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wondernimbus · 4 years ago

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two sworn enemies pt. 2 — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: maybe being fancied by draco malfoy isn’t so bad, after all.

requests are closed for now. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

click here to read pt. 1!

"Why is it so bloody cold?"

[Y/N] is decked out in full winter apparel; a knitted Gryffindor sweater, ear-muffs, and a scarf that she has half of her face buried in.

Sitting in the Quidditch stands with the rest of her friends, she grumbles, "It's not even a Gryffindor match. We don't really have to be here freezing to death."

"Well, it's common courtesy," says Hermione, but she's just as cold as [Y/N] is; there's bits of snow stuck in her hair and the tip of her nose is pink.

Ron snorts loudly. “We’re here to watch Slytherin lose," he says matter-of-factly, still in the process of smearing streaks of blue paint across his cheek.

[Y/N] watches him, nose scrunched. "Well, aren't you the Ravenclaw fanatic."

He gives her a grin and holds out the small tub of paint. "Want some?"

She bunches up her lips in thought, then reaches out to take it. Annoyingly enough, Ron pulls back at the last moment, grinning wider than ever, and says, "Or d'you want to show support for your boyfriend Malfoy? Hermione, why don't you turn this green—"

[Y/N] dives over Hermione and Harry to smack Ron round the head, only for the pair to hold her back and push her into her seat.

Exasperated, Hermione huffs, "Honestly, Ronald, will you stop bringing that up?" She glares at him. "You know fully well [Y/N] doesn't like it."

Ron (and Harry, although he isn't as boisterous about it as the redhead), thinks that the "blond ferret" taking a fancying to her is one of, if not the most hilarious thing to have ever happened in history. Annoyingly enough, Ron has made it a habit to tease her about it every chance he gets—this one being one of them.

"If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought Ron fancied Malfoy with how much he talks about him," grins Harry. This earns him a smatter of blue paint across his face; Ron had flicked it at him.

With one last eye-roll, [Y/N] tears her gaze away from Ron and digs her nose further into her scarf. It really is very cold; snow is falling from the sky, seeping into her clothes, some landing on her hair and on her face. Thankfully there's not so much of it that the players on the pitch wouldn't be able to see around them, but still—[Y/N] imagines that it'd be a lot colder for them, having to fly around the stadium with the cold wind whipping at their robes.

There’s a buzz of loud chatter hanging in the air as conversations from all around them overlap over one another. The entire stadium is slowly filling up; students trickle into the stands, a majority of which have adorned themselves with blue accessories as a show of support to Ravenclaw. One side of the stands, however, is entirely green. Through the snow, she can see a big serpent-shaped balloon hovering over the Slytherin side.

"They’re coming out!" someone exclaims.

Sure enough, when [Y/N] looks down at the pitch, players from both teams have appeared and congregated at opposite ends of the pitch. Slytherin and Ravenclaw; whichever house wins will play Gryffindor for the house cup. Most bets are on Slytherin, but [Y/N] would have to be dead before she is caught anywhere supporting them.

"Look, it's [Y/N]'s boyfriend," gushes Ron.

More out of habit than anything, [Y/N] shoots the redhead yet another brief, scathing look. Draco Malfoy is there, even though he's nowhere near being her boyfriend, pale face set into a stoic expression of calm as he stands with the rest of his team, one hand on his broom and the other on his hip—and this specific image has her thinking back to what happened two weeks ago on this very same pitch, except the stadium was empty and it was only the two of them on the grounds; when he'd confessed to liking her.

As if Malfoy has somehow heard her thoughts over the noise of excited chatter coming from all over the stands, he looks up, eyes sweeping the seats in search for someone before finally, they land on her.

When he meets her gaze, [Y/N]'s breath isn't knocked out of her chest, nor does she start blushing madly. But she doesn't burn red with annoyance, either. All she does is stare at him, eyes narrowed, watching as his lips split into a wide grin and he raises his hand to wave at her.

She rolls her eyes, but thankfully—thankfully, the scarf tucked around her neck, reaching up to her nose, conceals the smile that tugs at her lips.

"May I ask everyone to please find themselves in their seats before the match begins," McGonagall’s voice echoes around the stadium, giving [Y/N] a reason to break eye contact.

She tears her stare away from Malfoy’s, inhaling a deep breath through her nose, feeling oddly exhilarated.

But this isn't anything new. That slight feeling of breathlessness, that unfamiliar sensation tickling at her stomach whenever she spots a certain someone in the hallway; she's been feeling it a lot lately, and though the cause seems to be pretty obvious, that is another thing she'd have to be caught dead before doing: admitting that she reciprocates some of Malfoy’s.. peculiar feelings.

"And they're off!" Dean Thomas announces. [Y/N] watches as the players soar high into the air until they're mostly level with the stands, a blur of blue and green robes rapidly zooming around the pitch. Slytherin is already in possession of the quaffle; not a surprise, considering Ravenclaw isn't exactly known for their exceptionally talented Quidditch team.

Malfoy, meanwhile—[Y/N] tells herself that the way her eyes dart around the pitch in search of a certain platinum blond is because she wants to watch the game properly and not for other reasons.

She spots him hovering somewhere above the rest of the players, face screwed up in concentration as his gaze moves around the pitch in search for the golden snitch. He looks even paler in winter, set against a backdrop of a cloudy sky and snow—

[Y/N] jars herself out of her thoughts and blinks, side-eyeing her friends (specifically Ron) to make sure they hadn't seen her.. observing the Slytherin seeker. (Not like it matters; it's not as though she fancies him, but Ron would certainly take it the wrong way.)

"Go Ravenclaw!" Ron practically screeches, waving his Ravenclaw banner in the air—when did he get that? "Kick Slytherin’s arse so Gryffindor can crush you in the finals!"

[Y/N] snorts. "Have it all thought out, don't you, Ron?"

"Go on and cheer for your Slytherin boyfriend, [Y/N], no one's stopping you," says Harry, grinning. She turns to face him, mouth open in disbelief, and lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter.

"So, Harry," [Y/N] says, suddenly deadpan. ”I see you've chosen Ron’s side."

Harry snickers, then shrugs.

"Oh, Malfoy’s seen the snitch!" someone shouts from beside them. [Y/N] turns back to the game to see Malfoy zooming down the pitch, clutching the front of his broom as he swerves past Slytherin and Ravenclaw players alike in pursuit of the tiny golden ball all the way on the other side of the stadium, where [Y/N] and her friends are sat. He has the upper hand—Ravenclaw's seeker is only just now starting to fly after him, but she's a good distance behind and Malfoy is gaining speed.

"He’s gonna catch it!"

"Ravenclaw's even worse than I thought," grumbles Ron, slumping down in his seat.

But just as Malfoy passes by them, somehow, despite the fact that he is in pursuit of the bloody golden snitch and on the brink of securing victory for his team, he slows down just the tiniest bit, and then, in true Malfoy fashion—theatric as always in his displays of affection—he catches her eye and yells “This one's for you, [Y/N]!”, a grin on his face before he hurtles down the pitch, stretching out his hand towards the fluttering snitch—

"Malfoy’s got the snitch!" Dean Thomas screams into his microphone. "Slytherin wins!"

[Y/N] stares, feeling oddly warm despite the wintry weather, as Malfoy spins around in mid-air, triumphantly holding up the snitch for the rest of Hogwarts to see.

"Blimey," gapes Ron, wide-eyed, staring not at the Slytherin seeker but at [Y/N]. "That was—"

[Y/N] looks away from Malfoy to meet Ron's gaze, maintaining indifference. "He’s quite the charmer, isn't he?" she mutters, and hopes that her friends will think that the blush on her cheeks is because of the cold and not because of something—someone else.

But that's ridiculous. It is because of the cold, isn't it?

"It may be Malfoy," says Ron slowly, shaking his head, "But you can't deny that was bloody romantic. Felt like I was watching something out of one of those Muggle films."

"Yeah, we'll have to ask him for tips," says Harry, and starts laughing when [Y/N] rolls her eyes in response.

—

Malfoy may have stopped sending her Howlers, but that hardly matters because he has found every other way to pester her.

This includes consistently yelling out her name and shouting random pick-up lines every time he spots her in the hallway, as well as sending people to do her bidding—no longer first-years, but Crabbe and Goyle, who show up at random intervals everyday presenting her with a batch of different pastries. She always sends the pair off, but only after Ron and Harry accept said pastries for themselves.

"Blimey, this is heavenly!" gushes Ron, taking a passionate bite off of his second red velvet cupcake. "You sure you don't want a bite, [Y/N]? Hermione?"

[Y/N] offers him an exasperated smile. "No, thank you, Ron."

"Don’t thank me, thank your boyfriend."

The four of them walk into the dingy Potions classroom. Snape is nowhere to be seen, but it's only a matter of time before he swoops in all bat-like, so [Y/N] and Hermione quickly take a seat at their regular desk, right next to Ron and Harry.

"Have you done your homework?" asks Hermione, pulling out an assortment of parchment from her bag.

[Y/N] hums in response. "I doubt mine is half as good as yours, but hopefully I’ll scrape an acceptable."

"Oh, you're a good student, [Y/N]. Don't bring yourself down."

"Hard not to when I’m sitting next to the brightest witch in our year," she nudges Hermione’s shoulder, smiling. Hermione huffs, rolling her eyes, but it's clear by the pleased look on her face that she doesn't hate [Y/N]'s honest flattery as much as she lets on.

