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mochiwrites · 2 months

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late night visitor.

in which grian gets a visit from the city’s popular hero, hotguy.

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There’s a tapping sound at Grian’s window. He straightens up from where he’s hunched over at his desk, papers from the library waiting to be sorted and marked. The pen he has in his hand is set down as he turns around in his chair, angling himself toward the window. Soft brown eyes flick toward the glass, and his lips curl in a slight cringe.

Standing behind Grian’s window, right on his balcony, is none other than the city’s top hero, Hotguy. Irritation and confusion sparks within him as he sees the orange and teal clad man, arrowhead insignia proudly displayed on his chest. His sleeves are short, leaving the muscles of his biceps exposed. Fingerless gloves sit on his hands, bow and quiver on his back. An orange and teal mask covers his face, letting Grian see no more than his green eyes. His brown hair is dark in the cover of night, a small ponytail at the base of his head. A pleased smirk sits on his face, a signature look.

Grian feels his eyebrow twitch.

He pushes himself up from his chair, taking a few measured steps over to the hero. Hotguy’s smirk widens as Grian moves closer, until he’s right in front of the window. The glass slides up, and Grian lifts a brow, “Don’t you have more important things to do than haggling civilians, Hotguy?”

“Gaggling? I’d never do such a thing!” Hotguy retorts, a playful lilt to his words as he smiles down at Grian. “I’ve only come by to see my favorite civilian!”

“Pretty sure you still have better things to do. Like patrolling?” Grian offers, stepping back. His words don’t seem to bother Hotguy as he climbs into Grian’s apartment through the window.

The breeze from the wind follows him in, adding a slight chill to the room. Hotguy straightens as both feet land on the floor, taking a look around the place as if he hasn’t seen it before. “Not to worry, Grian. I’ve already finished patrolling for the night!” he says proudly, moving to set his bow down on the table nearby. “Besides, whatever I don’t catch, I’m sure Cuteguy will.”

It’s a statement Grian would put faith in, if he wasn’t the aforementioned hero. Maybe he can find a bit of appreciation in how much Hotguy seems to trust him, even now. There’s a small smile that seems to pull at his lips as he shakes his head.

He’s honestly not sure how he’s ended in this position, with his hero partner dropping by his apartment on occasion. Hotguy only found out where he lived because of a villain attack once. It had been way too risky to try anything that may give his Cuteguy identity away, so he had let Hotguy rescue him and get him safely home (the guy may irritate Grian sometimes, but he still owes him a lot).

From there Hotguy would come by once in a while, performing ‘check ups’ as he liked to call them. Grian thinks they’re just excuses to slack off. Hotguy vehemently denies it of course.

It’s something he’s gotten used to after a few months of this happening, even if it makes him nervous. He doesn’t want Hotguy finding out his identity, nor does he want to know Hotguy’s.

Because he’s a liability. Who knows what could happen if he ever found out and it was used against him. Or…

He still owes Hotguy so much.

So far it’s seemed okay. It isn’t like there’s much connecting Grian to Cuteguy in his apartment. Hotguy certainly hasn’t put anything together, which he can breathe a sigh of relief at.

“Ooooo, what’s all this?” Hotguy’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, causing Grian to angle his head toward him from where he had been staring off. The hero has migrated over to his desk, peering down at the papers. He picks one up, “Up late organizing papers again, huh?”

Grian shrugs in response, “Sacrifices have to be made now and then.” He then frowns as he watches the hero turn a page toward him, reading it. “Hey, put that down will you?”

“Ooooo, town history! How fun,” Hotguy hums as he sets the paper back down on the desk. He turns back to look at Grian with a charming smile. “Though there’s definitely better ways to spend your evening, G.”

“Good thing you’re not me then,” Grian snorts, shaking his head. “I happen to quite enjoy staying indoors and organizing papers. I much prefer it over dealing with pesky heroes,” he deadpans. He doesn’t, but Hotguy doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh, Grian, you wound me!” Hotguy cries playfully, setting a hand on his chest. “I bet I could make your evening ten times more amayzin’!”

The image that conjures is one that causes Grian to shudder. He can totally see Hotguy sitting with him in his apartment, talking his ear off about how cool of a hero he is He grimaces, “Somehow I doubt you’d make improve my evening. Actually, I think you—”

Grian takes a step toward him, only for the bow sitting on his table to catch his eye. He stills, words turning to dust on his tongue as he stares at the weapon. He’s seen it plenty of times in battle before, watched Hotguy shoot three glowing arrows at once with terrifying precision without even flinching. But he’s never seen it up close.

Walking over to the table, Grian sets a hand over it, humming quietly as the previous conversation is forgotten. “Weird to see you without this thing,” he idly comments. He traces over the edge of the bow with a finger, feeling the hard material under his touch.

“Ah, Grian, you really shouldn’t—” Hotguy tries to say, but Grian is already grabbing it. He turns and points the end right at the hero with a mischievous smile.

“What, afraid I’m gonna poke my own eye out or something?” he teases, shaking his head. Like he’d be careless enough to do something like that.

Hotguy walks over to him, frowning slightly. “Careful where you point that thing! That’s a weapon you’re holding.”

“I know what a bow is, Hotguy,” Grian huffs lightly in return. “I’m just looking at it. I’ve never seen it up close before.” His gaze returns to the bow, a curious hum reverberating in his chest.

