you-look-a-little...-pained

He Don’t Mean It- Chapter 3 (A Meihem/Zaryahog fanfiction)

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’M SORRY OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE.)

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11563764/chapters/26447322


“Well. It seems now we are both in dog house.”

Zarya was, to both of their surprises, the first one to speak. Junkrat was too busy staring dumbfounded after Mei’s retreating figure, until even his keen night vision could no longer make her out and she was truly gone. A distressed little gurgling noise was the only sound he could seem to wrest from his throat, while the larger woman next to him wiped at some of the crusted blood below her nose before she sighed and folded her massive arms.

“I hate it when she is mad at me,” she said, sounding surprisingly resigned. “She can hold massive grudge for weeks.”

The verbal dam holding back the junker’s words finally seemed to break, and they came out as a torrent. “Ya think I don’t know it, russki?! Oh, this is bad. This is real bad. It’s over, ain’t it? I’ve come a gutser.” He dragged both hands down his swollen and battered face, black nails digging into his bruised cheeks. “It’s like you said, she can hold a grudge. But this is more’na grudge. She ain’t gonna forgive me, is she? This isn’t like those other times, like when I leave the toilet seat up or forget when the mission dates are or when I put that confetti bomb in her undies drawer. She’s mad as a cut snake! This is gonna be Goodnight Irene!”

“Er,” Zarya frowned at him unsurely, unable to really keep track of his rapid train of thought or his Australian slang. “…Yes?”

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Soulmate Special #1 - Tsuna

Soulmate AU where you’re born knowing your soulmate’s (future) biggest secret.

In a world where you grew up knowing your soulmate’s future biggest secret, it wasn’t exactly uncommon to have some problems adjusting.  There were always those sad cases of knowing that “my soulmate is going to be abusive,” or “my soulmate is going to have an affair,” there were other ones like “my soulmate will be an embezzler” or something slightly shady like that.  You were willing to bet that there weren’t many people who grew up with the knowledge that “my soulmate is going to be the head of a mafia family.”

Nope.  You were a “lucky” one, with something unique and crazy.  There wouldn’t be many people who fit that description, which was rather nice.  You were never someone attracted to the thrill of falling in love and hoping that this one person would be your soulmate.  Give you something more concrete any day of the week.  

By the time your parents decided you were old enough to ask if you would like to share what your soulmate’s secret, you were old enough to understand the nature of a secret – particularly yours.  You refused and moved on with your life.  And by moved on, you had started your training.  If you were going to marry the head of a mafia family you were going to be well prepared.  

Sure, it was a little hard to get information about the mafia, especially as an eight year old, but you made sure to smile innocently up at them, and say that you had a lot of interests, you threw in some sports books too…as if you would have time to be interested in sports.  At nine, you convinced your parents to sign you up to language classes.  At ten you had added two more languages to your repertoire and were confident enough to add dance lessons to your growing classes of languages.  

By eleven you had moved on from books about the mafia to books about business and economics.  People called you a genius.  You considered yourself more self-preserving.  Twelve saw you getting interested in debate and the chess club, being called a nerd now would definitely be worth the strategy you would be practiced in when you were older.  Thirteen had you demanding a camp for “youth leadership” – hopefully the principles taught there would carry over into “adult leadership,” if not, you would be sorely disappointed in this waste of time.  

At fourteen, you had been learning roughly two languages a year for five years.  You had been practicing dance and etiquette for four, studying business principles for three, working on strategy for two and leadership for about a year.  It was time to more firmly entrench yourself in the ways of the world.  So you ran for student government at your high-school. You had decided that this would be a way to get used to both leadership and figuring out how to get what you wanted from people determined to see you fail.  

You were wonderful at it, obviously. And at this point, all that was left for you to do was to continue your personal studies and wait to see what would happen.  