[Y/N] drums her fingers on the desk to pass time, not quite paying attention to the students filtering into the classroom. Or at least not until one of them calls her name and drawls, "Is someone sitting here?"

[Y/N]'s head snaps around to see none other than Malfoy, gesturing to the desk to the left of hers and Hermione’s. "Mind if I,” he pauses, grinning, "Slytherin?"

She purses her lips into a thin, tight line, inhaling deeply as she fights to keep her cool. Yes, there are times when Malfoy's gestures have her questioning her own hatred for him, but this—this is not one of them.

"That," she says, voice mostly level. "Is your seat, Malfoy. I don’t see why you have to ask me."

Which is a lie. [Y/N] knows why, of course. To get her attention. To woo her. But part of her wishes that Malfoy would realize that everything he is doing, from the overbearing pick up lines to the cupcakes to his constant public declarations of love, isn't something that [Y/N] thoroughly enjoys. Does she want him to stop yelling at her in the hallways? Yes. Does she want Crabbe and Goyle to stop bumbling up to her everywhere she goes (outside of the girl's bathroom is one example) offering cupcakes and pie and tarts? Yes. But does she want Malfoy to stop trying entirely?

Maybe not. Maybe part of her wants to give him a chance. He does seem to truly hold feelings, judging from his confession back at the Quidditch stadium, unless he's a terribly good actor.

And it wouldn't just be him she'd be giving a chance, either. Perhaps she'd also be doing so to herself. Because, over the past month, it's baffled her how quickly her feelings for him have shifted. Or maybe it's not a change of feelings, but rather realization that under all that sneering and pureblood prejudice, Draco Malfoy is a boy.

An annoyingly attractive one.

But there is so much more that [Y/N] dislikes about him. His snootiness. His arrogance. His lack of consideration for other people's feelings. He may be tall and lithe and undeniably handsome, and he may have very soft-looking platinum blond hair and stormy grey eyes like dark clouds, but he is also a prick. And that wins over everything else, no matter how.. visually pleasing he is.

So when a paper bird flutters in front of her halfway through the lesson, when Snape’s back is turned, [Y/N] hesitates. She knows fully well who it's from, despite not having to look to the side and meet his gaze.

From beside her, Hermione whispers, "Get rid of it, before Snape sees."

Exhaling, [Y/N] snatches the paper bird and quickly unfolds it.

She doesn't know what she's expecting to see, but it's certainly not the words "meet me at the Astronomy tower after dinner" scribbled across the parchment. And with a drawing of a face blowing kisses, no less.

[Y/N] sighs.

—

[Y/N] has no real feelings for Malfoy, so succumbing to his mysterious evening request at the Astronomy tower shouldn't mean anything.

Scratch that: it doesn't mean anything. Not to her. (Or so she tells herself.) This is a chance for her to tell Malfoy to sod off and to stop courting her. And for good, this time. No matter what that annoying little voice inside her head tells her, she can't possibly even consider the idea of actually giving in to him. (And to herself.)

So she's going to put a stop to it, once and for all.

"I’m going," she decides over dinner, slamming her palms down on the table.

"Going where?" asks Harry.

"The Astronomy tower," she replies resolutely.

"What, to go star-gazing?" Ron snickers. [Y/N] glances at him and realizes, quickly, that telling them had slipped her mind—she'd been far too preoccupied with her own conflicting thoughts.

She shifts in her seat. She doesn't necessarily need to tell them, does she? It's not as though it's important enough to share. And besides, Ron would only badger her about it. Mercilessly. [Y/N] can already picture him in her head, talking about Malfoy and snogging under the stars and Merlin-knows-what-else.

"Nevermind," says [Y/N], taking a bite out of a muffin and looking away. They don't need to know; it's not as though it's important.

—

After [Y/N] has walked up all of the stairs to get there, only taking one or two shortcuts, she's out of breath, but she creeps into the Astronomy tower anyway. It’s mostly dark save for the faint moonshine filtering in from the open sides, and, well—there he is.

Malfoy’s arms are crossed over his chest, his back mostly turned as he stands dangerously close to the railing, looking out over the dark landscape. Dim light catches on the side of his face, illuminating the grey of his eyes.

The curve of his nose.

Pale skin.

White-blond hair.

[Y/N] finds herself staring, one hand on the doorframe as though for support, brows furrowed in the middle in a slight frown as she watches him.

He looks lost in thought. Even from a few feet away, [Y/N] can see the far-off, distant look in his eyes. Like storms brewing behind dark clouds, she thinks to herself. It’s a quiet little whisper in the back of her mind that has her heart doing odd little flips inside of her chest that she never knew it was capable of.

But then she blinks.

This is the last thing [Y/N] needs. To see Malfoy stripped of his arrogance—to see him as he is, bathed in moonlight, glowing, almost. To look at him and to see a boy with eyes like molten silver and nothing more—it's the last thing she needs to convince herself that she doesn't feel something for him that isn't hatred.

No, she doesn't need this.

She turns around, breath caught in her throat, and starts walking down the steps. Accidentally, stupidly, her foot catches on a metal step and a loud clang echoes around the silent tower.

[Y/N] pauses, eyes wide.

"[Y/N]?" Malfoy's voice says. He can't see her. It’s too dark, and [Y/N] is too far down the steps.

She swallows. But instead of dreading what could come, she finds herself waiting, half-hoping that he'd check the staircase, that he would see her and—

And then what?

[Y/N] rushes down the steps, ignoring the loud noise her footsteps make on the way. This is the last thing she needs.

—

[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy.

[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy, and she is determined to make that clear. (Both to herself and to her friends, although the former seems to be taking a lot more convincing.)

"What is there to like about him? He’s nothing but an annoying pain in the arse who has an overwhelming amount of pride and arrogance simply because of his blood—which is not only something that he never rightfully earned but is also something that shouldn't even bloody matter, except he thinks that it does solely because he is an absolute nutter who has nothing better to do with his life other than leech off of his parents' money and shove it in other people's faces."

Ron meets Harry’s gaze from across the table, who seems to be trying very hard not to laugh. Swallowing down a forkful of pancakes, Ron looks back at [Y/N]. "I’m sorry," he begins slowly. "But remind me again why we're talking about Malfoy?"

"I’m not finished, Ronald," [Y/N] snaps, shooting him a dirty look. Ron raises his eyebrows. "As I was saying before someone so rudely cut me off, Malfoy is a nasty little git who finds joy in making other people suffer. he probably has tiny puppies locked up inside his basement just so he can laugh in their faces and revel in their misery because he is that horrible of a person—"

Harry lurches with poorly suppressed laughter.

"An absolute terrible excuse for a human being! He basks in other people's humiliation—mine, for example!—and I would much rather snog the Giant Squid than ever actually consider his—" She pauses, gritting her teeth. "Odd.. requests."

"It’s not like he's asking you to murder house-elves," Ron mutters.

"Something that I would rather do than date him!"

"[Y/N]!" Hermione gasps, looking genuinely offended as she, for the first time since they'd arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast, looks up from the homework she's rushing to finish. (As if her five pieces worth of parchment aren't enough—Flitwick had only asked for three!)

"Sorry, Hermione," [Y/N] says, offering her an apologetic look that she only half-means. This quickly turns into a fierce look of challenge as she swivels back around in her seat to face the redhead sitting next to her. "Honestly, since when have you started defending Malfoy?"

Ron blanches. "I’m not defending him!" he says indignantly, setting his fork down on his plate. "It’s just.. yeah, it's a bit odd that he's declaring his undying love for you out of bloody nowhere, but he's stopped badgering us, hasn't he? Nasty little ferret hasn't said a word to Harry for weeks! And that goes for me and Hermione, too!"

[Y/N] narrows her eyes at him. "So you think it's great that he's stopped annoying you at the cost of my suffering?"

"What suffering!" Ron exclaims. "He’s been treating you like a bloody princess!"

"Oh, why don't you just snog him yourself, then, if you think so highly of him?"

Ron’s jaw drops in shocked offense.

"Alright, that's enough!" Harry announces, reaching over the table to shove the two apart from each other. "Why doesn't one of you switch seats with me before you end up strangling each other?"

"I don't know, Harry," [Y/N]'s lip curls. "I might have to hold Ron back before he goes running off to his ferret prince—or should we just let him? Merlin knows he'd love to, won't you, Ronald?"

Ron’s teeth are gritted; his eyes dart around the food on the table as though looking for the most effective weapon. He seems to be choosing between a green apple and rhubarb pie.

Thankfully, Ron never gets to take his pick. The bell rings, saving everyone in the Great Hall from witnessing what could have possibly been a brawl between friends. "Come on, let's go," says Harry quickly, relief evident in his tone of voice as he ushers the pair to their feet. "Wouldn’t want to be late for class."

—

[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy.

[Y/N] doesn't like Malfoy, but why does she find herself staring at him whenever she comes across him in the hallway the next day? Why, when Malfoy meets her gaze, does she look away and pretend to be immersed in something else?

And why in the bloody hell, when Malfoy playfully winks at her during Potions class, does she find it very, very hard not to smile?

She walks out of the dungeon classroom in a hurry with Ron, Harry, and Hermione, not wanting to spend a minute more in Malfoy's presence; she doesn't particularly enjoy being suddenly hyperaware of every move he makes, every little glance he sends her way when he thinks she isn't paying attention. It’s as though something in her system has gone awry. Is that why her heart feels like it's about to hop right out of her chest? Is that why she can't stop wondering what would've happened if she'd stayed at the Astronomy tower?

