text message alert from her phone causes her to scowl, and she looks down at her phone, then back up at Damian.

“Actually, could you do me a favor? I’ve really got to get back with my class, and I don’t really want to leave this guy in the middle of the street like this. I just called the police, and they should be here any minute. Stay with him?”

It’s not like his research on Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t wait a few minutes.

“Sure.”

Then, the girl runs off without another glance backwards. True to her word, the police do arrive a few minutes later.

“Where’s the girl that called?” The policeman asked with a furrowed brow.

“She had to leave.” Damian eyes the man, who has barely looked at him. The policeman is assessing the scene, taking in the handiwork of the pigtailed girl.

“Half-asian, blue eyes, freckles?”

“Yes.”

The policeman handcuffs the criminal. “That poor girl. She always seems to attract these street thugs. It’s really a blessing that she can take care of herself.”

This piques Damian’s interest. “This happens often?”

“She’s almost like an urban legend, at this point. Whenever we find a criminal tied up with a neon pink zip tie, we know it’s her. A real shame, too. She’s such a nice girl.”

He’s not sure if nice was the word to use. She looked slightly stressed and harried. Polite enough, but she certainly has no trouble putting guys twice her size down.

“Well, thank you for your help.” The policeman tips his cap and makes his way to the patrol car.

Damian goes back to drinking his coffee and scrolling through the Ladyblog on his phone.

“I’ve heard you do this quite often.” Damian appears at the girl’s side like a ghost, but she doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even flinch. Just takes a step back to reposition herself and gives him a side eye. Tactically, a good decision if he is another potential attacker. She created just enough distance that it would make it harder to attack her, but had moved in a smooth fashion that said she wasn’t going to run and was prepared to stand her ground. Her body half faces him, like she is ready to put up her guard at any moment.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Her victim this time is unconscious. Damian isn’t exactly sure what happened, but the quivering girl only a few feet away from them made him think that the girl in front of him has a bit of vigilante in her, because it is clear that this time she hadn’t acted in self defense.

In an act of goodwill, Damian takes his hands out of his pockets slowly, showing that he doesn’t have anything to hide. In response, the girl-- who Damian mentally decides to call Pigtails, since she’s had the same ridiculously childish hairstyle for their past three encounters-- relaxes, just a little, and turns her attention to the crying girl instead.

“Do you want me to call the police?”

Pigtails eyes flicker towards the man on the ground, who is what Damian approximates to be six foot three and two hundred and fifty pounds, and then towards the crying girl looks to be in her mid twenties.

Pigtails hasn’t tied this one up, yet, but she has flipped him onto his stomach. Judging by the lingering look that she gives the man’s unbound hands, and the ziptie that she pulls out of her small purse, she’s ready and willing to tie him up at the slightest movement, or at the other girl’s command.

“I’m going to tie him up, okay?”

The other girl manages a yes, please. And so, Pigtails brandishes her ziptie, directs Damian to call the police; tell them they’re on Barbes Boulevard.

Damian assesses the situation before the operator comes on. The would-be victim is somewhere around twenty four, is slender and full of what his brother, Dick, would call French girl charm before getting hit by Cass or Barbara. She has brown hair that’s a mess on the left side of her hair, probably from the man grabbing her on that side, and is lightly tanned. There are bruises on her wrist and on her cheek that are quite visible and continuing to darken.

Now that Pigtails has tied him up, Damian nudges the man’s face with his foot to see what he looks like. Average looking at best, and he reeks of alcohol. Damian crinkles his nose. Midday drinking is not a good look on anyone. His clothes are also cheap. Fast fashion, but bad.

Then, there’s Pigtails herself. Evidently she trusted him enough to look after the brute, because after giving him a once over and nodding, she goes over to the other girl to comfort her. Damian is sure that Pigtails can’t be much older than himself, but he's not sure. She has a sort of timelessness about her, between the lightness in her step and the sharp, intelligent look in her eyes. Her sense of fashion is simple but chic, and whatever she is wearing looks pretty high end. Designer, even.

After relaying the information that he has gathered to the operator, he is told to please wait there with the victim and the attacker, and if he could have the other party involved stay there as well, that would be fantastic.

Pigtails is surprisingly good at calming people down. The other girl seemed seconds away from a complete breakdown and was rocking back and forth, muttering to herself before Pigtails started talking to her. Already, the other girl’s crying turns to hiccups, and then stops. She is then embraced by Pigtails, circles rubbed soothingly on her back, and a gentle smile that makes Damian purse his lips. He doesn’t see that kind of smile often in Gotham. Everybody is harder there, less willing to help. If they see somebody in danger, most times citizens hurry on their way because they don’t want to get involved. When citizens do get involved, their aftercare is fairly rough, if there is any aftercare at all. Even as a vigilante, Robin didn’t often comfort victims afterwards. He helped them to police stations or the hospital occasionally, but never stopped to talk with them.

By the time the police get there, Pigtails has the girl standing with a watery smile on her face. What a feat. Damian wonders, briefly, if having Pigtails’ social capabilities would help victims back in Gotham.

“Ah, Marinette,” the police officer smiles warmly. “We meet again.”

“Officer Raincomprix,” Pigtails inclines her head.

The officer is of stocky build, red headed and green-eyed. He cuffs the man, lugs him to the back seat of his cruiser, locks the door, and then comes back out. “I’d like to take your statements, now.”

Damian learns that the attacker, Fraser Barbot, was in several of Nicolette Deanne’s master classes this year. Both were studying business with an emphasis on fashion, which resulted in a lot of time spent together. Fraser thought that a relationship was the inevitable next step. She refused, because besides their master’s emphasis, they didn’t really have much in common. She also just wasn’t interested in him. He became slightly more hostile to her after her rejection. Then, as the months went by, they started vying for a lot of the same job opportunities. Nicolette had gotten the most prestigious one, and had many other companies attempting to persuade her into joining their business instead. Fraser had gotten very few, and was convinced that Nicolette had stolen those job opportunities away from him, had seduced her potential employers, and asked her why she wouldn’t do him if she was so willing to put out.

That was when Marinette had come in. She was walking to a fabric store when she heard the commotion and saw Fraser hitting Nicolette. By the time she got over to them, Nicolette had already acquired several bruises on her arms, shoulder, and face. After arriving, she promptly knocked him out.

By the time the three of them finish their statements, nearly ten minutes have passed, and Officer Raincomprix bids them farewell.

“If you ever feel like you’re in danger again, Miss Deanne, feel free to call. Since you want to press charges, we’ll be in contact with you soon. Call us if more than three days go by without hearing from us. A taxi has been called for you, so you can get wherever you were going in peace.”

Officer Raincomprix turns to Marinette and Damian with a slightly sunnier disposition. “And thank you two for helping. Especially you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. If you ever change your mind about wanting to go into law enforcement, just give me a call. I should really have Sabrina do whatever training you’re doing, because it’s clearly effective!”

Marinette laughs. “The bakery is magic. Between lifting bags of flour, running around the city for deliveries, and Maman’s cooking, anybody could do what I do. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the studio down the street from our school, though, so you could have her look into that.”

This, Damian thinks, is such a bald-faced lie he almost chokes on his own spit. There is no sort of magic food that imbues a person with the ability to fight like Pigtails does and lifting flour bags in a bakery doesn’t suddenly allow people to take down people with ease. She has to have had some professional training, though if he is being honest, her movements feel like they have more of an origin in street fighting than they do in any martial arts.

She’s remarkably good at lying, mixing jokes with statements that had the possibility of truth. Maybe Damian is just being paranoid. Maybe she trained at some studio that she didn’t want to mention and the studio taught amazing self defense. Maybe she is just an excellent study. Somehow, Damian doubts that was the truth of the matter, but there isn’t much of a reason for Damian to spend his precious time determining the reason why this girl lies to policemen. It’s her business. It doesn’t concern him.

Then, Officer Raincomprix heads back to the police cruiser and Nicolette gets into the taxi she ordered for herself, looking worlds better. Marinette turns to him with a smile. The smile is so blindingly bright and pure that he suspects it lets the girl get away with a lot of things. “Thanks for the save. It was a lot easier to calm Nicolette down since you handled the call. I’m Marinette, it’s nice to meet you.”

Damian nods in return to her wave and smile. “No problem. I guess this answers my earlier question. You do get caught up with criminals quite often.”

She flushes, and it makes the freckles on her pale skin show even more. “What do you mean by that?”

“You seemed to be on very good terms with that police officer.”

“Oh, that. He’s a classmate’s dad. I’ve seen him around plenty of times.” She waves him off.

A very good liar, indeed. Pigtails keeps to half truths and vague statements. Damian gets the feeling that she definitely saw him more often in the capacity of a police officer than he did as a friend’s father. Understandable to lie to him, though. He is just a stranger, and he certainly doesn’t go around telling every person on the street his life story. Maybe Pigtails values privacy, just like he does.

The movement of the police cruiser catches his eye. Fraser has woken up, and he is not happy about being handcuffed in a police cruiser; they can hear him screaming at Officer Raincomprix from the street. Marinette’s eyes jump to the cruiser as well, eyes narrowing as she sees a butterfly approach the cruiser.

“Oh, for--” Marinette glances at Damian, at the butterfly, and then at Fraser. She makes a split decision. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This is not going to be pretty.”

“What do you--” Pigtails is pulling his arm with more strength than he thought possible. If this is just her pulling him, it’s no small wonder that she fares so easily against all her opponents. She definitely has strength behind her small frame.

“Fraser is probably going to get akumatized and we have to get you to the nearest shelter. Then, you’re going to wait there until the all-clear alert is given, got it?” She pushes him into a building, says by way of explanation to the bewildered looking employees, “Akuma,” and then rushes off, saying, “I’m going to go home, because clearly I’m not going to be able to go shopping for fabric today.”

Damian doesn’t stay in the shelter that Pigtails has so kindly guided him to, and there are a few people who look at him in confusion; people should be entering the building if there’s an akuma attack, not leaving. But Damian has a job to do and watching the battles up close is much better than watching the footage on the Ladyblog, which, in recent years, has turned into little more than poor speculations and attempts to stoke relationships between heroes that haven’t been used in years. When he looks at the information the website had up years ago, Damian finds a bunch of interviews that clearly haven’t been fact checked done with a girl named Lila, who is in the class he’s going to be transferring into, and despite the fact that they’ve been taken down since then, he doesn’t trust most of the Ladyblog’s information without video evidence. Not the most reliable news source about akuma, however, most other blogs he found didn’t have any videos taken up close. The older footage of past battles on the Ladyblog were pretty good quality, but they had gotten worse and worse, which meant that Damian and the Justice League didn’t have a clear picture about the heroes’ or villain’s capabilities.

By the time Damian arrives, back on the scene, Ladybug is already there in her red and black spotted glory. She has pulled Officer Raincomprix to safety.

“I am Shackled! Burdened by unfair double standards that allow incompetent tramps to get jobs before other, clearly more superior candidates do and by the corrupt justice system that wants me to go to jail, I desire what I should have been given to begin with! The affections of ladies clearly below me, and jobs that were made for me.” Convenient. If every villain explains their modus operandi to the heroes, it is probably easier to take them down. “Give me your Miraculous, Ladybug!”

The hero scoffs, avoids the chains that Shackled controls, and crouches atop a car a fairly good distance away.

Chat Noir lands, quick to make a pun. “If you feel so tied down by society, why don’t you just bug off? No woman wants to deal with somebody who has such a su-paw-riority complex.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes, but allows the pun. “Chat Noir’s right. You need to get taught a lesson on ethics and morality. If a woman got a job and you didn’t, that just means she’s better than you. Your interviewers probably saw that you had an awful attitude and work ethic. Nobody wants such a toxic person in their work environment.”

“Don’t you mean clawful, m’lady?”

“Chat,” Ladybug reprimands. She tosses her yoyo in the air. “Let’s get this over with. Dealing with misogynistic akumas is annoying. Just talking to them uses up all of my common sense.”

She throws her yoyo in the air, and calls, “Lucky Charm!”

A pack of zipties falls from the sky. Ladybug groans. “You have got to be kidding me. Zip ties? Really? You couldn’t have given me anything else? This is going to take forever. Chat, grab some of his chains and zip tie them together.”

“You’ve got to be yanking my chain, m’lady. We can just take him out without using the Lucky Charm.”

“No, the akuma is in the chain that’s between his handcuffs. And we can’t get there unless we immobilize all of these.” She gestures around wildly, then begins the process of grabbing chains and zip tying them together. As she continues to tie more and more together, it begins to get harder and harder for Shackled to move them as he wants, and a butterfly mask flashes over the akuma’s face.

