I swear to God, idk why I'm so attached to this fic.
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Several Months Earlier
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Twenty minutes, they told her. That's how long we can guarantee the cameras are off. The message was simple and clear: twenty minutes to finish her mission or she'd be caught and they'd wipe their hands clean of her.
As Zoran crept through the eerily silent corridors of the dimly-lit mansion, her frame was as taut as a wire, ready to spring forward and act at the smallest notice. Her footsteps were nimble; she practically glided through the hallway, finally coming to a stop in front of a door. Ten feet of daunting iron loomed over her.
Without a second of hesitation, she threw the doors open and dematerialized as bullets whizzed towards her. Zoran reappeared in the middle of the study, directly behind the burly man hiding behind a squadron of bodyguards. The man let out a panicked shout when he noticed her presence, but his warning was too late; she grabbed him by the neck and pressed her gun to his temple.
"Shoot me and he dies," she intoned. "Drop the guns."
The man's six bodyguards paused, but then let their weapons fall to the floor. The guns landed on the ground with a loud clatter. The number of bodyguards that he had hired was obviously overkill for a normal businessman; it was one of the many signs pointing towards his...less savory dealings.
Zoran winked at the bodyguards. "Sorry fellas, just doing my job," she explained, her attempt at diffusing the tension failing miserably. She had never been one to lighten the gravity of any conversation when in her hero gear; that honor usually went to Hawks with his blabbermouth. The terror she drew was optimal for most of her missions, but it also detracted from the whole "kind, pro-hero" image.
No wonder they switched me to more covert field missions. Zoran heaved a mental sigh. It wouldn't do for the Hero Public Safety Commission to sponsor such a daunting hero.
"Please leave and shut the door behind you," she instructed the bodyguards, giving them a sickeningly sweet smile. Her voice darkened when they didn't move. "Or I'll shoot."
Slowly, the bodyguards trickled out of the room. One of them spat at her, but her expression remained impassive. Finally, they were alone.
The door closed with a loud, ominous thump. Zoran waited for a few moments, then heard her personal intercom flicker to life. "Room's secured, Zoran."
"Thanks, dear!" she cooed to her temporary mission partner — some newbie with the ability to manipulate metal or something. Everything was going according to plan. Zoran slipped her gun back into its holster, pushing the man in his chair and teleporting in front of him. To his credit, the businessman was smart enough to not attempt escaping.
A smirk crawled over her face as she slammed her hands against his desk. He flinched.
"We've been investigating your affairs for quite awhile, you know. Tell me, Shirakawa-san," Zoran purred, her voice lilting. "Does it give you pleasure to see the despairing faces of the girls you sell? Their terrified screams? Their desperate pleas? How do you live with yourself, knowing that you've brought misery to so many people? Does it please you to lie to your shareholders? To your wife? To your children?"
With each inquiry, the man seemed to shrink into himself more. "I...I d-don't know what you're talking about!" he stuttered, his voice lined with desperation.
"Oh, I'm sure you do!" Zoran beamed. "My, my...Quirk-trafficking. Most of the public view it as distasteful, but there always are those few who would be willing to throw away their morals for...important assets. And what a profitable venture it must be! With the amount of orphanages you sponsor, nobody would suspect the humanitarian billionaire CEO Shirakawa Eiichiro to be the one orchestrating all of those girls' disappearances."
She tapped her finger against her chin mockingly. "Oh, but why would such a successful businessman undertake such a venture, you might ask? 'Surely,' you might suggest, 'I wouldn't have done such a thing since I already have money.' And I would nod very understandingly before telling you to stop spewing utter bullshit. A failing pharmaceutical company on the verge of bankruptcy...suddenly turning around and becoming the leading pharmaceutical company in the world after a few miraculous new drugs? I wonder...what kind of Quirk helped you with that? Did you sell her off? Or...maybe, you keep her in the basement below your main building."
Suddenly, Shirakawa's face dawned with recognition. "You...I know you…"
"Yes, I was one of the so-called buyers during one of your auction whom you personally escorted," Zoran admitted. "Another one of my colleagues investigated into that girl you're keeping, though."
His innocent facade dropped, his voice growing rougher. "How much are they paying you, girl?" he demanded. "A million? Two million? I can make you a better deal."
Zoran's nose wrinkled with distaste. "I'm afraid that my loyalty can't be bought, sadly. I'm a pro-hero."
He squinted at her, the perceptive CEO in him shining through. Shirakawa was, despite everything, a brilliant man. It was a shame: even without exploiting women and children, his company probably would have survived if he had more faith in his abilities. "But you're one of those ones the Hero Public Safety Commission got, aren't you? One of those kids they—"
"I'm perfectly satisfied with my current life, Shirakawa-san. Could you say the same for yourself?" Zoran deflected. "I'll tell you this: the government wants you to step down. You will do so with grace, or I'll be paying you another visit...and this time, it'll be a lot less friendly. You will stop all of your Quirk trafficking activity — we can track you, by the way, so don't try to fool us. As for the girl with the drug-development quirk...we'll be taking her off your hands."