It was a sunny day, during your second year of college that you met him.  You had gone to Italy for your spring break.  (Starting half way through high-school, you had decided that you needed to be more well-traveled and had undertaken that venture just as quickly, if not a little more excitedly, as the others.)  A beautiful spring day and a warm pastry in your hands, you were enjoying the time off from school, and simply enjoying being alive.  

The gunshots had brought a rather quick end to that.  

Being shoved to the ground by a warm body and looking into the liquid gold eyes of a young man about your age had brought that feeling back just as quickly.  And you knew.  You knew this man was the one destined to be with you forever.  

The way his eyes widened and there was a bit of hesitation before he leaned up to shoot in the direction he came from let you know that he knew as well.  

The shooting was over just as quickly as it had started and you were disappointed to find that despite having thought that you were well-prepared for this, that you were still a little breathless and unable to quite find the words you wanted to say.  You would blame it on the near death experience you had just had.  

Thankfully, it looked like this budding mafia boss was having the same trouble as you were as he took a couple deep breaths before he was able to say anything as well.  

“I’m Tsunayoshi Sawada,” he said as he reached out his hand.

“You’re the head of a mafia family?” You said almost simultaneously, before blushing in a bit of shame.  You had very carefully planned out what you would say during the first meeting, make sure your soulmate knew that it hadn’t been a mistake that you were his soulmate. But Tsunayohsi Sawada was not what you had been picturing.  He was much leaner…and younger…and less Marlon Brando looking than the mental picture.

“Aw man, I had really been hoping that my biggest future secret was that I was a good dancer or something.” He groaned, as he ran his hand through his …rather fluffy, you off handedly noticed…hair.

“I’m sorry, what?”  You blinked, trying to figure out if there was a double meaning to that, or maybe it was code and you were

A laugh from behind had you spinning to see a tall, smiling, dark haired man with a sword strapped to his back, accompanied by a slightly shorter gray haired man with a scowl.  “Tsuna’s been hoping he’ll still figure out a way to get out of it before he’s officially announced Decimo.  Looks like he won’t be.”

“Only because he’ll have chosen not to,” the silver haired man turned to ‘Tsuna.’  “If you really tried, I know that you’d manage to do it.”

“Thank you, Hayato,” Tsuna smile looked a little pained.  “But I don’t think Reborn would ever let me.  Maybe it’s better this way, after all, I know that my soulmate will be more capable than anyone realizes.”

It's much too late, my loves. I need to head off to bed. I'm so, so sorry to leave you with just a taste again...

I just have couple more scenes, I promise! I’m nearly finished, so I’ll finish it up soon as I get up. Sorry, for my loves. I hate doing this to you. I know I’ve had to do that a few times lately, and I completely apologize.  But I also want to give you the best that I can, and not rush through anything. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little bit! And I’m so sorry, again! Thank you so much for being patient and waiting, when time gets away from me. 

See you soon, with the rest! For now, I need to sleep. 

Harry pressed his hands to his lower back, and pushed his hips forward with a soft groan, as he closed the front door to the house, and shuffled into the foyer, grimacing as he went. He was in trouble. Because a fall off a motorcycle, and a heavily pregnant wife, who wasn’t afraid to express her repulsion for the things, now that some very precious cargo was well on the way, was sure to not mix well. You had thought that he was just going to the gym, which he had, regrettably now. Maybe the session of Bikram and forty-five minutes on the treadmill, after the ER physician had cleared him, with only a few bruises and scrapes, and to take it easy on his back, which had taken the blunt of the fall, hadn’t been such a good idea.  

It hadn’t been a hard fall, just a little bumpy desert terrain, and a turn taken too sharply, that had sent the bike out from under him, landing flat on his back, and blinking up at the blaring Southern California sun. Thankfully, it had been at a low speed. Though Cal had insisted that he take him to the E.R. just to make sure, everything was all good. The whole drive to the hospital, was spent with Harry muttering under his breath, at how stupid this had been, and Cal, trying to assure him, that everything would be fine.  

 

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