After almost thirty minutes of tying and avoiding the few free flying chains that there are left, Chat Noir and Ladybug finally get all of the chains in one messy bundle that is too heavy for Shackled to control. At one point in the battle, Ladybug darts towards Chat Noir, a concerned look on her face, but he brushes her off and they continue working. Chat Noir cataclysms the chain between Shackled’s hands, and sure enough, a butterfly flies out. Damian watches as Ladybug shoves the butterfly into her yoyo and feels his eye twitch as the black-purple butterfly comes out white. He hates magic. It makes things so much more complicated than they should be.

“Bien Joue,” the two superheroes say to each other before heading off in opposite directions.

Damian sticks to his first thought. Whatever is going on in Paris is definitely the equivalent of some kid having a series of very weird dreams.

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All the way up to ch 4 is already posted on ao3! I’ll be posting this fic daily up until i catch up :) also how do you decide where to put the keep reading for all you experienced tumblr users? idk where a good place to break is

#miraculous ladybug #daminette #dc #mlb x dc #sbgs #ch 1 #maribat #original content #adrien agreste #lila rossi #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne

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the32ndbeat · 5 years ago

Text

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣.𝐲𝐧 - [ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 ]

pairing: stalker!jaehyun x fem!reader ( ft haechan and loona’s haseul )

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of BDSM and mature themes

a/n: this is kinda short but I hope you guys like the first part of the ‘only you’ series!

masterlist

You were like a breath of fresh air and something like an alluring enigma amongst the common folk the moment you stepped through those doors. Your hair is swept up into a loose bun with stray locks falling around your face, framing it in the most beautiful way possible. The white cotton shirt you’re wearing is sheer and I can almost see the outline of your bra if only you weren’t wearing a cardigan over it but it’s ok. It looks flattering on you and does nothing to detract you from your beauty.

There is a hint of a smile on your lips, the sunshine illuminating the side of your face and bringing out the liveliness in your eyes that I rarely see among people these days. As you mutter your apologies and slide past an old man who has been staring at the same hammer for the last ten minutes, you exude grace even just by the way you walk and hold yourself.

“Hi, do you work here?”

It takes me a moment to register the fact that you are actually in front of me, looking me in the eye and talking to me. Your voice is as angelic and beautiful as you are, almost like music to my ears. I can already imagine how it would sound when I take you to bed and thinking about it makes me all tingly in the inside. I tap on the brass name tag pinned to my shirt and gesture towards the tool belt I have hanging loosely on my waist. Realisation dawns upon you, followed closely by mortification.

You smack yourself on your forehead, an embarrassed giggle escaping from those cute lips that I want on mine.

“I’m so sorry, that was so stupid of me…” You say and you squint to look at the tiny black letters on the name tag. “Jaehyun.”

“It’s completely alright. We all have moments like that,” I laugh and a smile tugs on your lips.

“It happens so much more often for me though.” You sigh and I wonder if anyone has ever made you feel like you’re any less intelligent than the average person. The thought of that makes me annoyed but I don’t dwell on it.

“Anyways, I was wondering if you guys sell ropes and duct tape here?”

Ropes and duct tape? My, my. What could you possibly need them for?

The question is itching at the back of my mind but I push it away as I flash you a bright grin.

“We do. Right this way.” I turn and you follow behind me.

Manoeuvring between shelves and people, we finally reach the rope section and it takes you a moment to get past a burly man blocking the aisle. He checks you out with those leery eyes of his as you walked towards me and internally I feel irritation creeping in. Creeps like that don’t deserve to look at you that way. You should be respected and men like that don’t respect women like you. I try not to think of how many times this must have happened to you without your notice as I gesture towards the spools of rope of all thickness and colours.

“We’ve got a wide selection here and you’re free to choose whichever you want and however long you want it.”

“Wow, you guys have every kind of rope here.” You said, amazement written all over your face as you grazed your fingers over the spools.

“Yeah, kind of essential since we are a hardware store after all.” I reply. How would those fingers feel on me?

You laugh and there it is again, that smile of an angel. You are so unlike other girls as cliche as that sounds and I can’t help but want to know more about you. Just who are you?

“You’re right. I ask some of the weirdest and most obvious questions ever sometimes, don’t mind me.”

I’d never mind if it’s you.

“I won’t, don’t worry.” I smile as I stuff my hands into my pocket and watch you take your pick of which rope to purchase. As you walked up and down the aisle, I can’t help but notice how snug those jeans looked on you. They look gorgeous on you, bringing out the shapeliness of your legs. When you turn your back to me, I try not to let my eyes drift down to your bottom.

“I’ll have about ten metres of this one!” You declare with a satisfied smile after a moment of deliberation, patting a spool of thin, straw rope.

“Alright,” I pull out a pair of scissors and measuring tape from my tool belt and get to cutting the rope.

“If you’re wondering why I’m buying rope and duct tape, I can assure you I’m not a kidnapper. I just realised how my shopping list could give you the wrong idea.” You say suddenly with a nervous chuckle and I raise my eyebrow at you.

You see the curious look on my face and continue, “Neither am I engaging in…BDSM… This isn’t a fifty shades of grey thing.” The flustered expression on your face is so cute, my heart could burst. What a cute and pretty face with such mature thoughts. Nobody said anything about fifty shades but here you are, assuming that was what I thought of. I wonder, just how dirty your brain actually is and realise with a start that you probably want me to know that you harbour such naughty thoughts so that’s why you said what you said.

I couldn’t hold back the chuckle at the back of my throat as I ask, “Then what is it?”

“I’m actually an architecture student at the local college nearby.” You say and I detect a hint of pride in your voice. You want to impress me - I can tell with that overly bright smile of yours when you said that.

“That’s amazing. Architecture must be pretty hardcore to study,” I say as I loop the cut rope over my elbow.

“It is,” you roll your eyes and groan. “I’m only a freshman and I haven’t even been here half a semester and I’m already dying.”

I laugh softly at your words and you smile. You like the attention I’m giving you.

“Well, it’s only going to get worse so I suggest taking it easy…” I trail off.

“Y/n.” You beam at me and I find myself replaying the sound of your name over and over in my head.

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n. What a charming name.

I grab some duct tape for you off the shelves and we head to the cash register which was as usual unattended to. Normally, I would have given Haechan a piece of my mind for his negligence again but this time, I couldn’t be more grateful.

“Is that all you’re purchasing for today, y/n?” I ask as I scan your items. I love the way your name rolls off my tongue, I could say it a thousand times and never get sick of it.

“Yup! Can’t really afford anything else at the moment either but I’ll probably be back when I need more supplies.” You sigh before adding, “College kid things.”

I’ve never been to college but I nod in an understanding way anyways and you grin.

“It’s just so tough these days, you know? Student loans and all plus the costs of living in the city? Insane.”

“Insane, indeed.” I repeat after you and as you hand me your credit card, our fingers touch briefly. Did you do that on purpose?

I take a good look at your credit card as you were staring out at the streets, seemingly preoccupied with a child who was chasing a flock of pigeons.

Y/n l/n.

Hm, you could have given me cash but you gave me your credit card instead. You want me to know your name, not just your first name but also your last. I see what you’re doing.

I smile to myself as I proceed with the transaction. Bagging up your purchase, I pass them over to you and you say thank you. As you head out onto the street, you turn back and give me another of your dazzling smiles and I feel my heart stutter. How do you already have this effect on me?

I watch you glide down the streets outside with your hair flowing in the wind and the sunlight bringing out the brightness and liveliness in your eyes. The group of girls walking by can’t even hold a candle to you and as you walk past them, they regard you with envious looks which I can’t blame them for. You look simply beautiful.

Once you are out of sight, I whip out my phone.

Y/n l/n. Architecture student.

First, I open up instagram. A quick search of your name doesn’t yield any results. Huh, figures. I try searching up your college instead and this time, I’m slightly more successful.

I find the architecture faculty’s instagram page instead.

A simple scroll down the page shows me a freshmen group photo and I easily locate you within a heartbeat. How could I not?

In the list of tagged usernames, I find yours and…

Bingo.

I’m at your instagram profile and I’m shocked to find it on public mode. You’re not very cautious online and I’m not sure if your parents ever taught you about staying safe on the internet but even if they did, you clearly didn’t take them very seriously. I understand why you left it on public though. You want to be seen and to be heard. Well, here I am.

Barely a minute into looking through your instagram, I already have to control myself. The pictures you take are extremely flattering and you look exceptional in every single of one of them even though some of your post captions say otherwise.

I see a picture of a room’s interior from the corner of my eye and I click on it.

It’s a picture of you and another girl which I presume must be your roommate in a small room that looked more like a broom closet than an actual room. The captions say ‘Move-in day! Super excited and unfortunate to be in the same dorm as Haseul ugh ( jk love you )’

I smile despite myself. How cute.

You have a goofy smile on your face, your friend has her arms around your waist and the two of you look so happy. Yet, I find myself looking at something else instead.

Your window.

(part 2)

thank you to @ihearttbz for helping me to proofread this! ily ><

tagging: @hae-sicheng @soothingjae

do send me an ask or pm if you want to be included in the taglist for the next part!

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mnictasbcl · 4 years ago

Text

Life’s beauty

For #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

June 9th: The feeling of being alive @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson

Relationships: Connor & Hank Anderson

Additional Tags: Fluff, Break, Swearing, Cabin, Woods, no not a cabin in the woods this is fluff lads, Beauty of nature, Fishing, Sensory detail,

Summary: After the Revolution, Connor had done nothing but work. Hank decides to take him away to the beauty of nature, to truly realise the feeling of being alive.

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

The androids fought, they won, they became free. In the weeks proceeding the revolution, Jericho’s sole goal was getting sorted the rights of androids so that deviants could truly be as human as they wanted to. Connor was involved in some of the proceedings, helping Markus word and practice his speeches, aiding North with logistical things and tasks to help with the thousands of homeless deviants seeking shelter. But as soon as the right was agreed that androids could work and earn a salary as humans do, Connor was right back at Hank’s side, working at the DPD. After all, whilst his help was needed in Jericho, he could be of much more use on the police force, especially given the rising numbers of hate crimes towards androids following the revolution.

Besides, it was nice to get back into a familiar routine, minus the all-seeing, all-knowing control of Cyberlife hanging over his head.

So, the months progressed. Connor worked as partners with Hank at the DPD, and the two were an unstoppable force, what given their bond and skills around deviancy. More rights were being fought for them in the background. Soon, androids were almost treated, at least by law, as equally as humans. They could not be discriminated against, not hurt, they could work, they could buy property, they could start families- everything. Months after the revolution, and things were looking bright on the horizon.

This didn’t mean that the hatred against androids all out stopped. However, crimes were slowly but surely falling, what with the consequences for committing them becoming stronger by the day. This left slightly less work for the DPD to sort out.

However, when Hank woke up one morning and decided he wanted some time off, Connor was still a little confused.

“Are you quite alright, Lieutenant?”

Hank groaned. “For the last time, it’s… never mind.” He paused, placing his coffee mug back on the kitchen table. “Why’d you ask, though?”

Connor shrugged. “I just wondered whether you needed the time off to rest, or recuperate, perhaps—”

The man shook his head. “You don’t always need a reason to take some time off, Connor. It’s been pretty hectic these past few months at the DPD and I just thought it was time for some change around here. Sumo’s barely seen us.”

“Alright.” He nodded, “But I will have to arrange with Fowler what partner I will be assigned whilst you are away.”

“Whoa whoa, who said you couldn’t use a break too?”

“I do not require breaks. I perform stasis every night and—”

“Don’t you just want to… to be out there?” Hank questioned, rather vaguely, Connor thought with a furrow of his brows. “Go out and do things. I mean, now that Markus and crew have got all those fancy rights for you all, I thought you’d want to go and experience them.”

Connor straightened his tie. “I already am, Lieutenant. Captain Fowler is paying me above minimum wage, and last week, Gavin managed to restrain himself from insulting me.”

Hank smirked. “Oh boy. Not exactly what I meant. Look- I’m not going to force you, but I’m offering: we take a week or so off work, I’ll show you some sights, or we can just stay at home and spoil Sumo, whatever you want. I just want to see you have fun, kid.”