Shirakawa looked frozen and utterly defeated for a moment, but he flared back to life with bitter, maniacal laughter. "Hypocrites!" he shouted. "Hypocrites, all of you. You preach justice and liberty but she'll be treated as a tool, just like she was for me. You claim that—" His air supply was abruptly cut off as Zoran wrapped her hands around his neck.
"You will do all that we ask of you, Shirakawa-san," she told him. She lowered her voice. "Be glad your family is still alive."
And with that, she teleported out of the mansion.
"Mission complete?"
Her shoulders slumped, as if burdened by a heavy weight. "Mission complete."
The door swung open with a slightly louder creak than she had intended. "Sorry for being late!" Zoran called, lugging her bag of groceries and bag of presents behind her as she entered the foyer of the apartment. A squeal resounded from the bedroom. Then, a white blur popped out to greet her.
"ZORAAAAAN!"
"Miruko," she acknowledged, barely flinching as the white-haired heroine bounded over for a giant hug. "Where's Hawks?"
The bunny heroine giggled sheepishly. Warning bells rang in Zoran's mind. "Well…"
Warm, strong arms enveloped her, wrapping around her waist and drawing her closer. She was assaulted with the faint scent of smoke and freedom (because that was what he was: tantalizing, dazzling freedom). For a moment, she let herself lean into his chest, her eyes fluttering shut as she basked in this feeling of rightness. He was silent, too, unwilling to break the spell that had fallen upon them.
She broke it first.
"...really?" Zoran deadpanned.
He rested his head on her shoulder, sending an electrifying thrill down her spine. Laughing quietly, he whispered, "Guess who?"
Zoran scowled, teleporting out of his arms and giving him an unimpressed rise of the eyebrows. "Really, Hawks?" she repeated, folding her arms over her chest as the sandy-blonde snickered, sending her a mock-wounded look. She took in the sight of him with a wry smile; it had been several weeks since she last saw him. Although they still exchanged the occasional texts, it wasn't the same as seeing Hawks in person.
The number three pro-hero looked well. More than well, really: his cheeks were flushed, probably from the influence of alcohol. Though he denied it, Zoran knew Hawks to be a lightweight. No doubt, one of the other heroes had goaded him into a drinking contest of some sort before she arrived.
Idiot, she thought to herself. To her horror, it sounded almost fond.
Hawks hadn't changed much in her absence. He was still taller than her— it was hardly an impressive feat, though, considering she was only 162cm tall. Similarly, he was still wearing the same old grin he always wore (the one that made her insides flutter as if she were a giggling teenager again).
But something about his demeanor had shifted: somehow, he felt bolder, stronger, and perhaps a bit more focused...even if he was slouching and acting casually.
Hawks must have noticed that her eyes were roaming for too long, for once she lifted her gaze to face him again, he was smirking. "Like what you see?" he teased, drawing closer. Something about the way his gaze softened made heat pool in her stomach, her heart thumping loudly in her chest as he closed the distance between them.
"As if," Zoran snorted, shoving him away lightly. "How much did I miss?"
"Oh, you know, the usual," Hawks waved away the matter lazily. "Midnight screwing around with the newbies, Mic forcing Eraser to stay, drinking contests galore. The usual. Ah, Best Jeanist and Fat Gum came this time! At this rate, we might be able to gather all of the top ten by next Christmas."
"Best Jeanist and Fat Gum, huh?" Zoran echoed as Hawks threw his arm around her shoulder and guided her inside. The other heroes cheered as she entered the room, giving her varied greetings. Some of the newer heroes viewed her with either trepidation or confusion, unsure of her identity.
"Hey, Hawks!" one of them had the gall to call as Zoran threw her bag of presents in the growing pile of gifts; their group of heroes had established a yearly tradition of selecting random presents from a pile, so she hadn't bothered to personalize them. "I thought we agreed no civilians or girlfriends allowed."
Ryukyu, who was sitting on the couch near the younger hero, tittered. Miruko, who was trailing behind them, was nowhere near refined, bursting into peals of laughter. Both reactions further confused the new heroes.
Zoran gave him a closed-eye smile, her tone saccharine. "One, not a civilian. Two, not his girlfriend."
The hero let out a quiet squeak of fright.
"She's boring," Hawks complained, alleviating the tense atmosphere easily with his blunt attitude. His wings, previously folded, shot outwards and nearly smacked her in the face. "No love life whatsoever. Say, say, Miruko, we should do something about that."
Zoran scowled, taking a step back so that she was standing in the threshold of the room. One of Hawks' feathers tugged on her sleeve, attempting to draw her back. "I don't need you two messing around with my social life, thank you very much."
"I beg to differ. The past three dates you went out with were all ugly as hell—"
"They looked pretty cool—"
"I'm cooler!"
"I'm sure that one girl you tried wooing — Sana, wasn't it? — would beg to differ."