“Well of course you haven’t,” Hotguy chuckles quietly. The frown lifts from his face, lips going lax as he stands in front of Grian. “I usually don’t let anyone other than my technician handle it. But I guess I can make an exception for my favorite civilian. As long as you’re not shootin’ any real arrows.”

“How kind of you.” Grian’s eyes trace the details of the bow, a bit of awe in his expression. It’s not light by any means, Grian has to hold it with both hands. How the hell does Hotguy shoot with it? He knew the guy was strong, but this is something else. The bowstring is black and hard to pull back, Grian finds, as he experimentally tugs on it. The bow itself matches Hotguy’s aesthetic well, with the top half being teal and the bottom orange. On its own it’s nothing special, just some heavy bow. But its user makes all the difference.

He glances over at Hotguy with a hint of curiosity, “How do you handle this thing, anyway?” It might be helpful to know for the future, should anything happen and Cuteguy needs to make a quick shot. He’s no Hotguy when it comes to precision, but he can certainly try.

Hotguy doesn’t answer immediately, instead gazing at Grian through his mask. His eyes are soft, contemplative as he thinks over his response. Grian waits, gaze drawn to the bow in his hands instead of the hero in front of him.

“Well,” Hotguy begins after a moment, moving in, “firstly, your position is all off.” He slides up behind Grian, causing the shorter to stiffen. A hand falls over his, the one holding the bow, and it’s raised. “Angle your feet ninety degrees, and keep them shoulder length apart.” He gently nudges Grian’s right foot with his boot, encouraging him to fix his position. “Good, just like that.”

Hearing Hotguy so close to his ear sends chills down Grian’s spine, little pinpricks that tingle right down to his lower back. He can feel the hero’s breath against his neck, and Grian finds his face feeling warm. Why is he suddenly so embarrassed?

With gentle fingers, Hotguy lifts Grian’s arm, pointing the bow at nothing. “You’ll want to keep your arm straight. I’d normally load an arrow at this point, but I think it’s in our best interest to keep those away from you,” he chuckles, and the sound is smooth like velvet, low and deep. Grian shudders. Hotguy speaks quietly, like being any louder would send Grian scampering away as if he were a startled rabbit.

Hotguy keeps his grip on Grian’s raised arm with one hand, the other sliding around to his front. Gentle but sturdy fingers settle over Grian’s stomach, setting a light pressure against his abdomen. His hands are warm against Grian, he can feel his heart stuttering in his chest. It’s hard for him to concentrate with the hero so close.

“Don’t trust me with an arrow?” Grian can’t help but ask, his voice surprisingly just as quiet as Hotguy’s.

He feels the way Hotguy’s chest rumbles from his laughter with how Grian’s practically pressing against him.

His cheeks feel really warm.

Movement from the corner of his eye has him shifting his gaze to lock eyes with the hero. He sees a soft gleam in them, something that seems to go past the kind of look a hero may direct at a civilian. It’s softness is reflected in the depth of Hotguy’s eyes, all forest-like green and bright with color. The green seems lighter like this, smoother.

Grian wonders what his face would like if the mask wasn’t there. Would the softness sit on his expression? Would it still be so open, like Hotguy’s heart on his sleeve, if there were no make to shield it? Would he let Grian see it? If Grian asked would—

He quickly shakes himself out of those thoughts, horrified. Where did they come from?!

“I want to be careful with you,” Hotguy finally murmurs to him, and god that is not helping with Grian’s embarrassing thoughts! “Giving you high tech hero equipment you don’t know how to use kind of goes against that, Gri.”

Gri.

Gri?!

What the hell is happening right now?!

Some sort of noise punches its way out of Grian as he stares at Hotguy, struggling for some sort of response. Normally he’d reply with snark, some kind of sarcastic remark. But right now he’s coming up empty, unable to move away from the fact that Hotguy is holding him and he doesn’t want him to let go. God what’s wrong with him all of the sudden?

Hotguy’s eyes seem to widen at the noise Grian makes, and just like that the warmth is gone. “Oh gosh! I was totally just all up in your grill there!” he exclaims, stepping back. He seamlessly takes the bow from Grian’s hands as he moves away, leaving Grian’s back rather chilly. His face is red, if not more red than Grian’s is. The two of them are trapped in some sort of staring contest with each other, individual thoughts racing.

Neither speak.

“W-Well uh, that’s how you use the Hotguy bow! P-Pretty neat huh?” Hotguy says after a moment, chuckling nervously. Something on his wrist beeps, and he glances down at it.

Grian breaks out of his stupor then, watching Hotguy move. “Something wrong?” he asks, finally finding his words.

“Nothing to worry about. Just duty calling.” Hotguy looks back up at him, cheeks still warm with a nervous smile. “I’ll have to cut this one short! We’ll save the archery lesson for another time!” He gives Grian a salute before heading back out the way he came.

Alone in his apartment, Grian stands. His heart is still pounding, staring at where the city’s hero stood not even a few seconds ago. Wordlessly, he falls back in a chair, still staring off.

Maybe he should’ve been called Whirlwind instead.

#mochi writes #feathered redemption au #scarian #hermitshipping #hotguy hermitcraft #this is soooo rough #and the ending is super rushed #but this scene has been plaguing me all day I had to throw it down #this is somehow 2k????#wrote this all today whoops #I’m still trying to take it easy with the burnout #but here’s Something

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