Connor blinked. His LED briefly flashed yellow, processing. Eventually, he nodded. Perhaps the Lieutenant’s words had some reason to them. Aside from a couple of weeks after the revolution, he hadn’t done much outside of work. Of course, it hadn’t struck him as odd. Even with his new status as deviant, which came with its differences, such as emotions and connections with other people, he’d been used to constantly working, following orders, completing tasks, completing the mission. But maybe he could now benefit from not having anything to do other than… what was it… Be out there, as Hank had put it.

“Okay.” He agreed, LED circling back to blue. “Perhaps some time away from the precinct would be optimal. However,” Connor added, glancing to the clock, “we had better get going for work today, lest Fowler relieve us of duty for good.”

Hank cursed, chugging back the rest of his coffee. But even with the time limit now imposed on their morning, Connor noticed he was a lot less grumpy about the rush to work.

___________________

Luckily, Fowler had allowed them the week off work, and the time between then was spent planning what activities they’d get done.

Connor was pleased to hear that it wouldn’t be full of travelling and going a multitude of different places. Whilst he was excited (excited? Yes, he supposed he felt a rush of happiness every time he thought about their trip) about seeing the world, he didn’t really feel up to seeing everything at once, and, besides, travelling for long amounts of time bored him. There was nothing to do but listen to the tinny radio on Hank’s car, playing either jazz or heavy metal rock music, and flick his coin back and forth between his hands (at least for a short amount of time, until it was confiscated from him for being ‘loud as fuck, Jesus Connor’).

Instead, they’d decided upon going to a cabin Hank had managed to rent for a fairly cheap price, somewhere in a wooded, natural area. It wasn’t so out of civilisation that they would struggle to get supplies lest they need them, but it was far enough away from the traffic of the city and the hustle and bustle of busy daily life.

Sadly, the journey was still fairly long, a couple of hours out. Luckily, though, Connor had brought five US quarters with him, each one stored in a different place on his outfit.

Hank looked long-suffering by the time he’d taken away the third coin.

“You’ve got another one, haven’t you.” It was less of a question, and more of a statement.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant. You advised me to pack the essentials.”

“Like clothes. Food. Water. Ah ah ah—don’t you get cocky with me and say they’re not essential for you. I know.” He sighed. Connor smirked. He could tell that Hank was mildly annoyed but not angry with him. He tried his best not to antagonise his fellow occupant in the car, but he just couldn’t help it—since deviating, something in him had changed whenever he had to sit in a long car journey.

Boredom, his mind supplied.

boredom /ˈbɔːdəm/

noun the state of feeling bored.

Connor chuckled softly at the definition his mind supplied. Firstly, it was… incredibly unhelpful. Secondly, he must be bored if he was subconsciously searching the definition of boredom itself.

He decided he would need to find a way to occupy his mind on the journey. For now, he didn’t think getting out his fourth coin to play with would be a good idea, since Hank was a bit on edge, and he needed some coins for the journey back. So, laying back in his seat, he took to looking out the window. It wasn’t too long before they arrived, he deduced from a scan of his surroundings. Things were changing vastly now. There were no tall and looming buildings like those in the city, no cars shooting by, horns blaring, people running up the streets, late to work. The city was alive, kind of beautiful in its own way, but nature, he began to notice, had its own sense of beauty. What with the trees lined up along the landscape, varying in shape and height, and in density of leaves and branches. The skies almost seemed clearer, more vibrantly blue and interspersed with soft white clouds. It was aesthetically pleasing, he noted, even if not sharing the geometry of lines and symmetry that the city held.

He whiled away the rest of the journey watching the sights go by, managing to stay stiller than he had the first half of the journey. It was awfully serene. Still, when they reached their destination, car pulling up on a dusty road, the cabin sitting by a pond in the distance, Connor was eager to leave the vehicle.

Connor helped eagerly with the bags, carrying a couple in each hand and waving off Hank’s requests to take some off him.

“I can manage, Lieutenant.”

“Show off.”

“I could also carry the two you have, if that would be of help.” He added, teasingly, to which the man flipped him off. Which then caused him to drop a bag with the change in hand positioning.

Connor couldn’t help it. He started to laugh, which wasn’t a good idea when he was holding four bags. His side started to ache a little, and he eventually had to drop a couple of the bags onto the floor in order to supress the stitch.

“That’s it, we’re going back home.” Hank made to walk back to the car, trying to act serious, but the fact that the android was still sniggering didn’t help things. “You’re a little shit, you know that, right?”

“I believe… I… believe you have referred to me as that multiple… times…” Connor got out between chuckles, before taking a few deep breaths, getting a hold of himself.

“Well, here’s one more to add to the list.” Hank remarked, reaching down to pick back up the bags, following after Connor as he headed towards the cabin.

There was a moment of confusion as they tried to figure how to get the front door unlocked, what with all the bags, until they realised it was already unlocked, Connor leaning against it and finding it swing open.

“That’s safe.”

“I do not detect any beings inside the residence.” Connor informed him after a quick scan of the cabin.

“You sure? No pigeons or squirrels made a little home for themselves up in the attic?”

Connor began to walk inside, glancing around in case his scans hadn’t been accurate, but shook his head upon reaching the living area. “I believe not. There is no attic.”

He heard a slight thud of a bag being dropped onto the floor, and snorted.

___________________

The first late afternoon and evening at the cabin was spent getting everything unpacked and homely in the cabin, and Connor cooking a healthy meal for Hank (“There’s no takeaway service out here, Lieutenant”).

After that, however, Connor awoke them bright and early the next morning, coming out of status around 7.30am and pulling open the curtains.

“As per our schedule, Lie—”

“Jesus Christ, Connor.” Hank groaned, a phrase the android had become accustomed to hearing. He cringed. Perhaps he’d forgotten that coming out of human rest was different to coming out of stasis. He pulled the curtains slightly to, so that it wasn’t blinding early morning sunlight streaming into room. This time only a small slither of it.

“Apologies… Hank. I may have been too prompt. I’m just…”

Rubbing his eyes, Hank looked him over, seeing the android fully dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt with an image of a cartoon Saint Bernard on it, and some loose-fitting pants.

“Excited.” The man finished for him. “Well, that’s what I get for letting you organise a schedule for the week… If you get me some coffee, I might forgive you.”

Connor swiftly made his way into the kitchen and came back approximately 3 minutes later with a mug of coffee.

And so, that’s how the morning went on. Hank might’ve complained, used to this side of the android from how he liked to get the tasks done swiftly and properly at work, but he was fond to see Connor moving about and happy to do something other than work.

It wasn’t much later into the day that they were sitting out by the side of the lake, situated to the right side of the cabin. It stretched out a fair distance beside the residence, its waters calm and silvery on the surface. Just reaching midday, there were chirps of wildlife buzzing around them, but nothing too loud and overbearing.

Hank had decided one thing he wanted to introduce Connor to was fishing. He could remember going on to a lake not dissimilar to this one in his youth, being taught how to fish. Maybe he could pass that skill, or at least the experience, down onto the android.

After making sure he wouldn’t cheat and download a step-by-step guide on fishing in his ‘brain-computer-thingy’, as the man eloquently put it, Hank entrusted him with his fishing rod he’d brought along. It was a little rusty with disuse and he had little in the way of lures, but it didn’t seem like Connor wanted to harm the fish anyway, given from his reluctance upon seeing the sharp metal hook of the rod.

“I doubt they’ll actually bite,” he shrugged, guiding the fishing rod into the android’s hands. “But if they do, you can just release them back in. A little different to how I’ve done it, but…”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He stepped back a little, eyes squinting as he concentrated, focusing on flicking back the rod and casting the line as Hank had just shown him how to do. It was a few moments before he managed to precisely replicate the movement, and soon his line was bobbing in and out of the water.

After a few moments, though, he tilted his head, confused. “What now?”

“You wait.” Hank supplied, sitting back on a deck chair he’d brought with them, cracking open the ice box he’d brought with him. “Hey—where did all the beers go?”

The man was looking at him, holding out the can of lemonade. “It’s a much better alternative, Lieutenant. I did… I left a few beers in the bottom of the box, however I’d much rather you left those for later.”

Hank groaned, but complied, and Connor refocused his attention on the waters in front of him. The goal of the task was to catch a fish, and then reposit it back in the waters. But he was meant to wait for that to happen—

He shook his head. That wasn’t the goal. He supposed, from what he’d learnt from his short months of being human, was that there wasn’t really a goal to be attained with every action and thing he did. There were outcomes, but maybe the true aim of this ‘fishing’ wasn’t to catch the fish at all.

Not with the still waters, glistening on the surface, calm movements every now and then as something beneath rippled the current in its movements. Not with the calm hum of nature, the trees lightly dancing back and forth in the breeze. Not with the soft click of the lemonade can opening, Hank’s breathing, the warmth of companionship.

It was about the moment, he noted. The build up of planning their excursion, the anticipation in the car ride over, and now it was the moment he’d thought about. A break from modern day life, a chance to fully enjoy being human. Not working, not thinking constantly about android rights, having things to get done. That moment gave him a chance to reflect, as his eyes cast over the waters, line bobbing as something began to lightly tug on the end of it. To reflect truly on what had happened the past few months.

Because it was a lot. It was being created, being a machine, hunting deviants, meeting Hank… realising that there was more to life than following orders and completing the mission. Taking those orders and throwing them away, meeting the leader of the deviants, of their people, and finally becoming himself.

And now, he was realising what it truly was to be himself… it was freedom. Freedom was being able to have family, to move in with Hank and Sumo, to be free to choose his career path, choose what he wants to do with his life. Choose to take a break away from it all and immerse themselves in nature.

Nature, with all its beauty, all its life—

Standing there, realising this all, feeling the fresh breeze of air tickle his cheeks, the warmth of sun, shining soft yellow light, Hank teaching him to fish. He could do what he wanted. And it wasn’t a task; there was no mission. He could just have… fun.

“Connor? I think you caught one.”

He snapped back to reality. Hank was right. The line was tugging in his hands, and he moved swiftly to reel it in. A fish dangled from the edge of the line. He gathered it up in his hands, carefully, then crouched down, letting his hands hover partway through the water.

It was gentle, and the fish tickled as it moved in his hands, burrowing deeper into the water it could find. He laughed. It reminded him of the fish he caught back in the Tower, that one day, so far away. Connor let it back into the lake.

He watched it swim further away, down and down, deeper into the water. A pause. “Hank, is… is this what it feels like to…” he paused again. LED swirling in thought. “To be alive?”

Hank stood beside him, hand patting his shoulder. “This, and a lot of other things, kid.”

Connor thought it over for a moment. “I think I like it.” Being alive seemed to bring its downs, but even the hostage situation would bring the fish struggling on the floor to be saved. It would bring choices, choices he could make his own decisions on, and moments like this which he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Great. Now, where were those beers you hid again?”

#dbhcolorsofdeviancy #dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh connor and hank #fanfic #dbh fanfic #it's all fluff here #I used to be a hardcore angst and horror writer but dbh has turned me sappy #dw tho I have angst coming on some later prompts >:)

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sp00kworm · 5 years ago

Text

Home in Your Heart (Saint-14 x Female Reader)

Pairing: Saint-14 x Female Reader

Warnings: Adult Content beneath the cut, Robot Romance, Robot x Human Romance and made up Exo anatomy.

A/N: Thanks to a special friend for reading this through for me. I would be lost without that help for these giant pieces I end up getting myself into. I hope this is fun for people to read!

---

Saint watched from the tower wall as the pigeons fluttered up into the rafters above him. The Hangar was quiet this time of night, even with the last dregs of the Vanguard returning from missions out beyond the safety of the Last City and its walls. The Exo watched the pigeons huddle closer, cooing softly as they readied to bed down for the night, and smiled up at the birds. They were one of the things he loved about the city. They ignored him as he cocked his gun and set to unscrewing panels and readying pieces of cloth for cleaning. The Perfect Paradox. A weapon made from light and the will for him to live. It was a fine piece of craftmanship. The Titan stripped back pieces of the shotgun with practiced ease and took the lubricating oil in hand, making sure to get it into the small cracks. He took the cleaning pole and gently started cleaning the barrel, watching to see when the cloth came out clean of carbon and residual gunpowder. Saint-14 hummed a song as he worked. The children had sung him when he took his round around the city. It was about a thorny rose in a secret garden. It didn’t let a man pick it for his wife and learned later about her death. The man returned to the garden and the rose and the man grew close before it allowed him to take its beauty, enamoured with his devotion and love for his wife who had long since passed. The pressed rose was placed on the man’s grave when he passed away and the rose was honoured to mark where such a great man had been laid to rest.