"Hey, wait up!” Harry calls loudly as they walk up the stone steps leading away from the dungeons and into the main hallway, which is bustling with students.

[Y/N], who had been walking far too fast in front of the three, looks back over her shoulder and sees that they're a few feet away. She stops, seemingly flustered, and waits for them to catch up.

"You look like you've wet your pants," says Ron.

"I’m not you, Ron," she retorts.

"Oh, can you two please stop bickering for once?" says Hermione, exasperated.

From behind the three, Draco Malfoy emerges from the potions classroom and begins walking up the stone steps. [Y/N]'s hands clench into fists at her side as she discretely presses her back to the stone wall at her sides.

The blond doesn't even as much as glance at Ron, Harry, and Hermione as he passes by them on the steps. [Y/N], however—once Malfoy has reached the step below the one she's standing on, he pauses, no less than two feet away from her, and quirks an eyebrow.

"What?" [Y/N] scowls, trying not to look at the strand of blond hair dangling in front of his eyes.

Malfoy’s gaze dances over her face. "Was it you?"

She meets her friends' eyes over Malfoy's shoulder. Ron and Harry have their eyebrows raised; Hermione looks concerned. [Y/N] takes a moment to compose herself—tries to force her heart back into her chest—before she folds her arms across her chest and looks at the Slytherin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"At the Astronomy tower," Malfoy says, and moves up one step so that he's standing on the same one she's on. A foot away. "I heard someone last night, while I was waiting for you."

Oh, Merlin.

"You came, didn't you?" he presses on.

"No," [Y/N] lies, and hates how defensive she sounds. She shifts a little on her feet, her eyes skirting away to look at a random spot behind Malfoy. "I was.. at the library. Doing things of actual importance."

There’s a slight pause as Malfoy's nose wrinkles. "Must’ve been someone else spying on me, then," he finally says through a scoff, but [Y/N] knows disappointment when she sees it. He rolls his shoulders back and puts on his signature smirk, inclining his head towards her as he takes another step up the stairs. "Better hurry and give me an answer, [Y/N]," he tells her, grinning. "Before one of my admirers get to me first."

[Y/N] watches as he walks up the steps and disappears into the hallway.

"The library?" a voice says incredulously. She turns back to Ron, whose face is scrunched in disbelief. "No, you weren't! We were waiting for you there and you never came."

[Y/N] folds her arms across her chest indignantly but doesn't respond, instead walking up the stone steps.

"Malfoy said he was waiting for you at the Astronomy tower," says Hermione slowly as they trail after her; [Y/N] speeds up her pace. "Is that why you mentioned going there during dinner last night?"

[Y/N] emerges into the main corridor first. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!" bursts Ron, sounding downright triumphant.

"Congratulations, Ron, you don't have the memory range of a teaspoon, after all," [Y/N] mutters, looking around. Malfoy is walking down the hallway a few feet ahead of them, Crabbe and Goyle at his side.

Ron ignores her. "I bet you did go. I bet you did spy on him—" And then he gasps, looking as though he's unearthed the secret of life. "Merlin’s beard, you really do fancy him, don't you?"

[Y/N]'s footsteps falter. Ron, Harry, and Hermione stop right with her.

Hermione is the only one who doesn't look stunned out of her mind. Looking between the two boys, she rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Honestly, is that so hard to believe?" says Hermione, frowning. "I understand that it's Malfoy and he is a prick, but [Y/N] is perfectly entitled to fancy whoever she likes." She turns to [Y/N]. "It’s fine, [Y/N], you don't have to feel guilty about it. Anyone would catch feelings if someone started doing such sweet things for them, even if it were someone like Malfoy."

"Blimey," says Harry, breathless. "Which part sealed the deal, [Y/N]? The pick-up lines? Or was it the cupcakes?"

[Y/N], who had been opening and closing her mouth like a fish blown out of water, finally stops trying to find words that just aren't there and instead drags her palm across her face in frustration. "I don't.." she says, sounding defeated, but really—now that she's faced with such confrontation, it's easier to admit to herself that maybe.. maybe she does fancy Malfoy.

Ron’s lips have split into a jubilant grin. ”I called it!" he says, smacking Harry's shoulder. "Bloody knew it!"

Hermione reaches out to rub [Y/N]'s back. "Don’t feel too bad about it, [Y/N]. I sort of knew—you looked at him differently after he confessed to you on the pitch."

[Y/N] sighs, realizing that no amount of denying it will convince her friends. Or herself.

She does fancy Malfoy.

Properly acknowledging it—finally admitting it to herself—is oddly relieving. She’s been keeping her feelings cooped up inside of her chest despite the fact they are so much bigger than her, and now that she's letting them burst free.. now that she's coming to terms with them..

Well. It’s not the worst feeling ever.

Ron is still beaming, looking as though he's won the lottery. And apparently, in a way, he has: "Fred and George said it'd take you a month longer to give in. I said it'd take you less—guess I’ve won myself two galleons!"

[Y/N]'s mouth falls open. "You bet on this?"

Ron raises his eyebrows, as though surprised to hear that she didn't know. "Uh, I and the entire bloody castle."

Struck by a sudden burst of both annoyance and confidence, [Y/N], scowling, detaches herself from her friends and strides down the hallway towards Malfoy, full of intent. He hasn't noticed her yet; his back is still turned, but she catches up to him easily. And when she does, she unceremoniously bumps her shoulder into his and grabs his hand, quickly interlacing her fingers through his.

"What the hell—"

Malfoy, obviously taken aback, tries to pull his hand away, sneering, until his gaze lands on [Y/N].

"Keep walking, Malfoy," she says scathingly, not quite looking at him.

Baffled, Malfoy stares at her, then down at their hands, which are now tightly interlocked between them. [Y/N] scowls resolutely at the hallway ahead of her.

And then Malfoy laughs, more out of disbelief than amusement.

"Keep walking," [Y/N] repeats, this time turning to look at him, fighting to keep her gaze indifferent. The last thing she wants Malfoy to know is that there is an onslaught of tiny little butterflies rampaging in her stomach and a tingly feeling spreading from their hands all the way up her spine and into her heart.

Malfoy’s lips tug up into a wide grin—a real one, [Y/N] thinks. Not an arrogant smirk or a deprecating sneer; one that she can't ever recall seeing. But now that she has, she finds herself wishing he'd do it more often.

[Y/N] tugs him along as she walks, feeling the stunned stares of her friends boring into her skull from behind. (Ron is going to have a field day about this.)

"So," Malfoy begins, and she doesn't have to look at him to know that he's still grinning down at her. "Changed your mind, haven't you?"

[Y/N] rolls her eyes; she doesn't fail to notice the way that the students they're passing by are staring at them, eyes wide, whispering to themselves. "Isn’t this what you wanted?"

Malfoy shrugs. "Among other things."

She side-eyes him, muttering, "Does that include snogging?"

He makes an amused sound at the back of his throat. "You said it, not me."

[Y/N] has to grit her teeth to stop the corners of her lips from tugging up. They turn a corner down the hallway, disappearing from both their friends' views (assuming they haven't followed them). At this thought, [Y/N] takes a brief glance over her shoulder—and sure enough, there's a redhead peeking out of a group of very confused Ravenclaws.

Cursing Ron Weasley inside her head, she turns her gaze back ahead of her. ”I have Charms class next."

Malfoy raises his brows. "And what do you expect me to do with that information?"

"Walk me there," says [Y/N] briskly.

She can practically feel the surprise radiating off of the blond next to her. A moment later, he throws his head back in a loud laugh. "And you want me to be late to Transfiguration? It’s all the way on the other side of the castle."

[Y/N] hums. "Can’t even do that for the girl you fancy?"

There’s a beat of silence. His grip on her hand falters a little as he says, voice still nonchalant and yet at the same time holding an undeniable sense of sincerity, "I could if I knew she wasn't leading me on."

"She isn't," [Y/N] says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

Malfoy is staring at her with his brows pulled in together just slightly at the middle, giving off the impression that he's trying to decide whether or not she's being serious. He slows down his pace until he comes to a full stop, urging [Y/N] to halt alongside him until they're standing in the middle of the hallway, oblivious to the stares following them and the redhead a mere few feet away.

"How do I know this isn't a prank?" says Malfoy, lip slowly curling as he narrows his eyes at her, the first few traces of suspicion etching itself onto his face now that the whole ridiculousness of the situation has finally sunken in. [Y/N] can't blame him; her antics—suddenly marching up to him in the hallway, grabbing his hand and walking with him as though they've been doing it for years—all of it is uncalled for after having ruthlessly turned him down so many times before. But [Y/N] can't delve into a discussion of her conflicting emotions—at least not right now—so she hopes, at least for now, that he will take her word for it.

She clears her throat. "Well," she begins, looking down at their hands; Malfoy’s grip has gone slack. "If I wanted to hold your hand, I’d do it because I wanted to. Not because I wanted to get a rise out of you." She lets her gaze go back up to his, brows rising in familiar challenge. "I don't stoop that low, Malfoy. You’ve been in love with me for years—shouldn't you know that by now?"

There are a few seconds in which the blond standing before her still looks at her with a scrutinizing gaze, lips set into a thin, hard line and his eyes swimming with conflict that [Y/N] wouldn't have been able to see from afar, but sees in perfect clarity now that she's standing a mere foot away from him. But then, after what feels like ages, Malfoy nods, slowly, frown smoothing out into an expression of—could that be relief?

"I will be late for Transfiguration, you know," he says, lips quirking up into a grin.