As their conversation dissolved into childish bickering, the older pro heroes exchanged knowing glances while the younger ones looked to them for guidance. (Miruko, acting surprisingly stealthy, bounded over to the newer heroes and murmured something about "placing a bet.") Several pointed jabs later, Ryukyu cleared her throat, interrupting them.
"Right. I brought some treats," Zoran declared, sashaying past the winged hero into the kitchen. "Only those with Ryukyu's approval or my express permission are allowed in here. Hawks, get your ass over here. Miruko, no sneaking in."
(Memories of last year's kitchen explosion caused by the bunny heroine haunted her in her dreams.)
"Yeah, yeah," Hawks agreed lazily, following her into the kitchen. "You forgot 'attractive,' by the way."
"Attractive?" Zoran echoed, setting down her plastic bag on the counter and proceeding to grab and set out all of the groceries.
Hawks nodded very seriously. "I have an extremely attractive ass."
She snorted, her lips tugging upwards. "I beg to differ. You think they'd like chocolate chip cookies?"
He took her unsubtle segue in stride. "Half of them can't cook. I'm pretty sure you could give them burnt cookies and they'd still worship you."
Laughter slipped from her lips, and suddenly he looked extremely smug, as if making her laugh was a grand achievement in itself.
Without needing any verbal instructions, Hawks shuffled up and stood beside her, his wings retracting as they worked silently. Occasionally, Zoran would murmur words like "chocolate" or "rolling pin" and he would oblige, but they worked in tandem flawlessly. It was natural: she had known him since they first started down the pro-hero path over a decade ago. Zoran knew Hawks inside-out, just like he knew her.
It was terrifying to have someone like that in her life. He could read her expressions without missing a beat, could crack all of her masks without lifting a finger, could—
"Careful," Hawks murmured, his voice a low, throaty timbre as he grabbed her hand to stop her from bumping into the oven. He was always more subdued and mature when they were alone.
Sometimes, Zoran wondered if his blabbermouth enthusiasm was just a mask, but she knew it wasn't. Hawks was undeniably good and genuinely did speak a mile a minute,even though he had his somber moments.
He withdrew his hand once he was sure that she wasn't spacing out. Zoran sent him a nod of thanks, bending down and setting the cookies in the oven. Even though she was wearing oven mitts...her hand burned. When she stood up, Zoran turned to glance at the unusually silent sandy-blonde hero only to spot him at the sink, humming some Christmas carol under his breath as he washed the kitchenware.
It was so frighteningly domestic that she couldn't help but stare at him for at least a minute, heat rising to her cheeks.
Then, Miruko popped her head in the kitchen. "You two done yet?"
Right. Party. Christmas.
"I—uh, just a bit more," Zoran responded, stumbling over to the sink to dry the kitchenware. Hawks easily made way for her, shifting to the right so that they could both work. Though neither of them spoke, it felt comfortable. Hawks' humming of 'All I Want for Christmas,' deep and steady, and the scent of chocolate wafting through the air felt like...home.
...she was staring at him again. Dammit.
"Zoran?"
What am I, some kind of innocent schoolgirl? Zoran inwardly bemoaned. Embarrassed to be caught staring, she ducked her head and murmured, "It's nothing."
He scrutinized her expression. Thankfully, the timer went off, saving her from further embarrassment. "Come on," she said, gesturing to the oven. "I think they're getting impatient."
"Sometimes I wonder if they're a group of elite pro heroes or a group of toddlers," Hawks sighed dramatically.
Despite herself, Zoran snickered.
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Four hours, seven cans of beer, and eight games of half-drunk strip poker later, Zoran was pretty sure that the party was getting out of hand. At the very least, she wasn't as wasted as Miruko; the bunny heroine lay unresponsive on the floor and would probably stay there until morning. Ryukyu, just a bit tipsy, smiled half in exasperation and half in fondness at the drunken younger heroes, who were screeching some unidentifiable song at the top of their lungs.
Zoran glanced at Hawks, who was sprawled lazily on the sofa beside her. "I'm surprised you're not wasted yet."
"My alcohol tolerance isn't that bad," he quipped.
She glanced at the dishes precariously stacked on the counter, wobbling and in danger of toppling over. "Should we get to those?"
"Nah, let them do it. We already baked and cooked."
Hawks stood up abruptly. Zoran watched, amused, as the winged hero grabbed a blanket and threw it over Miruko before returning to his spot next to her. "You know, you could bring her to the bedroom."
"And have her puke all over me? Nah." He shrugged lazily.
"If you're going to pretend to be a gentleman, the least you could do is pretend properly."
He feigned hurt. "Now, are you implying that I'm not a gentleman, Zoran?"
She smirked. Then, she casually leaned over and threaded her fingers through his hair; Hawks' ash-blonde hair, naturally styled almost like feathers, felt sinfully silky. "You're the worst of the worst."
"Hit me where it hurts, huh."
"I try my best."
"Sadist."
"Heh."
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