Saint hummed the sad song as he worked and sighed when he finished it, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth at the sadness. It was not a day for such a feeling. There was nothing but joy to be had.

“Hmm. The Guardian made you well.” He joked at the shotgun in his hands as he took the small screws in hand and started to fit the panels back into place, lubricated and clean, ready for action again. He didn’t see a lot of action anymore. Patrols and catching thieves were common outside of ferrying guardians too and from Osiris’ trials. With a warm feeling, he placed the shotgun aside and looked at the nights sky. The Traveller was on the other side of the tower, where Zavala and Shaxx stood during the day. Saint hummed as he looked down at the buildings again, amazed at the sheer size and scale of the buildings. Hundreds of thousands of people lived here now, under the restored safety of the Traveller.

“Saint?” You asked from behind the goliath of an Exo, “You can’t sleep either, huh?” You moved towards him, across the lines of the football field with your Ghost trailing behind you, peaking over your shoulder as you approached the legendary Titan.

“Guardian! It is good to see you!” Saint hollered from where he was sat, armoured head turning to watch you as you walked over.

You had come for a walk, unable to sleep in your small apartment below the Tower, in hopes of tiring yourself out. Guardians didn’t sleep much anyway, but sometimes you wished you could at least have the few hours that you wanted. Either way, it was better than the starving to death Guardians used to have to do. Thinking about the Dark Age made you shudder in your bed at night, the Drifter’s haunting words about the famine and death making you hope it would never come to be again. His plans made you worried that perhaps it would return, but, as you smiled, looking at the cheerful titan who was reaching to remove his helmet to match you, you couldn’t find the sadness that was keeping you up at night.

“Its good to see you as well, Saint.” You chuckled as you sat by the Titan, yawning as you flopped onto the mat next to him, taking a look at the helmet.

The Exo’s grey metal face flexed to reflect a smile as he rubbed a shine back into the plating of the Perfect Paradox, “Sleeping is sometimes difficult, yes. I find mending things to be helpful. Makes the brain sleepy.” He laughed, optics closing as he bellowed over the side of the tower, “You can help me, if you would like, Guardian?” Saint reached for another shining cloth and handed it to you along with one of his great, spiked shoulder pauldrons, “Be careful of the spikes.”

Gently, you took the armour piece and watched Saint-14 reach to unclip the rest of the plating. The armour on his legs came off easy, along with his gauntlets, but the Exo reached for the back straps of his chest piece and grunted.

“You need some help with that, Saint?” You asked gently as you laid the pauldron he had passed you on the mat.

The titan grumbled, “It would seem so, friend.” Gracefully he took a knee before you, back exposed so you could easily reach the buckles and air locks of the armour from where you were sat.

Skilfully, you started to unlock the armour piece, “You really love clasps, huh, Saint?” You joked as you finally pulled the buckles free and heaved the heavy armour over his head, careful not to hit the metal of his head.

“It is for safety! All armour should be like this, not like that puny amount Hunters wear, and do not get me started about robes! Who in the Vanguard for Warlocks believes that fabric can stop bullets? Pah, stupid. Book smart, all of them, but stupid. The only way to survive bullets is to wear this armour.” He gestured to the heavy plating and stretched in the thick undershirt, the long sleeves being rolled up to reveal the circuitry and grey plating of his arms.

Laughing, you took hold of his pointy pauldron again and started to clean in between the dangerous points, metal lubricant and cleaner bringing a gleaming shine to the fine armour in your hands, “Its such a task to look after!” You sighed, exasperated, “But I guess I understand why Titans are so fond of huge shoulder armour.” With a finger you eased the cloth between the spikes and began to shine them individually.

“Yet you have such care for mine…” Saint exclaimed before being cut off by the familiar noise of a yowling cat. The Exo turned his head to see a young kitten, yowling underneath the roosting pigeons, paws clenching as it looked up sadly, “Ah, damn cat. Away with you.” He moved to shoo the cat away but stopped as you grabbed his hand, tugging him back towards the mat before you got up and moved towards the thin looking kitten slowly. The cat’s back arched as you came close, hissing as the fur of its back rippled. It was a small thing, barely getting by with whatever tiny amount of food it could scrounge from the locals.

“Shh. Come on. You don’t have to be like that!” You joked as you knelt and offered your fingers gently to the kitten, “Here.” You pulled open your small bag to see if you had any leftover rations from your last mission. With a stick of beef jerky in hand you wiggled it in front of the kitten and watched it’s eyes grow wide and wild.

Laughing, you tore some pieces free and started backing towards where Saint-14 was sat, a knee propped up, one leg hanging over the edge of the tower.

“Do not bring that rat to me!” He huffed, “It will upset the birds!”

“Its just a kitten, Saint.” You whispered back at him as the cat followed your trail, hungrily devouring the pieces of meat. When you reached the mat, it peered up at your hands and waited, watching you tear off a piece of meat, “Go on.” You offered the food between your fingers and smiled when the kitten pulled the meat free and continued to take food from your hands. With a gentle hand you stroked along its back and smiled as it purred softly, still unsure of the attention and whether to trust you.

“It is a cunning beast.” Saint mumbled as he continued to fix up some loose plating on his gauntlets, “Yet it likes you. It shows that kindness can get you a long way.” Saint-14 eyed the creature as he fixed the finger on his gauntlet, “Even if the object of such kindness delights in killing pigeons.” His face plates shifted into a scowl as the kitten pawed at your lap and climbed into the space in between your legs, purring and rumbling with delight as your fingers weaved into its fur.

Saint-14 felt a burning jealousy begin to boil within his chest as he watched your fingers run through the animals beautiful ginger fur. It was great and fuzzy, the fur long and in desperate need of brushing and washing. A street cat. He was jealous of a stick thin street cat.

“Will you be keeping it?” Saint asked as he watched the beast stare up at him with lidded eyes. A cat that had gotten the cream.

You hummed and rubbed the kitten’s ear, “Maybe. I think I’m allowed pets, right? I don’t think the Vanguard apartments have rules against it…” Taking hold of the cat you gently reached to place it in the Exo’s lap, “Here. You should have a hold.” You cooed at the kitten as it curled up on one of the Titan’s large thighs, purring, claws nicking at the under-armour Saint was wearing.

Saint peered at the cat and sighed warmly, looking at the soft ball of fluff, “It is very fond of people, for a street cat.” He observed as he touched cool robotic fingers to the creature’s head, “I find myself liking this cat.”

With a chuckle you plucked the kitten back and smiled at Saint’s grey-scale face, “I’ll make sure he has a good home then.”

Saint’s plates moved as he laughed, “Good! Perhaps he will be less inclined to kill things with a nice owner?” He snarked as the kitten rolled onto its back, purring in delight when you tore open another piece of jerky rations to feed it with.

Saint smiled at your own smiling face, feeling the jealousy subside as you wished him a goodnight and took the kitten back to your apartment.

“He is so large! Now he does not suit the name Peanut.” Saint-14 cooed from the doorway of your apartment, peering inside with his glowing purple helm. The Titan looked on in awe at the Maine Coon sprawled over the small couch in your room. The ginger tom looked over towards Saint, having heard his booming Russian accent in the doorway. Glancing over the Exo one, he soon reclosed his eyes and went back to dozing in the sunlight. It was winter, and the heat in the apartment was more from your radiators and the space heater facing the cushions rather than the cold, weak sun.

“Pah, and so arrogant.” Saint felt his helmet get transported away by Geppetto and frowned up at the giggling Ghost before it disappeared into the apartment with your own, “They are like children.” He complained as you let him inside, “Always giggling and doing the singing of annoying songs.” Saint felt the rest of his armour disappear and growled as Geppetto snickered again and rushed away into the small kitchenette to scan some large lemons. With a sigh he reached and plucked your adolescent cat from the couch, flopping down onto it with a large creak before placing Peanut back in his lap. The Maine Coon rumbled but stretched himself back over the Exo’s warm thighs quite happily.

“Would you like tea?” You offered, “I have some ramen too if you want some?”

Saint chuckled, “That would be nice. I have not eaten ramen…well it has been a long time since that nuisance hunter was at my door.” He turned his head back to Peanut and scratched at the cats ears as you dished two bowls of the fresh ramen and poured tea. You returned with the tray and smiled at the Titan, placing it on the coffee table before you handed him his own, as not to disturb your grumpy, sleeping cat.

“You both look right at home.” You laughed after a mouthful of noodles as Saint tried to eat around the dozing cat in his lap, “Even if you still don’t like cats.”

Saint swallowed his noodles in his odd Exo fashion before he replied, “I like your cat. Peanut and I see eye to eye now.” He joked as he took hold of the tea and carefully poured some into his mouth, silicon tongue trying its best to help in place of his non-existent lips.

“I think he likes you because you’re a heater.” You listened to Saint’s fans whirr in embarrassment, “He’s forgotten all those mean comments last time you met.” You joked as Saint began to laugh, the noise gentle and deep.

The titan shrugged his shoulders and watched as Peanut grumbled, removing himself from the room to go and occupy your bed, where it was a lot quieter, “He is temperamental, like all cats.” He shook his head and turned back to you, “But I came to see my favourite guardian!” He cheered, “So, how is the campaign against the darkness going?” He asked ask you slurped your ramen.

You shrugged, “About as well as everyone else. Eris has been getting me to do more and more recently. Its tiring.” You hummed as you placed your empty bowl on the tray, “Hopefully it doesn’t separate us all like last time…” You stated sadly, looking into your tea.

A heavy hand took your shoulder in a soft grip, “Do not be sad. We will fight together to protect our home and our family.”

You felt your throat tighten as Saint squeezed your shoulder softly, “I…I don’t know if I can do it, Saint. Not again.” You felt your eyes burn as you were tipped into the Titan’s lap, “We already lost so much.” Tears dripped over your cheeks as you choked on a sob.

Saint-14 was gentle as he held you, a hero of recent times, in his arms, rubbing soft circles into your back as he let you cry, “We will stand strong. We will not let what happened to the city before ever happen again. This I swear.” The Exo reached to wipe your cheeks with his thumbs, trying to smile and cheer you up as you sniffled at him. You laughed at the odd shifting of his face plates and pushed yourself from the Exo’s lap.

“Thank you, Saint.” You whispered as you moved to make more tea for the both of you.

“Anytime, guardian…anytime.”

You wished he had called you anything but ‘guardian’ that day.

Saint-14 rushed from his ship. The pigeons scattered from the supports as he charged from the landing dock towards where Zavala stood. The stair metal moaned as he dragged himself up them, rushing past the Postmaster bot who gave a startled ‘oh’ and pressing onwards towards Zavala. The Awoken turned around in time to raise an eyebrow at the purple Titan rushing toward him.

“If you are here to complain about the lack of bird seed, I would suggest you take it up with the courier.” Zavala sighed, bright eyes looking at the Exo with annoyance.

“You almost got her killed!” Saint hollered, “No fireteam and no back up! What were you thinking Zavala!?” He felt his metal hand creak under his own strength as Zavala eyed him with a stoic curiosity.

“It turned sour quickly. It was only a scouting mission. Gather information and leave. I did not plan for an ambush when I sent one Guardian. I expected a little tact and stealth. Her whereabouts were known as soon as she set foot on Io.” Zavala laid out the facts and spread his hands, “She is home safe. Injured but safe.”

“Yes.” Saint droned dangerously, “But she had to put a bullet through her skull to do it.” He spat before turning away, “I will not stay here…I think I might launch you over the edge of the tower if I do.”

Zavala watched the Titan leave with a sigh as he turned back to peering at the broken Traveller, hands tight around the barrier.

“She will be fine, Saint-14, you are worrying over nothing. Ghost has done all he can to heal her. All we can do now is let her rest. She was running for three days and nights before getting free enough to transmat to her ship. You must be patient.” The hooded healer laid her hands out in front of her, “The Speaker would have known more of what to do. I was his student but…” She sighed, “The tricks of the Light evade me.” She confessed as her own Ghost span over her shoulder worriedly.

“Thank you, Sister. You have helped a great deal.” Saint gently placed his hand on her shoulder and opened the door of the small medical ward for her.

Before she left, she offered him a sleeping draft, “Even though her Ghost healed her after the gunshot, the revival was quick…it took a lot out of them both. Be careful, Saint-14, and be gentle with her.” She left, her Ghost reciting a list of other people that needed their help for the day.

Saint-14 closed the door after her and returned to your bedroom, watching your ghost bob sadly over your chest. Geppetto appeared over his own shoulder, spinning in a sad circle before he rushed over to the Ghost and tapped their shining shells together gently.