[Y/N] laughs. (A real one, Draco thinks to himself.) This time she doesn't try to stop herself from smiling; just lets her lips do so of their own accord. It feels nice. Freeing. "Better just one of us than two, don't you think?" she says, mirroring his playful grin. "And besides, Goyle can stand in for you. You two do have quite the resemblance."

"Oh, sod off."

And it really is very odd, because everything about this shouldn't feel right; they've been enemies for the longest time, and a year ago, [Y/N] would have been revolted at the mere idea of ever coming close to Draco Malfoy—but it does. That is, it feels right. Like they've been this way for ages and this playful, harmless banter is the most natural thing.

Draco isn't perfect—Merlin, does he have a long way to go—but if he means to stop being a prat as long as [Y/N] is at his side, then she is willing to venture into whatever has formed between them.

And if this little bond is going to involve any more of this—this being her and Draco exaggeratedly swinging their arms between them as he walks her to Charms class with their fingers still intertwined, snickering, waiting for one of them to start complaining about their arm sockets hurting—then maybe it isn't the worst thing ever, after all.

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zukuist · 4 years ago

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appeal

“y/n decides to make an impromptu cupcake for the class’ angry boy. thing is, they’re bad at making food appeal to the eye. then comes in the said angry boy and.. yeah”

fandom/s: 僕のヘロアカデミア // boku no hero academia (bnha)

includes: k. bakugō (x reader)

your name is shortened to y/n, gender neutral, lowercases intended

note: so like.. it was his birthday yesterday and omg i completely missed it because of school >:( anyways, have this thing i whipped up. also there’s no editing soskdw sorry if this is bad

—

out of the many things you have done so far, this wasn’t definitely not the smartest.

sure, your inner conscience tells you that this would be considerate, and it would’ve been a.. kind gesture towards the upcoming birthday boy.

which is why, you managed to sneak out of your dorm past curfew, a few cooking ingredients that you bought 2 days ago in your arms, as you quietly trot downstairs, and into the kitchen.

you had an internal fight with yourself on why this would be a magnificent idea in the first place. the said upcoming birthday boy being bakugō katsuki, the class’ most feared, and definitely the one with the lowest amount of tolerance with sugary sweets.

so, why did you decide on making him a cupcake?

it’s logical. first, making a small piece of chocolate would be too small for a birthday gift, and he’d probably cackle at your face, if he saw that a piece of chocolate was his birthday gift

not saying that he wouldn’t laugh at you if you didn’t give him a piece of chocolate. the blond would still ridicule you regardless.

and second of all, bakugō despises cake. if he was presented with a large cake on his birthday, he’d probably pay no mind to the time taken to make it, and stomp on it heartlessly.

plus, the class all decided to make him a cake behind his back, so.. why would he need two?

and third of all, you.. have feelings for him. you’ve never actually said it out loud, it just simply haunted your mind for the past several months. you banged your head against your table when you realized that you’ve developed feelings for him.

him, out of all people.

you wouldn’t say that you’re.. nice to him. you have a comeback every time he throws an insult at you, and you take some time out of your day to beat his ass (which is 50/50 when it comes to results)

for once, you decided that you wanted to do something nice. after all, you don’t recall him being necessarily ‘mean’ to you on your birthday

and in bakugō terms, that just meant that he didn’t insult you for an entire day, and instead, ignored you. which you weren’t sure if that was any better.

you’ve thought of things like writing him a letter, buying him spice packets for food and.. getting him whatever he asked for?

you’ll settle with baking a cupcake. you don’t feel like being ordered around right now

it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? you just have to hope that the oven wouldn’t ‘ding’ too loudly, and you just have to rely on your luck that aizawa-sensei wouldn’t walk into the kitchen and see you make a chocolate-vanilla butter cream cupcake.

luckily, the oven doesn’t ‘ding’ loudly, you can thank yaoyorozu for making a quiet oven, just because of mina and kaminari’s late night cooking antics. you pull out the cupcake from the oven with mittens, and you’re just left.. staring.

“that.. can’t look right.” you quirk your head in confusion, “i followed everything in this recipe. why does it look like that?”

the cupcake looked nothing like what you’ve imagined. you had all the ingredients, read through the entire recipe, and you did everything correctly.

however, the cupcake was separated, split down the middle with what looked like.. bubbles? it looked disfigured, and definitely something that was incredibly inedible.

bakugō would never eat this. he would think that you poisoned it!

you hear foot steps echo through the hallway that would connect to the common room, and you panic. just.. panic. you quickly shuffle to disregard the cupcake liners, the chocolate mix, and most especially the sorry excuse of that cupcake.

a voice that’s familiar, well known, and one that strikes humiliation into you fills your ears “oi, which extra is baking in the middle of th—”

scarlet eyes settle on you, and you feel like a deer caught in headlights. you can’t help but notice the mop of disheveled ash blond hair, lacking it’s usual spikiness.

which you would’ve teased him about but.. not with what you’re caught with. the situation can’t be turned onto him.

you’re expecting him to just turn around and walk away, tsking in annoyance, but you don’t hear the echo of his foot steps “what the hell are you doing?” he questions you, straight on

you look down on the cupcake, well.. ‘cupcake’ you’ve just made, and you lift your head at him once again. “happy.. birthday?” you greet, “i was making a cupcake.”

he ignores the fact that it is his birthday. “it’s midnight.”

“i’m aware, bakugō.”

“aizawa’s going to beat your ass when he finds out that you’re— no but, what the fuck is that?”

it dawns onto you that he has seen your sorry excuse of a cupcake. your cupcake for the most part is.. put together? besides the messy frosting planted on top of the cupcake, there’s a tiny patch of unbaked cupcake batter, which is a sore to look at (and not in the good way.)

you’d say it looks like a bland batch of casserole but heck, even bland casserole looks better than this

“a cupcake..?”

“ugh. why didn’t you just get some from the fuckin’ convenient store?” he interrogates you for some reason, and it seems to be that the sleepiness from his eyes washed away.

“you’re acting as if you’ve never had a bad batch of food in your entire life!” you half yell, half shout, surprisingly still aware that if you were to raise your voice by an octave, aizawa-sensei would’ve definitely heard it.

“i haven’t. i’m just a fuckin’ natural at cooking.” he rolls his eyes in annoyance, but you’re just annoyed that he’s bragging.

and the fact that you had no source of food rebuttal, and the fact that there’s not a single case of imperfection in bakugō’s cooking record.

“look,” you sigh, looking at the failed cupcake. “you weren’t supposed to see this, at all. i was going to trash this and go to bed.”

“and?? i don’t see any deathly important appeal to a cupcake.” he stares down, observing how the icing was almost about to drip onto the clean counters.

“yeah, but it was a cupcake i made for your birthday!”

aaand that was it. that was totally it. you should’ve kept your mouth shut, and you should’ve just threw the entire thing in the trashcan, and sprint past bakugō, hoping that bakugō would think that he was having some sort of freakish nightmare.

he doesn’t say anything, and you can’t find it in yourself to look at him, even though you normally didn’t have an issue with that. you can hear him navigate through the dim kitchen, and you can feel him observe your ‘cupcake.’

“there’s no visual appeal whatsoever.” his voice is low, eyes averting to the ingredients on the kitchen island, meaning that he acknowledged that the ingredients used weren’t necessarily.. incorrect.

“yeah, figures,” you grumble, ready for another insult to be slammed into your face, and the salt to be rubbed merciless against the wound that was on your ego

but, it never came. “but, i suppose i could try it.”

“you can’t be serious.” you look at him, startled by the sudden suggestion, “don’t food poison yourself.”

“it’s my birthday, i can do whatever the hell i want.” he glares at you, ruby eyes zeroing in on you, and the cupcake.

“oh, well..” there was no way you were going to contradict him. you make a cupcake for his tasting only, so you’d guess that it was right of him to want to taste it, even if it did look horrendous in visual appeal

you shuffle around for a fork in dim lighting, and he stops you, “if aizawa sees a fork in the sink, he’s going to chomp your head off.”

right.. aizawa-sensei would definitely punish someone over an unwashed fork. “so, you want to eat this with your hands? that’s unlike you.”

“i have better ideas,” and before you could question what those said ideas even are, a piece of cupcake is shoved into your mouth, icing smeared all over the side of your mouth, as bakugō smashed his lips against yours

you stumble in surprise, and bakugō’s movements are agile, quick to press you against the kitchen counter swiftly, warm hands are firm against your sides, and his tongue eagerly collects the sweetness of the icing that was shoved into your mouth, his lips moving alongside yours with an inconsistency

but nonetheless, it’s exhilarating.

when he finally pulls back, you’re left with wide eyes, questioning what the hell just occurred, and why bakugō katsuki just decided to shove a piece of your cupcake into your mouth, and take it with his mouth

“the visual appeal isn’t the worst thing, and the taste isn’t bad.” he comments, “oh, and the cupcake lacks visual appeal.”

your cheeks flush with heat at the implication.

“thanks for the birthday gift.” he smirks with satisfaction, and before you could yell at him, he’s gone.

and then, your legs give in, and you fall down onto the floor, utterly stupefied

—

bonus :

“y/n! are you going to join us?” midoriya asks, obviously referring to bakugō being surrounded by all of your classmates, and being forced down into blow the cake’s candles.