“Geppetto…is there anything we can do to help her?” Saint asked as he sat down heavily in the chair, “Anything that the Sister could not…”

Geppetto spun counter-clockwise but shook mid-air, “The Sister can do more than me. She will wake up on her own, I think.”

The other Ghost nodded and placed himself on your chest, “Soon. I can feel the Light still there. It is healing her.”

Saint nodded, “Good. The Vanguard will suffer a great loss if she passes.” He whispered, purple optics blinking as he felt oil well underneath the lights. He had not cried tears in many years. He had forgotten that he could. The Titan reached to his face curiously and wiped away the black oil with a finger.

Geppetto watched him with one, bright eye, “You once said that you last cried when you were a baby.” The Ghost joked before landing in his palm, “I believe you think of her as more than just a Guardian that saved you.” Geppetto floated up to touch his forehead with his shell, “Maybe you should tell her that?”

The other Ghost remained quiet before coughing awkwardly, “She is waking.”

You opened your eyes with a great groan, peering at the ceiling over your head. A throbbing pain seeped behind your eyes as you came too. Your Ghost tittered overhead, white light seeping from him into your eyes. The pain subsided somewhat, and you groaned as you remembered why there was shooting pains in your brain. The bullet had passed straight through your head.

A large hand pushed you back into the mattress, “Down. You barely made it back alive.” The harsh Russian accent of Saint-14 made your eyes widen as you turned your head to see the large Exo sat by your bedside. His metal fingers held a cold rag which he laid over your forehead.

“I have never tended to an ill Guardian…but I remember a mother doing this to her child once. It helps pain and fever.” The Titan arranged his faceplates into a smile, “Hopefully it helps.”

You looked at the grey plates of metal before laughing, loud and bright, “Thank you, Saint.” You reached and found his hand, “Thank you for being here as well.”

The Exo looked at your hands and held your own tighter, “You scared me. I feared they were bringing your Ghost’s shell when I saw the crowd.” He stopped himself and you reached your other hand over, squeezing his hands tighter.

“I’m alright, Saint.”

“And for that I am glad.” Saint smiled again before continuing, “Because you mean…a lot to me.” He whispered your name as you felt a hot blush ripple over your cheeks.

“I feel the same.”

The grip on your hand only got tighter. You both breathed, though the Exomind’s fans seemed to simply exhale hot steam from his coolant reserves.

“I love you.” Saint-14 whispered close to your cheek before moving back to take in your face.

Your face burned as you eased your way up. Struggling, you managed to get onto one elbow and tugged Saint down by his sweater, kissing the Exo on his metal lips. The metal was cool but quickly warmed as the Exo went hot, fans whirring wildly as his hands walked to your hips, clenching around the flesh and bone gently, holding you like a precious flower.

You pulled away from the kiss and smiled weakly, flopping back into the pillows with a little huff, “I love you too.”

Saint chuckled before breaking into great laughter, arms wrapping around you as well as he could manage with you laid down, “This is fantastic!” He cheered before pressing his faceplates to your lips again, repeatedly kissing you over and over, smothering you with pecks as the both of you laughed together.

“Happy Dawning!” A woman sang from the square as Saint-14 made his rounds, watching the children giggle and chase each other with ribbons and mistletoe. It was a happy time of year. A time for celebration when there was finally a semblance of peace. Saint-14 shouldered the two young girls on his shoulders easily, listening to their festive songs with a smile underneath his helm.

“Where is this song from, little one?” Saint asked as he placed them down by their home.

“Mama says France. I added some of my own bits to it though!” She smiled, her two front teeth missing in her smile, before she took her sisters hand, “Thank you Mister Saint.” And led her little sister through the door to their home.

“Thank you, Saint-14. I feared they had gotten lost.” Their mother bowed low.

“It is no trouble.” Saint dipped his helm, “I am glad to bring them home safe. Good evening and Happy Dawning.” He continued on his way back to the main street, his purple optics glowing behind his helm in the dark alley.

The Titan paused in the mouth of the alley.

“If you are here for a fight. I suggest you make it quick. I have someone to get home to.” He seethed as he turned around, guns holstered as he smacked his fists together, void sparking over his arms, rippling with cold energy as he looked upwards.

You tapped the Titan on the shoulder and ducked the punch before wrapping your arms around his neck, “Calm down, big boy. Its just me!” You scrambled up his back easily and wrapped your legs tight, demanding a piggy back ride, “You were late, so I got the Hunters to scout around and find you. Didn’t take them long with all the kids singing.” You teased, head leaned on his shoulder, “Though now I owe them…And I don’t particularly like owing Hunters. Hopefully they’ll just want ramen.”

Saint-14 sighed with relief before tucking your legs through his arms, tilting his helmet to take the kisses with gusto, “I was ready to crush skulls!” He pinched your backside as he continued out of the alley, “A deal with a Hunter is like a deal with Fallen. You will regret it, zaika.” The Titan hummed as he turned onto the main street, walking easily through the crowds in the market.

“It was worth it to find you though.” You peered around at the marketplace with curious eyes, “The Dawning Markets are good this year. They even have bratwurst…Can we get some?” You asked over Saint’s shoulder.

Saint chuckled before turning in the direction of the stall, removing his helmet as you continued to cling to his back.

Sausage and bread in hand, the two of you sat in the small park as the night sky formed overhead. You looked at the stars as Saint’s faceplates moved to let him eat the hotdog a little easier.

He manoeuvred the hotdog and hummed as he chewed, “It has been a long time since I ate hotdogs.” Saint smiled at you as you took a bite of your own food.

“I thought people had forgotten they existed.” You joked as you chewed your own hotdog.

Saint-14 nodded, “It is good to see them again. It means the people are recovering. Food is more available. It makes me happy to see the City flourishing so.”

With a smile you took hold of his hand, squeezing tight as you looked at the sky, “Saint! Look!”

The Exo peered upwards as snow began to drift from the sky, “Snow. I have seen so much of it…But since the forest…It is still beautiful.” You passed him the rest of your own hotdog and wrapped yourself around his arm, sighing up at the sky. Saint finished the hotdog and peered upwards as well.

“Happy Dawning, Saint.” You whispered as snow flakes melted on top of your head and in your eyelashes.

“Happy Dawning, my love.”

Metal hands ran along your legs as Saint moved to gently ease your clothes off. You’d been away in the European Dead Zone, fighting off the Fallen again with their amplified Ether. Most of them had gone mad with the supply. You smiled as the grey-scale Exo’s fingers eased your under-armour clothes away, peeling them free to expose your skin. Purple optics blinked before he leaned down to press a cold kiss to your shoulder, fingers pressing against the tension knots in the muscles of your thighs.

“I missed you, zaika.” Saint rumbled as he pressed a kiss to your ankle, metal fingers trailing warm lines up your legs as he settled over the top of you again, “But I think you need shower.” He laughed and pretended to pinch his nose, “You smell like you’ve been sat in horse shit for weeks.”

“Way to a girls heart, Saint.” You rolled your eyes as he picked you up, hands holding your bottom as he walked to the shower, which was already running. The hot water spray was kind on your burning shoulders as you climbed in. Saint-14 passed you your fresh toiletries and smiled before lowering the shower curtain back into place and leaving you to freshen up.

You left the shower wrapped in a towel, smiling softly at the Exo spread over your bed, resting in a slouchy pair of pyjama bottoms, the screen at the end of your bed showing some new-fangled television show about the current species of bird left on Earth.

“Hey there.” You sat on the edge of the bed with a smile.

Saint rolled onto his side with a smile before he reached a hand out and dragged you back to lay against the cushions, “Now you smell like fresh lemon. Much better than EDZ muck.” He cooed as he pushed his face against your head, tucking you close, “I missed you so much, zaika.” The Exo whispered against your skin as his hands traced your hips, squeezing you softly as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, rolling on top of you, his weight resting on his elbows as he kissed your lips once more.

“I love you, Saint.” You pressed a kiss to each of his dark grey cheeks.

“I love you too.” He whispered as a hand slid over your collar bone and dipped between the valley of your breasts. The cool metal made you shiver as your eyelids drooped a little, looking at the plates and silicon mapped muscle over the top of you.

A sigh escaped your lips as Saint’s fingers warmed, trailing over your stomach and hips before he pulled you down by the hips and pushed the towel from the bed. You moaned as cold fingers trailed over your outer lips before the Exo spread them gently, exposing you to his burning purple optics. You gasped and squirmed back against the sheets.

“I am moving too quickly.” Saint murmured as he moved his hands back to your hips, massaging the skin gently.

You huffed up at the huge Exo, hands moving to caress the plates of his body, enjoying the smooth feel of metal and carbon fibre under your fingertips as Saint leaned down to kiss you again.

After a phantom kiss you pulled back and pushed yourself up against the Exo, grinding your hips against the front of his loungewear, “Not fast enough.” You uttered breathlessly against him.

Saint hummed as he slowly eased your legs upwards, hands clutching your thighs as he pressed your legs open and pressed his fingers back to your mound, rubbing gentle circles against your clitoris. A soft moan escaped you as the ministrations continued, Saint rubbing circles with his thumb as a finger pressed inside of your vagina, pushing against your walls.

“Now I see that you missed me just as much.” The Titan purred as he pressed another finger inside of you. Pumping his fingers, he watched you squirm with intense eyes before moving to kiss you once more. You moaned into the kiss as Saint scissored his fingers apart, watching you squirm as your nerves rushed with pleasure and your head swam.

“I missed you so, so much Saint.” You pressed wet kisses to his mouth, jumping as a cool, silicon tongue pushed out to meet you, pushing against your own tongue and stroking against the inside of your mouth. Responding, you pushed your tongue against him and watched the Exo’s optics dull as he pressed his fingers upwards and brushed the bundle of nerves concentrated in your sweet spot. You moaned loud and huffed at the deep chuckle that sounded over your head.

“I missed you…I missed this.” He rumbled as he removed his fingers and pushed his hips forwards, clothed bulge pressing against you.

“Can we get these off?” You asked as Saint nodded, leaning back before standing to shrug the loungewear off his hips, exposing the silicon and metal plating of his legs. His fans whirred as he returned to the bed, hips slotting against your own as his mod pressed against you.

“Now I remember why I like them off.” You cooed, hand skirting between the two of you, wrapping around the hard length as Saint settled above you once more, “Because I missed this.” You emphasised your point by sliding your hand up his length, stroking a finger over the tip as the Titan let out a static laden moan.

“You are like minx.” He rumbled as he pulled your hands away from his body, tucking your wrists into one of his giant hands, pinning you back against the pillows as you spread your legs, heat crawling up your spine, “So naughty.” Saint hummed as he released your wrists, cupping your bottom as he positions your hips upwards and pressed your thighs apart, “Are you ready, zaika?” He asked next to your ear.

“Please.” You begged quietly as Saint held his cock in his hand, lining the head with your entrance.

His dick slid inside slowly, the inches grazing over your walls. You let out a long breath as the length settled deep inside of you, the tip brushing over your sweet spot.

“Are you ready?” Saint asked as he kissed your neck and then your shoulder. His hands held your hips gently, the power in his grip hidden behind a loving touch.

“I am.” You confirmed, bucking your hips upwards roughly, enjoying the feel of the hard length inside you pressing against your walls.

Saint-14 took hold of your hips, pinning them in his grip before he pulled out and thrust back inside, setting a steady pace as your hands flew up to grip onto his shoulders. Your nails ground against Saint’s shoulders as you enjoyed the ride, feeling the hard, mod length inside of you, bumping against your cervix as the Exo gave a grunt and a particularly hard thrust.

“You feel so good, zaika. Better than I can recall.” Saint purred as you tightened around him, a phantom, metal laced kiss.

“You do too. Fuck, Saint, please…I’m close.” You pressed your fingers into the oblique, metal plated, silicon muscles. The Exo buzzed, his voice dipping as your fingers ground into the silicon. It shifted to expose wires and you gently ran you finger over the wires, watching as his optics pulsed and dimmed.

A static rumble escaped his parted face plates, “Y-You…minx.” Saint huffed as he pushed in roughly, “You know what that does.” He uttered as you gasped, spasming around his cock as he eased your hips upwards, roughly thrusting in and out.

“Saint!”

“Are you going to cum?” He asked through a small lacing of static as his mouth moved to kiss you again. He didn’t get an answer as you came around his dick, moaning into the air. Saint moaned in turn, metal hips stuttering as his wires singed and fans roared, pouring hot air over your stomach. You gasped as you reached upwards, fingers stroking the antenna either side of his head as you tried to get feeling in your legs once more.

In the quiet of the room, you laid on top of Saint-14, hands wrapped around him as his fans quietened down and hummed lowly.

You peered out of your window at the dull, glowing lights of the City, “I love you, Saint.”

Saint lifted your head, cupping your cheeks in his hands, “I love you, my little saviour.” The two of you met each other in a gentle, cool kiss above the city you called home.

#saint-14 #saint 14 #saint-14 x reader #saint-14 x female reader #saint 14 x reader #saint-14 x human #robot x human #exomind x human #exomind #exo #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny #exo x reader #exo x human #fanfiction #my writing #fanfic

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dilly-oh · 5 years ago

Text

Sleep With Me

Kakashi is woken up from a dead sleep at three in the morning by an urgent text from Genma.

EMERGENCY!!, it says. He quickly sits up, a spike of panic shocking him fully awake as he’s dosed with adrenaline. He stares at his phone, anxiously waiting for the flashing dots to spell out: WE NEED CONDOMS, STAT!

Fucking Genma. He lies back down.

Another text. YOU OWE ME FOR WATCHING THE DOGS.

...Fucking Genma. Kakashi gets up.

GET A BOX OF CONDOMS, Genma adds as Kakashi tugs on his boots. He shudders at the reasoning behind it. What the hell were he and Raido up to at three in the fucking morning, a sex marathon? Were they trying for the world record? Whatever, he just needs to stumble down the street to one of the nearby convenience stores and buy a box of condoms. Genma lives a few floors down so he can drop them off at the door before crawling back up the stairs and collapsing into his bed. His wonderfully soft, cozy bed.

He hopes it’ll still be warm by the time he gets back.

It’s way past midnight and all the respectable convenience stores are closed, so Kakashi has to bite the bullet and settle on the least-skuzzy of all the skuzzy 24-hour shops, the one on the corner with the cracked window and perpetual smell of urine. There’s a hobo by the dumpster outside, but he’s busy arguing with a pigeon so Kakashi is able to sidle around him and approach the front entrance, a bell tinkling rather sadly above his head. The hum of the fluorescent lights should be added to the list of known torture methods, and Kakashi does his best to ignore the incessant buzz as he walks along the poorly-lit aisles, trying to find the item in question so he can leave before he catches something.

The condom section of this store is disturbingly well-stocked, and Kakashi spends a good five minutes uncertain on which brand and variety to buy. He has an internal debate on whether to buy ‘ribbed’ or ‘studded’, unsure of the difference or which Raido would prefer. He finally settles on one of the flavored variety, cherry, because who doesn’t like cherries, right? He grabs the box and heads to the front.

Standing in line with the other half-awake zombies, Kakashi yawns, his jaw creaking spectacularly. It really is late and he’s looking forward to kicking down Genma’s door, whipping the box of condoms at him, turning his phone off, and going the fuck back to sleep. He peeks impatiently over the shoulder of the man in front of him to see how close he is to the register-

Oh. God. Oh GOD.

The cashier is hot. He’s smoking hot and Kakashi hasn’t brushed his hair all day and has bad breath and bags under his eyes and a box of condoms in his hands.

OH GOD.

Long, luscious hair pulled back into a low ponytail, dark eyes with even darker lashes, and that TAN. Is it natural? Is he that toasty…all over? Fuck, he can see muscles flexing beneath his shirt when he moves, he’s fucking ripped. Abort. ABORT. There is absolutely no way Kakashi is going to greet this ethereal being of his wicked fantasies with a box of fucking condoms in his hands. But it’s already too late, the customer in front has been dealt with and the hot cashier has spotted him next in line and is waving him over, fuck, SHIT, he’s screwed. He’s made eye contact, there’s no backing out of this now. Fight or flight instincts take over, and Kakashi isn’t about to be arrested for stealing a box of condoms. Taking a deep breath, he strides forward with all the confidence he can muster and slaps the box of jumbo-sized, cherry-flavored condoms onto the counter, refusing to show any hint of shame.

The cashier (his name-tag reads ‘Iruka’ and is a million times hotter up close) looks down at the box, blinks, and looks back up at him.

“…So who are you buying these for?”

Kakashi’s brain shorts out for a moment.

Did he just… He wonders, his sleep-deprived brain slow in catching the veiled insult. Aloud, he answers, “I…they…they’re…for me. To wear when I- you know. With...you know.” He trails off lamely, wondering if he should attempt to elaborate more or just die right here.

“I’d rather not, actually.” ‘Iruka’ eyes him for another beat, then picks up the box, frowning at it. “You know, I’m pretty sure we have extra small on the shelf back there, too,” he suggests. “Might be a snugger fit.”

“No, thank you,” Kakashi replies, struggling to maintain a modicum of politeness. Because, you know, hot cashier. Though he is being a bit of a dick.

“Alright, just remember there’s a thirty-day return policy. I’m sure you’ll be needing it.”

Okay, scratch that. He’s being a huge dick.

If this guy wasn’t such a fox I’d pop him one, Kakashi thinks to himself, fuming inwardly. …Instead of popping one-

Finally moving on, Iruka swipes the box over the scanner with no reaction.

“Huh.” He frowns and tries again. Still no beep. “That’s funny. Just a sec.” He leans over towards a small, black object-

Oh God. Please no.

“PRICE CHECK ON THE JUMBO-SIZED CONDOMS,” Iruka says into the microphone, his distorted voice blaring through the store for all to hear. “CHERRY FLAVORED-”

Kakashi lunges forward and grabs the mic, the feed cutting off with a high-pitched squeal.

“Do you really have to-” he hisses out.

“If you want your cough-syrup flavored DICK, YES,” Iruka hisses back, yanking the microphone away from him.

“Hey, I like cherry!”

“Cherry is disgusting. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, dude, you’re being really rude to me for no reason-”

“No reason?!” The cashier all but bares his teeth at him. “I could feel you eyeing me from across the store! Don’t you think I get enough of that from the rest of the creeps?”

...He has a point there.

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s not like I asked for your number-”

“Good, because the only numbers you’re getting from me is on your receipt,” Iruka snaps, shoving his purchase in a plastic bag. “That’ll be $19.86.”

“Okay, fine, Christ,” Kakashi takes out a twenty and whips it at his head. “Keep the change.” He snatches up the condoms and storms out of the store. The hobo is still there by the dumpster, babbling on. Kakashi stops, fishes in his pocket for a moment, and hands the man a five.

“Here, have a better night than me,” he bites out. The hobo gasps with delight as he takes the crumpled bill, eyes going wide.

“We feast tonight, Fitzgerald!” he cackles, grinning at the pigeon, which is now perched on his knee and cooing.

Kakashi starts down the street, the bag of condoms bumping against his knee with every angry stride.

“Hey!” A voice barks out from behind him, but he ignores it, intent on sulking. “Hey, you! Cherry dick!” Kakashi stops and looks back.

The hot cashier is running down the road after him, breath steaming in the night. He catches up, panting lightly, his cheeks flushed from the cold as much as the run. He glances up to meet Kakashi’s gaze.

“…Hey,” Iruka says quietly, flashing him an apologetic look before dropping his eyes to the ground. “Um.” He fiddles with the zipper on his jacket for a moment. “I just got off, and… look, man, I’m sorry about back there. I didn’t mean to be such an asshole. It’s just…I was late this morning cuz my car wouldn’t start, and then my stupid co-worker ditched me so I had to work a double shift, and when I’m tired I get bitchy. Like...real bitchy. I’m...really sorry.” He groans in exhaustion, reaching up to free his hair from its constricting ponytail, scrubbing his scalp with relief. It’s an endearing action that cools Kakashi’s irritation and heats up other things. “I mean, it’s past midnight, for God’s sake. Who’s still up at this hour? I just wanna go home and pass the fuck out in bed.”

Kakashi knows exactly what that’s like.

“I’ve been there,” he says. “It’s fine. Sorry for...ogling you.”

“S’okay.” Iruka looks up at him, hopeful and shy. “Listen. Maybe we could…try this again? During the daytime, when we’re both fully rested?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Kakashi replies, his voice completely calm while his brain is a litany of high-pitched screeches.

“Yeah?” Iruka’s whole face lights up, and holy FUCK he’s a billion times hotter when he’s smiling. Dear God. How is he going to survive this? He'll probably die when he sees him in the light of day. “Are you free tomorrow? For lunch?”

“Make it a late lunch,” Kakashi agrees, nodding. “I’ll probably sleep in.”

“God, me too,” Iruka snorts, and even that’s hot. “There’s this nice cafe that- oh, wait.” His face drops. “Those, um, cough-syrup- I mean, cherry-flavored condoms…are they for… anyone special?”

Anyone special? What is he talking abo- Oh. Ohhhh.

“They aren’t for me,” Kakashi explains quickly. “I was...there isn’t…I’m not…” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m just doing a favor for a friend.”

“...A friend who needs a box of condoms at three in the morning?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I won’t.” Iruka lets out a long sigh and rubs his eyes wearily. “Anyway, I need to be heading home. Ugh, it’s gonna take, like, an hour to walk back to my apartment, none of the buses run this late and I don’t have the cash for a cab. Maybe if I hurry I can-”

“Sleep with me,” Kakashi blurts out before he can stop himself. He can almost see Iruka’s hackles go up. “I mean, like, actual sleeping, no sex stuff. Not that I wouldn’t want to do that with you, you’re fucking gorgeous, it’s just I’m way too tired-” He cuts off his babbling, unsettled by Iruka’s stoney silence. “I’m just saying I live, like, five minutes away and I thought since it’s closer, maybe you’d appreciate-” Iruka’s still not talking. He’s probably about to kick Kakashi in the dick and run. “I, uh, promise I’m not an ax murderer or anything. You can take a pic of me and send it to your friends to let them know you’re sleeping with me-”

“I’m sure they won’t at all take that the wrong way,” Iruka states, finally speaking. He studies Kakashi for a moment longer. “...Yeah okay I’ll sleep with you. My standards are low enough right now.” He pauses to snicker. “Look at me, sleeping with a guy whose name I don’t even know. It’s like college all over again.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Kakashi.”

“Iruka.”

“I know, I saw your name-tag. So, wait. You’re not worried I’ll try something?” he asks cautiously. Iruka scoffs.

“I know jiu-jitsu. Touch me and I’ll throw you through a wall.”

That would explain the muscles. And Kakashi’s desire to be pinned by him.

“I have eight dogs,” he warns.

“They’ll make excellent feet-warmers,” Iruka says dismissively. “Do you have good pillows? I’m a stickler for good pillows, I need the support for my neck, otherwise I get stiff shoulders.”

“I have a couple memory foam ones, plus a down comforter and some quilts-”

“Oh God, yes, talk dirty to me.”

“Anyway, I get the bed, you can have the couch.”

“Screw you, I just worked a double shift. I get the bed.”

“It smells like wet dog.”

“I babysit a five-year old. I’ve smelled worse.”

“Okay, fine. We share the bed, but I get the right side.”

“That’s not fair, I want the right side.”

“You can have the right side if you cook us breakfast tomorrow. Or lunch, rather. I’m not getting up till noon.”

“I’ll cook, but you have to clean up. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They shake on it, firmly sealing the agreement, and head off down the road together.

They don’t let go.

(Written for @kakairu-fest Nine Weeks of Summer, Week Two Prompt: Shop AU)

#kakairu fest #kakairu #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #shop au #nine weeks of summer #fanfic #modern au #humor #what did i even write #rated teen for swearing #and condoms i guess #lots of condoms #sleeping together #literally

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paperficwriter · 4 years ago

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I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

Harboring a fugitive means having to be careful, having to be smart about it. Because what terrible things might happen if someone were to find out? Unfortunately, being particularly clever is not one of Badd’s strong suits.

Written for @kaincuro! Cut is for length, not for content.

“Where have you been?”

Badd hasn’t even gotten in the door yet. He’s just opened it with his shirt covering his hand because it’s gross, because there are splashes of gore on his clothes. Showers are available at the Hero Association HQ, yes, but it would have meant being out even later. The chance to take advantage of the Class S wing’s amenities was outmatched by his desire to be home with Garou.

“I got sidetracked by two monsters when my shift was supposed to end.” Garou’s eyes shine in the dark like a cat, even when the rest of his face is obscured by shadow, and Badd gropes for a light switch. “Ya could have at least waited with a lamp on. Where’s Z—”

“She’s staying over with that one annoying girl from her class.” A hand grabs his wrist and pulls him. “Why didn’t you call? You’re always browbeating me about using the burner phone you got me.”