“uh.. in a bit.” you smile with reassurance. midoriya seems to doubt you for a second, but he’s dragged away before he could ask for a follow up question.

you couldn’t stop thinking about what happened just a few hours ago. and what was painful was that he was totally smug about it!

on the outside, he looked well.. himself? but whenever no one was looking, he’d throw that.. look on you!

curse him.

bakugō finished blowing out the candles, after many protests, and when everyone is left to chatter to themselves, sero takes the initiative to ask the question first, “uh.. is y/n okay? they seem.. quiet.”

bakugō glances over onto you, and you tense, just knowing that he’s looking at you. “don’t be worried about that dumbass. they’re all shy about something.”

while kaminari and kirishima perk up at the word ‘shy’ in excitement, and they bombard him with inquires. bakugō eyes shift onto you once again, secretly thrilled just thinking about when would be the next time he’ll be alone with you again.

just so he can scold, and most especially tease you about visual appeal

—

©️ zukuist 2021, bnha|mha belongs to horikoshi kohei. do not steal ❕

#will edit later #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bakugou imagines #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #mha x you #🖋epiphany.writes #bakugou’s birthday #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bakugou imagine #bnha headcanons

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greaterawarness · 3 years ago

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Arc Training Program Ch. 3 (Getting to Know the Cadets Part One)

(Alpha decides to get to know his cadets a little more and in doing so comes to a realization. This is going to be done in parts because it would be a really long chapter if not. Also because if I don't do it in parts it would probably be a few weeks before posting again.)

Alpha isn’t sure if what’s he’s done is a good or bad thing. Ever since pairing them into groups of two they don’t seem to be splitting up. On one hand it’s making CC-2224 and CT-7567 become one hell of team. And CC-3636 and CC-1004 are dominating in the classroom. On the other hand, CC-1010 and CC-4477 seem to be feeding into each other’s bad habits. CC-1010 likes to outdo the others and CC-4477 is happy to help in any way possible. Then there’s CC-8826 and CC-1138. They… well they just encourage each other’s reckless behavior. And despite the success of completing a practice battle in pairs they still seem to fail as a group. Alpha leans on his table sipping his drink while watching a video of their last group failure. An image of 8826 flashes across the holovid crashing into 3636 causing his blaster to fire at 7567. He rubs his face with a groan.

“You seem troubled.” A voice pulls his attention to his door. Shaak Ti stands looking slightly amused. He gestures for her to sit across from him. “I take it things are not going as planned?”

“No. No they are not.” He agrees plainly. She lifts a hand to her chin while playing the scene over.

“They seem to not trust one another.” She says watching the holovid.

“What gave you that idea?” Alpha snorts. She eyes him before leaning back in her chair. This might be the most relaxed he’s ever seen her. They sit in silence watching the failed battle. When Alpha reaches for his drink, it slides across the table to Shaak Ti. He arches a brow at her when she lifts it up to her mouth. Except instead of drinking, she sniffs it. She gives him a look.

“It’s nine in the morning, Alpha.” She says sliding the drink back to him. He gives a half grin.

“Not to early if you’ve been up all night.” He lifts the cup to his lips and takes another drink. Shaak places her hands on the table with a sigh.

“I propose you take the day off from training.” She says making him stiffen.

“A day off for me is a day off for them. And they aren’t getting any down time until I see some real progress.” Alpha crosses his arms.

“They have progressed, have they not? They may still lack the trust and coordination to complete a full battle scenario, but they are advancing in other areas. They all exceed in the classroom and have remarkable marksmanship. Each has their own talents and interests. Even among the Jedi each Master is very different. Take a step back and see what makes these cadets unique and perhaps you’ll see how to get them to work together as a whole.” She says giving him a smile. He lets out a sigh through his nose thinking it over.

“Fine,” He concedes. “I’ll try it your way.”

She gives a pleased nod before they both stand. She leaves him to go find the cadets. They were finishing up cleaning the barracks when he walks into the room. When they see him, they rush over to stand at attention.

“Alright,” he says crossing his arms. “Today we’re going to have a down day. That means no regular training. This time is for you. This is not a time to nap or be lazy. Work on what you want but you have to be doing something productive. But don’t forget I have eyes everywhere so think twice before getting into trouble!”

Their faces stay neutral. When he dismisses them, they seem not too sure of what they should do. Alpha leaves before he gets bombarded with questions or before one of them starts another fight. He makes it back to his room and turns off the lights. He never said hecouldn’t nap. He has been going nonstop trying to make sure he doesn’t fail at teaching these cadets. It’s been wearing him out just as much as it’s been wearing them out. He falls into his bed and stares at the wall across from him. It doesn’t take long before he dozes off.

After waking from a cluster of mini nightmares of failing the cadets and then an ambush on a moon above Naboo, he’s not sure if the nap helped or only made him more tired. He tosses his legs off the side of the bed as he sits up. He stretches out his arms with a yawn slowly bringing himself to consciousness. After a moment he finally remembers that he set the cadets loose in Tipoca city. He finds himself running out of his room. His eyes search everywhere for signs of chaos. When he runs into the barracks, he’s surprised to see everything still standing. His chest heaves with every breath. When he hears footsteps behind him, he whips around startling 99.

“99,” he breathes while pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry about that, Alpha.” He says while shuffling inside with training blasters in his arms.

“You haven’t seen my cadets, have you?” Alpha asks cautiously. 99 gives a chuckle as he stops.

“They haven’t burned anything down if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He smiles but it was comforting all the same. 99 keeps walking. “Some are training in separate rooms while I saw two in the library.”

“Thanks, 99.” Alpha says before walking quickly out the door. He knows that if they did anything to terrible the Kaminoans would have alerted him by now. Still, it made him uneasy to have eight cadets under his care running around with no supervision. He begins checking training rooms. Most were occupied by batches and their bounty hunter teachers. When he finally finds the first cadet it’s CC-2224. He’s commandeered a small training room used for hand to hand combat lessons. Alpha stays silent while walking across the upper platform so not to disturb the boy.

2224 practices some moves with a dummy. Alpha tilts his head studying the boy’s form. He’s good compared to an average cadet but Jango would call it nothing but sloppy. He quietly walks over to the room log to see how long he’s been at it. Alpha was out for a good hour, and it seems 2224 has been here the whole time.

“Want me to give you some pointers?” Alpha says breaking the silence. 2224 doesn’t startle at the sudden sound of his voice. Alpha hops the railing and lands on the mat. He pulls off his boots and upper armor before standing in front of 2224.

“Yes sir, thank you, sir.” He says through pants. He wipes some sweat with the back of his hand while stepping back. Alpha stands in front of the training dummy.

“Your trainer before taught you well enough but you could be better,” Alpha starts mimicking what the boy was doing before landing a blow that Jango taught him. 2224 stares slightly wide eyed. “Here, let me show you.”

Alpha moves so 2224 can take his place. They spend the next thirty minutes going over some new moves. Alpha was impressed. The boy is determined and has the discipline to keep at it.

“What is it about hand to hand combat that you like?” Alpha asks after a time. He thinks back to the first time he saw 2224 in a battle simulation with his old batch. He shakes his head remembering the boy landing a solid punch to a metal droid. 2224 looks taken off but doesn’t stop practicing.

“Well,” He says before landing a hit. “When we were doing one of our first practice battles my training blaster was defective. I just remember being helpless while my batch fought with all they had. I thought I was useless. After the battle my trainer pulled me aside and scolded me for doing nothing. And then I saw another batch learning hand to hand combat so I asked my trainer if I could learn it. He said yes and… well I decided even without a blaster I wouldn’t be helpless. I can still fight no matter what.”

2224 steps back to meet Alpha’s eyes. Alpha could feel the smile forming on his lips.

“Well, lets make sure that never happens.” He says. the boy wears his own smile before they return to their lesson.

After another thirty minutes Alpha leaves him to practice the new moves he’s taught him. 2224 had mentioned 7567 training in a room a couple doors down. He makes sure to go straight to the upper walkway to watch the boy from above. He finds 7567 staring at a table covered in different kinds of blasters. Alpha leans on the railing studying the boy. He finally reaches for one of the largest ones there. He slings it off the table and shuffles towards the targets. He grits his teeth before firing.

Alpha arches a brow. From the small time he’s known the boy he could already tell where this was going. Not long after firing the boy tries to turn to hit some targets on the side but the boy is cursed with clumsiness and looses his footing. Alpha doesn’t flinch when 7567 falls causing stray shots to fire beside him. he lets out a sigh with the shake of his head before hoping the railings.

“That blasters not a good fit.” He says crossing his arms and looking down at the boy. The cadet rubs his head and frowns. He doesn’t say anything as he gets to his feet. Alpha walks over to the table and picks up two DC-17 blaster pistols. “Try these instead.”

7567 stares at them still wearing his frown.

“But they’re so small.” He says still holding the heavy gun in his hands.

“Yeah? So, what. Getting shot with a bigger blaster doesn’t make you more dead then if you were shot with a smaller one.” Alpha says still holding them out. The kid reluctantly sets the heavy blaster down and takes the smaller pistols. “You have a problem with keeping up with your surroundings. I’ve never seen anyone run into as many things as you or trip over flat surfaces.” 7567 stares at the blasters with his ears turning red.

“I’ll try harder.” He says softly. Alpha reaches up to rub the back of his neck. If Jango were still around he would have kicked this cadet out by now. But Alpha’s gut was telling him something else.

“Look,” He says after a moment. “Being clumsy isn’t a crime. Even I’ve tripped and walked into things before.”

“Really?” 7567 looks up with a grin.

“Focus,” Alpha says with the shake of his head. “You just have to learn how to be more observant. These can help. With that heavy blaster you don’t have to worry much about aim because it’s rapid fire and you can hit a lot of targets at once. But these smaller ones will force you to get better at your aim and be more aware of your surroundings. I’ve seen you in battle and I know you have great accuracy. But these you’ll find to be a bigger challenge than a DC-15S. Not only that but you’ll be firing two of them.”

7567 stares down at the pistols in his hands. He finally gives a nod and turns to take aim at the targets. He barely hits the target with his right hand and completely misses with the left. His shoulders drop in disappointment.

“See? I’m no good with these!” He says turning towards Alpha. Alpha places a hand on his shoulder surprising both of them.

“Keep at it. Even Jango had to practice to be as good as he was.” Alpha reassures him. the boy nods and keeps at it. Alpha spends some time working on form and giving pointers. Eventually he leaves him to practice on his own. 7567 is extremely talented but he needs to learn patience. Alpha’s mind wonders to a padawan that 7567 almost reminds him of. He was a good kid and so is 7567.. He starts comparing Jango to the Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi. They were polar opposites when it came to training. Alpha stops walking to stand in the middle of the hallway as a realization falls over him. He doesn’t want to be like Jango. He wants to work with these kids and make them better. He wouldn’t just throw them away because they’re different or difficult. They are worth the effort. Flaws and all.

Read full story HERE on AO3

#Arc Training Program #Ch. 3 #Getting to know the cadets part one #alpha 17 #cc 2224 #cody #ct 7567 #rex #shaak ti #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #fanfiction #fanfic #AO3

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bruh-haikyuu · 5 years ago

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@arcangel-wings REQUESTED: Heya! I’m new to your blog and I really like your writing! Can I request Tenma Udai with an s/o who’s a baker while he’s in hs? So like he’s a delinquent and she’s a sweetheart who’s always giving people the stuff she bakes? Everyone thinks it’s weird but they fit together kinda thing 🥺?

A/N: Thanks for requesting!! This is über cute. Fem!Reader as alluded in the request^^

kilig. | udai tenma

word count: 2155

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) the rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic

“Chocolate is the ingredient for love~!” you say after pouring what seems to be an entire bucketful of chocolate chips into your bowl.

Your friend Saeko has seen just about enough of your nonsensical chatter about baking, your boyfriend and your abundant love for both. Already exhausted from a recent scolding by the vice-principal, she decides that it’s better off to smile and nod rather than try to come up with a snarky remark for your innocent mania.

“T-That’s a lot of chocolate,” she blurts out. When she picks up her spatula from the bowl, the girl grumbles at the sight of a liquidy trail drizzling down the utensil. “Ahh geez, it’s not supposed to be like this, isn’t it? Katagiri-sensei’s going to fail me again...”

You smile and hand her a bowl of flour. “Don’t worry, Saeko-chan. Just add a bit more flour and you’re good to go! You can never go wrong with cookies.”

The halo above your head is nearly visible. Saeko swears she can even hear angels singing to her in the background as you mix away on your fragrant bowl of dough. You don’t even seem real—from your angelic grin down to your overwhelmingly flowery aura. It’s tough enough to imagine that you’d ever talk to her of all people, but to imagine you’d go for a guy who’s just as much of a thug...

Unthinkable! Saeko shakes her head. She’d thought you’d pulled a joke on her the first time you announced that you were dating... him. Udai Tenma, star of the Boys’ Volleyball Club, a red-hot beacon of undomesticated temper.

She’d always known you liked him—though which part of him you liked is somewhat still a mystery to her—and as much as Saeko wanted to protect you from those ruffians, that absolutely infatuated look in your eyes was too much to bear. And eventually, she succumbed to your incessant ambitions of high school romance.

“You’re a saint, dude,” she sighs longingly. “I don’t get how you’re still dating that guy. I’m not really one to say anything about this, but don’t you think Udai’s kind of a jerk with the way he treats you?”

You chuckle, like a sweet grandmother about to tell a nostalgic tale to her grandchildren.

“I suppose you can say that Tenma-kun is a bit shy. He likes to act tough and mighty when he’s around people, but he’s actually just a normal boyfriend with a very sweet tooth and a penchant for manga.”

Saeko scowls. “Normal’s normal, but you have to at least let him know that you have your limits too. I really can’t stand leaving the two of you alone, w-what if Udai breaks your heart, or worse—”

“Tanaka-san. If you have time for chatter back there, then surely, you’re finished with your cookies?” at the sound of the grouchy Home Economics teacher at the front of the class, Saeko quickly returns to her bowl in a sorry attempt to look busy.

Deciding to humor her interest, you lean towards her and whisper lowly. “I’ll be fine, Saeko-chan. He may not look like it, but Tenma-kun’s actually very cute.”

In her mind, it’s much easier to simply handcuff herself to you so that you’re under her watch at all times possible. But your gaze is nothing short of genuine—you really love this guy, and the fact that you’re still with him, assures Saeko even just a tiny bit that he might not be so bad after all... with you at least.

You’re already storming away in your little world of baking. It amuses your best friend whenever you’re off making your personal masterpieces (“‘Masterpiece’ is absolutely right!” she’d say while stuffing her mouth full of your mini tarts). Each and every one of your creations are whipped up with the utmost amount of love and care, and for just the right reasons, everyone’s been pestering you to set up a bakery after high school. Your regular patrons just happen to be the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club—with the addition of the lively Coach Ukai who is rather fond of how much filling you put into your red bean buns.

As regular as regular can be, you’ve found yourself visiting the Volleyball Club clubroom after school every Wednesday to hand out your treats to not only your aloof boyfriend, but also to his friends, his coach and the prostrated manager who direfully needs a pick-me-up. And suddenly, you’re ‘Karasuno’s Cookie Goddess’.

“Ah, you’re making another batch, Y/N?” Saeko perks up when you split your dough in half.

“Yep!” you giggle, essentially a high school student drowning in love. “I want to make something special for Tenma-kun today.”

“... What’s the occasion? Is it his birthday or something?”

You shrug, face absolutely alight. “Nope, I just want to give him a surprise~”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tenma isn’t exactly unapproachable. It’s just that people tend to avoid him at all costs. Perhaps you were just bold... or remarkably stupid, but if you hadn’t addressed him that day, life would’ve probably been drabber.

Your parents and your friends (with emphasis towards your overprotective Saeko-chan) had shown their unfiltered concern when the news of your relationship circulated like wildfire. What was the analogy they used, again?

“You’re like a rabid bridge troll and a rabbit! It doesn’t work!” You could only laugh at their valiant efforts of a correlation... if they were really trying to make one. But after a few more reassuring pushes and awkward family dinners, they’ve come to be more lenient about your little ‘liaison’.

But you never feel like you have to worry when Tenma is around. In fact, when Tenma is around, you feel calm—even when he’s spouting off curses to a taller rival.

There’s a warmth unlike any other when he holds or kisses you. And though you’d have to drive him through hell and waters to say it out loud, you already know that every action he does for you is out of love. Words are material, it’s the action that counts, right?

“Sorry for the intrusion~!” you call out into the open doors of the Boys’ Volleyball Club’s space.

A flash of obnoxious yellow hair flashes before your eyes and suddenly, an imposingly tall figure appears in front of you out of nowhere. “Cookie Goddess!”

“Good afternoon, Yukimura-kun,” you smile. “Is there only you right now?”

“I’m here too, Y/N-chan,” the lax-faced captain Tokito emerges from the room in the midst of zipping up his jacket. His eyes flicker towards the packages in your hands and a smile cracks on his face. “Ooh, chocolate chip cookies today~”

You quickly raise the fragrant bags of treats into their view, bringing in the remaining swamp of boys from the clubroom. Suddenly, the common hallway is blocked by an influx of starving teenagers who are rampaging on about your existence.

“So good...” Yukimura murmurs dreamily, mouth full of chocolate. “Man, anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife if you were to cook them these everyday.”

A brazen first-year with frosted tips elbow him and sighs. “Too bad you’re taken, huh, Y/N-chan-senpai? If it were me instead of him, I’d always make it a point that ‘Heeey... guess what my girlfriend made for me today~ Isn’t she the best—”

“Oi, brat. Whose girlfriend do you think you’re talking about?”

The gangle of boys freeze up simultaneously at the grouchy voice behind you (aside from Tokito, who’s yawning at the whole ordeal). Whipping around to the dark aura boring holes into your back, you immediately light up at Tenma’s presence.

“Tenma-kun~!” you launch at him with your arms wide open. You’re ready for some sort of swerve from him, so you make sure you protect his bag of cookies with your arm... You’ve learned this counter-attack the hard way, of course.

But what you don’t expect is that your boyfriend makes no move to avoid you at all.

“H-hey! Don’t just lunge at me like that, you idiot! What if you fell down and knocked your head open?” Ah, at least the embarrassed comment is there.

You can only smile at him kindly. From the edge of your eyes, you swear that you can see a light blush dusting his face as your boyfriend gains newfound interest in your shoes.

“Come with me for a while,” he finally grumbles, effectively breaking the silence between the both of you. Grabbing your hand, Tenma leads you down the little aluminium staircase, eliciting small grates from the steps below you and a mass of curious whispers from the group you’d just left behind.

“Hey, Udai-kun~” Tokito calls out, a lilt of roguery in his tone, “Make sure to get back in time for practice, okay? And keep Y/N-chan in one piece, won’t you? We can’t get another Cookie Goddess if you don’t.”

When he turns into a secluded corner away from the prying eyes of his teammates, you can hear him audibly huff and mutter something under his breath. As silence lingers between you, you nearly forget about the reason why you came to visit.