“I said I was—”

“After.”

“It died. Garou, let me get a damn light, ya fuckin’—”

There’s a mouth jamming into his, which isn’t really the best way to describe a kiss. This is more like he’s being berated, like it’s a scold in the form of affection that’s being taken rather than given. Garou licks his face, and that’s so fucking gross, he’s told him how gross that is, especially right now when he’s sweaty and dirty.

That sharp nose presses in next to his, and his face is held by icy fingers. He can hear his lashes falling on his cheeks, and between their eyes is this singing . That’s the only way he can think of it as. A high-pitched energy.

I was worried, Garou is thinking into him so he doesn’t have to say it.

“I’m sorry.” Despite the grime (clearly Garou doesn’t give a shit) Badd palms the back of Garou’s neck until their foreheads touch into a point of pain. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

“Mm.”

He puts on a little smile. “I’m real flattered that ya missed me so much, though. It’s nice to be missed. Kinda sweet, comin’ from you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” There’s not even an ounce of bitterness in those words; the only thing reflecting any hurt is the way he pinches his cheek.

“Ow.”

“What? You’re the one who liked being missed so much. I should show you all the things I miss. Like these stupid soft cheeks of yours.”

“You’re just jealous. You’re like all skin and bones and shit.”

It’s still dark, but Badd’s eyes have adjusted. He leans his bat against the wall by the coat stand, on the linoleum where he can take it out and hose it off later. It’s the only moment he takes his hands off Garou, and he returns them just as quickly to sweep over his chest. Garou’s shirt is just a little loose on him, which is a pretty big indicator that he’s borrowing one of his.

He leans up until he feels a little soft hair on his nose and the bump of Garou’s ear. “Why don’t you show me all the other things you missed in the shower with me?” he whispers, and damned if he isn’t dragged down the hall on the spot.

Garou hisses when he finally turns the bathroom light on, and Badd gets his eyes on him for the first time since that morning. God, he kind of looks awful. Not that he’s going to say that, but there is this worn quality to the skin on his face, his eyes are a little squinty (even after he gets accustomed to the light) and there’s just a fatigue that’s there that’s not normally there.

“G. I’m okay. See? None o’ this blood’s mine, yeah?”

Slim fingers pick at some dried blood on his collarbone, then practically tears his shirt off.

“I’m really, really sorry. I promise I’ll try not to let it happen again. I—”

“I almost went out looking for you.”

Badd stops talking for a second. His heart squeezes uncomfortably. “Ya know ya can’t do that durin’ the day. You’re…” A wanted criminal. The only monster that has ever escaped from the Hero Association. “It’s not safe.”

Garou scowls, pulling back, his touch rescinded entirely. He bends his head to rub his face against his own shoulder like a cat, and it makes Badd wonder if he’s trying to spread his scent onto his cheek. “I didn’t, did I?”

"It won't be forever. And it's nice when we go out at night, yeah? To our special spot?"

On the hill that overlooks the river. The one that's two miles outside the city, where sometimes Garou will meet him after work or Badd will drag him out on evenings like this in a completely different outfit.

Sometimes they don't even get there at the same time. They even pretend they're strangers. To spice things up. Keep it interesting.

But Garou doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere. He’s kissing him again, grabbing for his pants, and those pale fingers are getting dirty on his buttons. Badd scrambles to try to undress him too, but Garou is like some unstoppable force when he’s like this.

“No trips tonight,” he says when he gets to his neck, hand slapping out to start the water. It hits too hot, but Badd can’t get to it to adjust. “I need you here. I’ve needed you here. I don’t want to share you with anyone else, even if it’s just the fucking bugs and birds and shit.”

Badd chuckles and lets Garou pin him to the wall. The water is running murky right now, and this should be gross, he should be shoving him off, but denying Garou is like trying to stop a hurricane with a parasol.

“Alright, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”

How does it happen?

They fuck up somewhere. It’s hard to say where, or when, or how.

Was it when Garou slinked along beside Badd when he went on a midnight grocery run?

Or the time Garou snarled at a guy who catcalled a girl as he was waiting for Badd to get off the train, and Badd grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t actually take off after the weasel?

Or was it just chance? A suspicion, a hunch, and a window open a little too wide in the bedroom?

It doesn’t matter.

Garou had gone for a walk. Just a walk. It was fall, so the nights were getting longer, so while Badd dropped Zenko off at their cousin’s for the weekend, Garou went out into the crisp air, hat pulled down over his ears, Badd’s favorite jacket on with the embroidered tiger on the back (the hero had made the piece of clothing too tantalizing, always scolding that if he ripped it or stained it, he’d fucking kill him).

Although Garou’s walks always took him into a run, and then a leap, dashing up buildings until he could see for miles. And this one was different. His slippered feet propelled him from rooftop to rooftop, the smell of drying leaves and burning wood in his nostrils, air whistling.

His phone vibrated. ‘Gonna pick up food. What u want?’

He landed on one foot on the top of a stone cross erected on an empty church. Pigeons noisily swarmed from inside the belfry and out into the air. ‘Dumplings. Soup. Meat.’

‘lol, ok. See u soon.’

That’s the last one. The last text.

When he’s coming back, the noises make his ears twitch as much as his nerves. Anyone else wouldn’t notice, but he knows every inch of Badd’s house. He knows the furniture in it, the weight of it, and he knows what it’s like to fight inside (there were a few of those when he first started living there).

There are people inside the house. There are people ransacking Badd’s house.

The part of Garou that Badd always calls “the guard dog side” heats up to combustible levels. Usually it’s “cute” (again, something Badd says), when he glares at the door before he’s pushed off Badd and down the hallway out of sight.

They’ve sprayed something on the windows so he can’t see. Fine. If they want to do this the painful way, he’ll oblige.

The window breaks as he goes through it so fast that he barely cuts himself, rolling into the bedroom. There are three men in suits, and the bed - their bed - is turned upside down. The nightstand is cracked, the drawer thrown open and turned out. Everything that they have worked to make theirs is ruined, and Garou roars.

“He’s here! He’s—”

Garou grabs the man’s face and throws him through the broken window. The other two reach for guns on their belts, but the movement takes far too long compared to the speed with which Garou attacks, sending each of them flying into the walls.

I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all.

“Garou…”

It only takes a few sprinting steps to get to the stairs that lead to the living room, although it takes three (precious, few, too many) seconds to take out goons in the upstairs bathroom and in Zenko’s room. One manages to get a shot off, and the sound rings in Garou’s ears even as his fist breaks through his nose and jaw. He drops the bullet he caught onto the ground.

From the landing, he can see down into a black sea of men in suits, like the ones he’s dealt with upstairs. Badd is sitting up in a chair, and even from here Garou can see that his eyelids are heavy, a sagging in his cheeks and muscles.

He’s been drugged with something.

One of the guys has his foot on his bat, which is on the floor, and there are several guns trained on Badd’s head.

He does the math.

Garou is fast, and if it was one person, only one, he could make it. But there isn’t one. There’s...twenty. They are crammed in here, and they all have guns, and there are too many for someone not to get lucky. And from the range they have on Badd, they don’t even need luck.

Run.

It’s not a word that comes to his mind. It’s one silently mouthed by Badd.

Run, Garou.

Garou shakes his head. How can he run? How can he leave him? Now, at their worst point? That’s not just making him a coward. It’s making him a truer villain than he ever possibly could have conceived of himself to be. “No. Badd—”

So Badd is the one who moves. He sinks his teeth into his own hand, and Garou can feel as much as see how his Fighting Spirit flares.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Shots fired at him, around the room. Ten men pile on Badd, and he disappears under their bodies. “Run, Garou! Get the fuck outta here! ”

Two shots hit him. In the side and in the shoulder. Too much happening. Too many distractions. Below him, he can see Badd struggling, and he knows he’s alive and if he’s alive he can find him, he can get him back.

“Take him down! Don’t let the Hero Hunter get away!”

The Hero Hunter.

That’s all he is to them. He’s still that version of himself that he had given up, the already-flimsy mask that had been torn off in that last fight.

Breaking into a run down the hall is like running through mud. Maybe not physically - physically he outpaces them all, a wild animal that knows the woods better than any clumsy human - but with every step he’s calculating when, where, why, how, will they, won’t they, what are you doing?

He doesn’t just go through the window; he takes half of the wall with him. This time, he barely touches the rooftops as he jumps from one to the next. Anything it takes to put as much distance as he can between himself and that house, those men.

And Badd? A voice in his head asks.

He smothers it in his molten rage.

---

Who is he kidding? Garou can’t stay away. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a few months. It doesn’t matter that they will probably check in on the house, or that they may be watching it now. He’s drawn back to it like a bird - like a chicken, that awful voice says again, rearing back, returning over and over no matter how much he ignores it - and in the dark he’s much harder to spot.

He waited a day. That’s as much as he can be expected to wait, isn’t it?

They’ve only put tarps over the holes, so he goes in the exact same way as he did that afternoon.

Everything is still a mess. Any shelf that was standing or on the wall has been torn off, tipped over, emptied. Clothes have been pulled out and left scattered on the floor, or in piles. Nothing seems intact.

Even the bed has a gash running through it, clearly torn open by a knife. It nicked Badd’s pillow, and feathers are bleeding out onto the comforter. The sight makes him so angry that he picks up the whole bed and he’s about to throw it through the wall when two eyes shine up at him.

“Meow.”

Tama. She’s pushed herself into the tightest ball she can in the corner, somehow evading the terrible events of the afternoon. He puts the bed down, leaning it against Badd’s desk, and reaches down for her. She darts down the hallway into Zenko’s room.

The scene is the same. Granted, he always hated the posters and standees of Amai Mask, but seeing them ruined, torn off the wall (for what fucking purpose, those bastards) makes him nauseated.

“Meow.” Now she’s under Zenko’s bed. He gets down on his stomach and pats the floor. She doesn’t move.

“Come on, Tama.” She backs up, and he kicks the door closed with his foot so she can’t run away again. “Come. On.”

She can survive. Cats are predators, and they can handle themselves. You’ve done enough—

“Come on!” His fist lands on the floor. A piece of paper falls off the pink cork board over Zenko’s desk, fluttering to the floor. Not paper. A photo. Badd is grinning, with her up on his shoulders, and Zenko is making bunny ears over his head. Garou stares at it, not blinking, not moving. And then he realizes that he’s just barely in the picture. Half his face, the visible part of his smirk, and he recalls Zenko begging Badd to let her keep it.

“Just that one. And it stays at home. Understand? No showin’ it to anyone at school.”

“I promise!”

He hates this feeling.

And it’s one he should be used to, isn’t it? Being on his own. He was on his own for so long, living in that shack, stealing food. And only a few times did it ache a little, to be away from the world, but it was worth it, because he had a goal.

What does he have now?

...nothing.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Liar. Liar. Liar.

You could have stopped it. You should have died stopping it.

No. No. No.

The bristles of Zenko’s carpet are making his face itch, but all the energy has gone from his body. It’s hard to tell how long he stays there, the silence so eerie. No television. No talking. No breathing.

And then, there’s something. A gentle vibration. He glances up to find that Tama has occupied the space of his slightly-bent arm, where it had been outstretched. Her eyes are heavy, and she’s purring gently. When he picks her up, she lets it happen, and he pockets the photo as well.

For a moment, he considers taking more, but…

No.

...better to let this chapter end. It’s easier to let it all go. He has the jacket, and Tama, and one picture of them together.

Yes. Look at where attachments have brought you.

---

Garou memorizes the address on the fridge, and rips it into tiny pieces. If they found it already, they have it, and if they don’t, they won’t now. It doesn’t look like anyone is watching the place, so far as he can tell.

He gently knocks on the window.

“Garou!” Zenko looks like she’s been crying, so she must have some idea what’s happened. That makes things easier, although who knows what they’ve told her. Her face is red, and she grabs his arm, trying to pull him in from where he’s crouching on the window sill.

“No. I can’t stay.”

“You can’t go!” One of her fists punches his arm as her eyes start filling with tears again. “Don’t go, Garou!”

It hurts. He doesn’t...he wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much. “Here.” Reaching into his jacket with his free hand, he takes Tama out and hands it to her. She has to let him go to take the large cat in her arms.

“Tama…” Now she’s sobbing into the cat’s fur, and he remembers just how old Tama is. Old enough to have been there through losing their parents. Old enough for all Badd’s antics, all the things that led him to promise ‘no violence in front of her.’

Some good that did.