“I made some cookies for you, Tenma-kun,” you say to him, urging the neatly wrapped bundle into his hands. “I hope you like it.”

You can clearly see the hesitation in his eyes when he takes it in his hands. You can probably guess why.

(“Y/N, your skills with a knife are scary, dude,” Saeko grimaced as she watched you trail over the dough with the gleaming blade of your paring knife.

“Aaand... done!” you proudly wiped the sweat off your forehead. It would’ve been more helpful with a cookie cutter around, but you figured that it would’ve been more heartfelt otherwise.

‘Heartfelt’, you pondered on the word for a moment. Would this be too heartfelt for such a rag-tag person like Tenma? It would probably be better to go for something simpler, just like the other days...

Nah. You shook your head as you chucked the tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven.)

You’re hoping for a shocked response from him, but Tenma only grumbles meekly. You brace yourself for another scolding for acting too chummy with him, or being too affectionate, or—

“You shouldn’t get too close with other guys.”

Wait.

Tenma crosses his arms, the curls of his hair falling gently over his forehead. His pink cheeks darken into a soft maroon. “If they found out you’re giving me this sort of special treatment, they’ll be all over you the next day, asking for it too... I don’t like it.”

The laugh that rises in your throat threatens to burst. What is this, you think. Your stomach hurt from the mere image of this innocent “delinquent” professing his jealousy for you. If he was like this all the time, wouldn’t that be an interesting change... Aah, your boyfriend really is cute, isn’t he?

A giggle escapes you and you watch him jolt in chagrin. “Tenma-kun, you’re so red.”

“I’m not!” he yells rather briskly, then shoots back at you. “You can’t say I’m red when you were all burning up as you were giving me these heart-shaped cookies.”

Touché. “I’m glad you like them, Tenma-kun.”

His gaze visibly softens up as you give him an angelic smile. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

At times like this, you really do see the boy who’d shyly confessed to you under the shade of the summer ginko tree. It wasn’t anything of a distant memory, it was just that Tenma’s usual demeanour and your unrelenting tolerance hindered the both of you from being completely outward with one another. Maybe something like this isn’t so bad after all.

“I-I have to go back to practice. You can go home by yourself, right?” your boyfriend clears his throat, urging you to leave.

Though you wished the moment would last a little longer, you know there are other countless shared opportunities with him. “Mm-hm! You do your best in practice, okay?”

He ruffles your hair and chuckles endearingly.

“Atta girl. Now go home before Tokito catches me getting all touchy-feely with you.”

Bidding him goodbye, you sullenly trudge away from your boyfriend (and his friends waving back at you from the balcony). Then the idea strikes you.

Special cookies ought to have a special flair to them, no?

Cupping your hands around your mouth like a megaphone, you shout, loud enough for his teammates to hear. “I love you, Tenma-kun~!”

And the crowd goes wild.

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From: Tenma-kun ♡

Subject: Untitled

(15:58) Now Tokito’s all over me thanks to you, making me do extra diving drills. You better make more of those cookies as compensation, idiot. Be prepared for it.

(15:58) Btw, don’t forget to look both ways when you cross the street on the way home. If you get into an accident, you won’t be able to apologize to me properly.

(15:58) ... Hey.

(16:00) I love you too.

#bruh haikyuu writing #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu #udai tenma #udai tenma x reader #haikyuu fluff #udai tenma imagine #udai tenma scenario #karasuno x reader #udai x reader #little giant x reader #sfw

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rosemarypasta · 4 years ago

Text

two slices of cake ♡ 1/2

➤ pairing : tsukishima kei x yamaguchi tadashi

➤ warnings : none

➤ tags: unrequited love, fluff, cafe employee yamaguchi, customer tsukishima

➤ summary : cafe part timer Yamaguchi Tadashi thought a love at first sight type scenario only existed in movies until he met a certain blonde customer who routinely buys two slices of strawberry shortcake in a to go box every Friday afternoon. Unable to bear with his massive one sided crush, his roommates got him to do something to start a relationship with the customer. But will his feelings be reciprocated?

➤ chapter word count : 4747

♡ masterpost ♡

-ˏˋ chapter one ˊˎ-

“Yamaguchi! The money!” The voice from the kitchen yelled out.

The green haired boy snapped out of his daydream from his superior’s yell, almost dropping loose change all over the counter. Blood rushed towards his face, turning it beet red. “P-Please come again.” Yamaguchi managed to say, a crooked smile on his face, as he handed the customer their change.

“Kuroo-san, I-I’m so sorry!” Yamaguchi turned immediately towards the kitchen to apologize to his boss after finally finishing with the final customer of rush hour. The black haired baker leaned against the doorway with a whisk and a metal bowl filled with whip cream, “It’s no biggie, but daydreaming in the middle of ringing up a customer? Even Bokuto has never done that before.” He chuckled at his new part timer. Yamaguchi looked down to his shoes as his red cheeks didn’t feel like it would be going away any time soon.

“Seems like you didn’t get enough sleep, Yamaguchi-kun,” The waiter hummed as he approached the counter, “What did you do last night?” A smirk evident on his face.

“Bokuto-san please refrain from teasing the newcomer.” The barista chimed in, his half lidded eyes stared at the waiter. Yamaguchi raised his head, opening his mouth to say that it was fine, trying to not escalate conflict in the place he just started working at for merely a week but no words came out, instead, the opening of the door echoed through the recently empty cafe. Yamaguchi turned on his heel and faced the customer, “Hello, welcome to Ca..”. Yamaguchi’s words trailed off as his eyes climbed up and saw the customer’s face.

“Can I have two slices of strawberry shortcake in a to go box please.” Yamaguchi watched as the pale pink lips uttered those words quickly as if he had the sentence memorized like the back of his hand. Yamaguchi’s eyes panned up to meet the customer’s golden ones. His pale lids covered half of his brilliant uninterested eyes.

Yamaguchi watched as he batted his light eyelashes a bit too hard, signaling him to proceed with his order already.

“C-coming right away, s-sir!” Yamaguchi ducked under the counter to find the to go box needed and he took the opportunity to take the deepest breath he has ever had. Though he probably inhaled too hard which caused him to have a small coughing fit as he rummaged around for the cardboard box. Without hesitation, he took the box and slid over to the glass case where the cakes were being displayed. Carefully, but as quickly as he could, he scooped the two slices of snow white cakes into the box. He made sure to give the customer the ones with the plumpest strawberries out of them all.

He brought the box back to the waiting customer and closed it up in front of him. “T-That will be 765 yen in total sir.” Though before Yamaguchi could even finish his sentence, the blonde customer’s hand was already on the counter with the exact amount of money.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, taking the box in his hands before turning on his heel and walking out the door without missing a beat.

Yamaguchi sighed as he watched the blonde’s head disappear into the crowd outside. He didn’t know how long he had been staring out the glass door but he figured it was a minute too long as Bokuto’s forced cough was the one to snap him back to reality. “You good dude?” Bokuto snickered, going around the counter to rest his arm on Yamaguchi’s shoulder.

Yamaguchi clocked out from the cafe that night with a fuzzy feeling he has never experienced before in his head and a vivid image of the customer’s piercing golden eyes.

“Thank you, come again.” Yamaguchi said with a smile plastered across his face for the twelfth time that hour. He was relieved to see there weren't any more customers to serve and slid down to sit under the counter. He wasn’t the type to hate socializing with people but jobs in customer service never fails to suck the soul out of their workers. It has been the twelfth female customer that hour. Yamaguchi surely won’t complain about his work as much if he at least got to see some eye candy, just like the tall blonde customer he served exactly a week ago. No matter how much he tried to get him out of his head, he still lingered in his mind whenever and wherever. In classes, at work, when he’s trying to fall asleep, he’s always seeing his face. But could you blame him? He was the epitome of Yamaguchi’s type. Tall, broad shoulders, fluffy blonde hair he’d just absolutely love to ruffle his hands in. He had on thin gold glasses that framed his face perfectly. Even just thinking about him just made him burn up.

“Akaashi-san, where’s the cashier?”

“The cashier? Yama-”

Yamaguchi recognized the customer’s voice right away. He immediately brushed his apron and stood up to face the blonde customer he has been dying to see all week. Is he a regular? Is that why he knew the barista’s name? He wanted to ask him so many questions but tried his best to refrain himself as he knew the customer would call the police if he actually did.

“H-Hi! Yes, um, sorry, what would you like to have?”

“Two slices of strawberry shortcake in a to go box please.” He recited his order to which Yamaguchi suppressed a laughed at. Yamaguchi has replayed the whole interaction he had with the customer multiple times a day for the past week to the point where he remembers every single word he let out of his mouth. It felt like no time had passed and Yamaguchi was replaying the same exact scenario from the previous week.

“Coming right away.” Yamaguchi managed to let out a soft smile, though he was trying his best not to giggle.

Yamaguchi chose the slices of cake and put it in the designated box in the same manner as the previous week, hoping that it would create a spell that would never let this moment end. Or at least let the same exact moment happen again the next week.

Time had passed though quickly with Yamaguchi’s busy schedule, he had barely noticed that it had been months since he started working at the cafe. He was ready to have a busy lifestyle once he started university classes but he underestimated how draining the classes were compared to his old high school ones.

Though, after a rough week of lectures and group projects, he waltzes into his Friday part time shift with butterflies in his stomach as he knew who he would be seeing that afternoon. Normally, his shifts would deplete all energy he had left during that day but that wasn’t the case for Friday shifts, in fact, seeing that blonde customer fills his heart with so much joy, he felt like the whole week worth of both university and cafe work just disappears into thin air.