“Do you…” she hiccups and scrubs her eyes. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know if he’s okay?”

“...I don’t know.”

“What do you know?!”

“Nothing!” Before he can stop it, his voice goes as sharp as hers. “I don’t know anything yet! Are you happy?!”

At first, in the moment he regrets it, he thinks she’ll start crying and then...what, is he going to try to comfort her? But instead she puts Tama down, jumps up and slaps him in the face. Which doesn’t really hurt all that much (physically, at least). Not as much as when she yells at him, “You’re the adult! You’re supposed to be able to deal with it!”

...he is, isn’t he.

He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone for a second.”

When she unlocks it and hands it over, Garou brings up the news and searches for ‘Metal Bat.’ Immediately, there are several articles about his “leave of absence” from the Hero Association, about “suspicions of misconduct,” and how he was currently staying in the Hero Association Headquarters where they would be investigating his involvement with “possible criminal monsters.”

A monster...

Garou hands the phone back to her. “You probably saw that he’s at the hero headquarters.”

She nods. “That doesn’t narrow it down much...the new one is huge. You can’t just— Garou!” Zenko pulls hard at his arm as he tries to jump away, like she can yank him inside. “You can’t just go in!”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Take me with you!”

“No way.” She’s about to yell at him again, he can tell, but he gently, firmly pulls his arm out of her grasp. “Your brother will kill me if I get you in trouble. And who will take care of Tama then?”

Zenko hates it. He can tell, because the expression on her face is how his gut has felt all day: angry, grief-stricken, hurt. “Promise you’ll come back for me. That you’ll both come get me!”

He nods. “Fine. Call Tareo. He’ll be worried, and I don’t want you alone.”

He leaves after that without saying goodbye. There’s nothing more to say, and he can’t make any more promises he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep.

---

Garou spends that night in the special spot. He curls up in the tall grass where he usually does, and below him he can hear the water gently lapping over the rocks. It’s dark, and there’s a breeze, but there are stars overhead.

He takes Badd’s jacket off and balls it up under his head, where he can breathe it in.

“I love ya, Garou.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, it’s right, jerk.” Badd laughs and smacks his chest. He’s using him as a pillow, that night, and it’s warm yet cool enough that this is the first time they’ve been able to stand being out in it. In the distance, storm clouds are moving in. They’ll be forced home soon.

Garou is playing with his hair. He usually has it down when they go out. The pompadour is too much of a signature for him, too unique. Like this, Garou can pass his fingers through it without it getting caught in product.

“You don’t have to say it back.”

“Good.”

Badd’s smiling into his flesh, and he traces the outline of one of his pecs. It makes goosebumps jump up across Garou’s shoulders. “You at least like me, don’t ya?” he teases, poking him near the armpit so he jumps.

“God, no.” Garou rolls until he’s got Badd on his back and he’s looming over him, growling as he places several nipping bites down his throat. “Can’t stand you…”

“Yeah, I get that a lot from folks,” Badd laughs.

“No, you don’t. And that’s what I hate the most.” He follows the path of the bites with little kisses, faintly feeling Badd rubbing at his scalp. “You’re so damn likable...everyone fawning all over you...you’re like the neighborhood mutt everyone wants to give treats to.”

Badd sits up a bit until he can press his face into the soft space of skin under his eye, slotting his nose into the dip of his cheek. “Do ya wanna give me a treat?”

God. He wants to be annoyed, but Badd’s boyish face, his little smile, his hands, even the calluses on his fingers...every piece of him just endears him more and more. Does that mean that this is love? Is this what love is? It’s not like he’s ever felt this for someone before, this positive energy. The only things that he can think of that have fueled him are spite. Anger. Bitterness. At best: boredom.

Not that he hasn’t been kind to others (as kind as he has thought possible) but…

But he doesn’t know enough to say it.

…

You should have said it. You might never get a chance to tell him again. You knew at the time, and the only reason you didn’t say it was because you were a fucking coward.

Garou curls up tighter.

Or.

An itch is beginning to cover his skin. His eyes actually hurt, like he’s been swimming with his eyes open, but it deepens into a worst burn.

Or you never loved him at all.

“No!” When Garou punches the ground, he can see that his skin is different. Harder, stony. Like that day. His head is on fire. The voice that comes up from his throat doesn’t even sound like his. It’s coming out of a smoking muzzle.

When he gets up - on all fours, so tall now that the long, hard tail swinging behind him knocks two trees over - he picks up the jacket, the picture still in the pocket, and holds it against his chest. The armor shell that has been forming around him seems to swallow it up, and he can feel the material, feel Badd, pressed to him. Present. Protected.

It’s very possible that he won’t survive the night.

He accepts that.

And as he lets out a howl so long and so low, so reverberating and far-traveling that he can hear dogs on the far shore return his call, he turns away from the hill and begins to run back toward the city.

---

It’s like this was the only form he could take to quiet his mind.

Because when Garou gets to the Hero Association Headquarters, he doesn’t stop to think or consider his next plans. He’s not crafty or cunning (was he ever?). He’s a mad dog. No, a wolf. A rabid wolf, in form as much as action now.

And the Hero Association has never been good at actually defending itself against monsters.

The glass in the front of the huge building shatters as he goes through it.

“Baaaaaadd!” It’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth where gray fangs make the darkness within look like a cave without an end. “Badd!”

The men inside are shooting at him, but this isn’t like inside the house. The bullets bounce off him, and he runs through them, into a door, another passage. His huge nose sniffs at the air, and even though they begin crumbling under his weight, he starts taking the stone stairs that lead up further into the building.

More security. This time, in the form of flying drones with both constant artillery as well as drugs, electricity, nets.

Insects. All of them.

It’s not to say that Garou doesn’t feel their attacks. The rocky armor surrounding him cracks in places, pieces falling to the floor in small piles. But he’s being fueled by something greater than metal and energy.

They crunch like cans in his jaws.

“Baaaadd!”

He tears through another door, clearly reinforced, having to dig through it with his claws. Cameras are watching him; sometimes he catches one out of the corner of his eye, and in the lens he can see his blood-red, burning eyes.

He doesn’t waste time with them. Let them see.

More humans. More humans with guns, with long spears that end in shock cords, like the kind used to leash strays. Do they think it will be effective? They sting when they touch him, sure, when they manage to loop his ears but the moment he shakes his head he can hear their bodies make contact with the walls.

They keep trying to trap him, trying to close him between lock-down gates. It’s obvious they think he’ll try to go through the steel, but then he just turns and rips his way through the wall.

More robots. More rolling, shielded automatons. They issue warnings he doesn’t heed, and the ones he can’t literally destroy he just ignores.

Then, it gets quiet.

And that is worse than any of the defense that he’s faced to this point as he’s climbed higher and higher in the building, following Badd’s scent, tracking him through corridors and stairs and firepower.

When he gets to a large, open room, empty but for equipment and air ducts far up in the ceiling, he’s about to start scaling the wall when the door in front of him opens and a lone figure walks through.

“Ah...I just want to sleep...why do they want to put me to work so late?”

It’s him. Saitama. Again, here, at the end of everything, why, why, why .

He’s picking at his ear, his other hand in the pocket of his striped pajamas. “Didn’t even have time to change…”

Garou’s options are limited. He can go back the way he came, or he can charge forward. But then, would he make it either way? Saitama was fast last time. And Garou…

He can’t help slumping. God, he’s tired.

He’s no stronger than he was before…

“Oh, it’s you again. You look a bit different. So...you here to cause trouble, or…?

Garou growls. He’s talking to him like he’s a child that’s gotten somewhere he’s not supposed to be. On the tip of his nose, he can just barely smell Badd still. They’re moving him. Higher? Farther away? It’s hard to tell. “Badd…”

Saitama turns and looks up toward the ceiling, where Garou’s gaze is fixed. “Is that why you’re here? Are you two friends now or something?”

The growling intensifies. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have. This isn’t a moment he wants to share. Not with him. Not with the one person who could break him down so completely, who could ruin everything like it was nothing.

“I don’t like that, you know. What they’re doing.”

Garou stops moving.

“Everybody knows Metal Bat. He talks about his sister in every meeting. I don’t think he would do something that would endanger her.” He drops his fist in his hand, as though something has made sense to him. “It was you, wasn’t it? Who they think he’s associating with. You two are friends now. Good thing Genos isn’t here...that probably wouldn’t be enough to stop him.”

Garou watches as Saitama moves, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think,” he says, cracking his bare feet against the floor, “this is better for you, you know. Doing more of the hero thing. The villain thing was kind of half-assed, you know.”

Saitama walks away from the door he came out of, leaning against the wall.

“And I’m sure I’m probably already in trouble, but it’s going to be worse for you if you don’t go get him now. Because they’ll probably send one of those other heroes after you...maybe that scary girl that flies around.”

Every instinct Garou has is telling him this is a trick. A trap. Not to trust anything he says, to stay and fight.

But what is there to gain? What would be smarter or better than just letting the strongest hero kill him right here, right now?

...he’s still not going to thank him. He won’t give him that satisfaction.

Garou just smashes through the door and keeps running.

—

Badd wonders if he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience.

He can’t focus on anything, he realizes. Not asleep. Not awake.

At one point he thinks...is he at the dentist? Because there’s something in his mouth, keeping him from putting his teeth together...but they don’t cuff your hands to the bed at the dentist, do they?

Now and then, he hears people talking.

At this moment? People are talking much louder. More excitedly. Above him, lights are moving quicker. He can see them around the mask over his nose.

He’s in a hallway.

And everything is starting to feel...bumpy. Like there’s an earthquake. Is it an earthquake? Are they taking him somewhere safe?

...somewhere safe...because...this place isn’t safe, is it?

People start screaming, and suddenly something huge is standing over him. He’s staring into gray dark, and there are four limbs over top of where he is laying. Somehow, in all of the fog, it’s like…

It’s like he knows he’s being protected.

“Hnngh…?” He can’t talk with the thing in his mouth. And his hands are still trapped.

This...god, yes, this has to be a dream. It’s the only thing that makes sense when all the sounds stop and the creature backs up and stares down at him. A wolf. But...a statue of a wolf? No, more like a gargoyle, because there are cracks in the stone, and that’s falling away, getting smaller until…

Garou.

Garou’s here.

He tries to reach his hands out to him, but...right, no, those have to stay where they are. Except then Garou breaks the thick cuffs, and he’s snapping the harness that’s around his head, holding what he sees now is some kind of bit. He takes the mask off him too.

Slowly, he begins to come back into the real world.

“Garou…Garou, I…” Arms go around him, holding him so suddenly, so tightly, that his muscles object because… “How long have I been here?”

“Two days. I love you.”

Badd blinks. “Garou, it’s—”

“This is my fault. It’s all my fault. I ruined your life. I ruined your life, and they took you away, and if I had lost you, I would have...I don’t know what I would have done. And you would have been gone without me having said it back.”

Badd pulls back enough to look him in the face. He doesn’t even know how to describe the expression that’s there. Garou looks like he’s the one who was coming close to death. “I love you too. Okay? I’m okay. They probably...fuck, they were probably keepin’ me under and all so I wouldn’t trigger my Fightin’ Spirit. If I accidentally bit my tongue ‘r somethin.’”

Garou kisses him, and he kisses back. He’s pretty sure they both know this is not what they should be doing right now, but…

“Zenko. Fuck, Zenko, is she—”

“She’s okay. So’s Tama.”

Even in spite of the terrible condition they are in, as Garou helps him out of what seems to be a modified hospital bed, Badd has to laugh. “Ya went back for Tama, huh…”

Garou picks up something off the floor. His jacket, he realizes, and Garou puts it on him, over the sort of sterile gown they changed him into. He takes a step and almost falls, and Garou picks him up effortlessly in his arms.

“Ya know...I didn’t think that the first time you would carry me like this would be so...dire, ya know?”

Garou’s face is starting to soften, and as he hears approaching footsteps - running, quickly - he takes them through an empty room. The windows overlook the city beyond. It’s a long way down, but...they’ve both managed from higher places. “Ready?” he asks.

Badd tucks his face into Garou’s neck and steals one last kiss before bracing himself. “Yeah...yeah. Let’s do this.”

He’s not lying. The rest of the details aren’t important. He just closes his eyes as Garou carries him through the glass and the air, into whatever comes next for them, trusting that he’ll get them there, no matter what.

#my paperfics #one punch man #batarou #metal bat #badd #garou #angst #a lot of angst woof #that's really it that's the biggest tag honestly #it's fun though imagining what might happen to them next

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