Yamaguchi ran to work right after his final lecture ended. He could feel faint wet drops on his shoulder as he dashed through the diminishing bustling street but he couldn’t care less, he would finally be able to see the blonde customer after a rough long week.

“Ah, Yamaguchi-kun! You made it before the storm.” Kuroo, who took up the cashier work when Yamaguchi wasn’t around, called out as Yamaguchi stepped foot in the cafe, who was gasping for air after his run. “Hurry up and c’mere! I got a batch of cream puffs ready to go in the oven.”

“Storm? What stor-” Yamaguchi’s question was quickly answered by the vicious sound of rain drops crashing down the concrete outside.

The cafe was the most deserted it has ever been since Yamaguchi started working there. Despite it being a small cafe, it’s quite popular with women of all ages and since Yamaguchi always worked after classes, he always ended up with the afternoon shifts which are the times where the cafe would be jammed packed with customers.

With no customers, Bokuto and Kuroo decided to keep themselves entertained by playing multiple rounds of uno while Akaashi resorted to cleaning his coffee machineries. It was by far the most peaceful shift Yamaguchi has ever had but he couldn’t help but feel restless. The blonde customer was surely not going to stop by. What if he stops going to the cafe all together? The uncertainty of not knowing anything about the blonde customer was driving him insane. He didn’t even know his name or number. All he knew was that he would always come to the cafe around five on Fridays to buy two slices of cake in a to go box. Yamaguchi sighed loudly as he rested his head on the cool marble counter, not worrying about the noise as he knew the rain outside would mask his despair.

“Um, you guys are still open right?”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened in disbelief. He slammed his two hands on the counter, pushing his face up and off the counter. His eyes were unexpectedly blessed with the sight he has longed for the past week. The tall blonde customer stood in front of the door soaked. His face was contorted in frustration as he tried his best to fold his busted dripping umbrella.

“Bo, get the towels.”

“N-No you don’t need to do that pleas-”

“I’ll get them!” Yamaguchi enthusiastically jumped up before diving in the kitchen to get towels for the soaking customer. He grabbed one of the clean towels Kuroo liked to use to wipe off batter and whip cream off himself when his baking goes wrong, and burst out the kitchen as fast as he could.

“Here.” Yamaguchi without thinking, draped the fluffy fabric around the taller customer’s neck. “Thanks?” The customer replied, his odd tone made Yamaguchi realize what he had done and made his face completely beet red in a split second.

“A-Ah! I’m s-so sorry!” Yamaguchi’s flustered words barely got out between his incoherent forms of panic. The green haired part timer bent his body and bowed towards the customer. Yamaguchi didn’t know what to expect next but he knew a laugh would be the last thing to hear from him. Yamaguchi raised his head back in confusion. His heart skipped a beat as he watched the customer he had such an intense one sided crush on chuckling right in front of him.

“Don’t worry about it,” He said softly, unlike his usual expressionless manner, “but truly though, thanks.”

Yamaguchi felt like a cupid had struck an arrow straight through his heart. He didn’t know he could fall even more in love with someone he barely knew.

“Would you like some coffee so you can warm yourself up?” Akaashi offered, an empty cup already in his hand. Akaashi’s eyes were urging the younger boy to accept but the latter declined. “No thank you, I can’t stay, I gotta go after I get the ca-'' He shook his head at the barista but his sentence was cut short by a loud sneeze to which Akaashi replied by staring at him with an “I told you so” face.

“Fine, but i’ll take it to go.” He stubbornly grumbled at the now smiling barista. He then turned to the still flustered Yamaguchi, handing him the damp towel. “Can I get the usual please?” He muttered, rubbing his nose.

“In a to go box?” Yamaguchi, who’s heart fluttered at the word “usual”, smiled, to which the customer smiled back as a reply.

Yamaguchi skipped to the kitchen to dispose of the towel and got to work. He ducked below the counter to reach for the box like he did every Friday afternoon and walked over to the display box to get the cakes.

From the way Kuroo and Akaashi acted, it seems like it wasn’t the first time this customer turned up like that. What relationship do they have? The whole interaction was bittersweet. He got to speak more with Tsukishima and even got to see him smile but got a dash of jealousy as well.

Yamaguchi shook his head at himself. He couldn’t believe he was getting that possessive over someone he doesn’t even know. He sighed at his foolish behaviour as he closed up the box.

“Here, it’s on the house.” Akaashi handed the customer a paper cup with wispy smoke coming out of the opening which made Yamaguchi’s heart twitch. “H-here.” Yamaguchi mumbled as he handed the box with both his hands.

“Ah, Tsukishima, that’ll also be on the house.” Kuroo yelled out from the far corner of the cafe, his eyes still engrossed in the uno game he was still playing with his waiter. “It’s a thanks for always supporting us.” He winked.

“Tsukishima? his name? They’re already friendly enough to not even use honourifics ” Yamaguchi’s heart yelled out.

“What? That makes no sense. Then I wouldn’t be supporting you if I got this for free.”

“Just take the cake and run, Tsukishima, at least Kuroo’s being nice to you.” Bokuto huffed, “This stingy boss even charges me for the water I drink at work.” He grumbled behind his fastly increasing hand of cards.

“Bokuto-san too?!”

“Er..thanks I guess.” Tsukishima sighed, pressing his cold palm onto the steaming paper cup. He turned to the window in front of the cafe to see the rain slowly letting up, to Yamaguchi’s disappointment. “I better get going, can I borrow an umbrella?” Tsukishima said as he pointed at the umbrella stand filled with stray umbrellas customers have left behind which have become a lost and found corner and a collection the staff created over the years.

Tsukishima began to fish through the array of half broken umbrellas as he saw the black haired owner nod. He took an olive green umbrella from the stand and turned to face the staff.

“Thank you everyone.” He said, bowing slightly. He only raised his head for a split second before exiting the cafe but Yamaguchi swore he caught a smile on his face.

As soon as Yamaguchi opened his front door, he dropped all his belongings and raced to jump face down to the empty couch. Grabbing one of the decorative pillows, he shoved his face into it and screamed to his heart’s content. Yamaguchi swung his feet as his heart fluttered at the encounter with Tsukishima.

“He has finally gone insane.” A voice murmured among the muffled screams from behind the couch. Yamaguchi removed the pillow from his face to glare at the source of voice. “Kageyama, should I call the cops?” A brighter voice said though Yamaguchi wasn’t liking the topic of the conversation.

“Yamaguchi, you don’t even know his name.” Yamaguchi’s raven haired roommate grumbled, getting fed up with the green haired boy’s behaviour.

“That’s not true anymore, idiot.” Yamaguchi hummed, sticking a tongue at him. Both of his roommates’ eyes widened at this new discovery. “WHAT! What’s his name! Did you ask him? Did he find it weird?” The orange haired boy eagerly asked to the point where he was climbing over the couch, body sprawled over the empty part where Yamaguchi didn’t occupy.

“Hinata pipe down! And I obviously didn’t ask him!” Yamaguchi threw the pillow in his hands right to Hinata’s face. “I um…” Yamaguchi started to explain how he got to know his name but remembered exactly how he did.

“You what?” Kageyama walked over beside the coffee table to sit on the floor, not even denying that he was in fact interested in his friend’s love life anymore unlike the past two weeks.

“My coworkers already knew his name and I...overheard them.” Yamaguchi sighed, taking back the pillow to squish his face back in it.

“Oh.” The two roommates said in unison though their tones contrasted greatly.

“What with the sad oh? Kageyama, don’t infect Yamaguchi with your negativity.” Hinata pouted, shooing Kageyama away from the conversation with his hand. “Name one retail employee that knows you well enough to know your name, you simpleton idiot.” Kageyama barked back, slamming his hands on the floor with no intention of going.

“That’s easy, Sato-san from seven eleven, Suzuki-san from the campus starbucks, Takashi-san from the cafe down the street-”

“The cafe down the street?! It just opened two days ago- ugh never mind, you’re just odd and freakishly social.” Kageyama sighed as he rubbed his temples from talking to his polar opposite of a roommate.

“Anyway, why does it matter if they have more than a typical customer-employee relationship? As long as they aren’t dating then you’ll be able to squeeze information out of them right?” Hinata leaned back to the plush couch, letting the soft material engulf his body, content after winning the argument.

Yamaguchi sat upright and threw himself at his redhead roommate, “You’re right! Thank you so much for being my roommate, Hinata, I probably would’ve gone insane if it were only me and Kageyama here.”

“Hey! I’m still here, idiot.” Kageyama snapped.

Yamaguchi went to bed with a foolish smile on his face. Grinning from ear to ear as he dived under the covers of his bed. He let his head be consumed with silly thoughts of Tsukishima and drove himself to sleep.

“Hello everyone!” Yamaguchi pushed open the door to begin his morning Saturday shift, greeting his seniors who are already busy with work even prior to opening the cafe. Yamaguchi always came in with a smile but this time he was truly grinning from ear to ear and it was very hard to miss. Akaashi, Bokuto and Kuroo all exchanged glances.

“Someone’s happy.” Bokuto started as he wiped the tables, his eyes, and the other two’s as well, trailed the university student who was skipping towards the storage room to get his uniform.

“Ah...youth.” Kuroo sighed, continuing to sweep the floors. Yamaguchi popped out moments later still with the same smile on his face, making his co-workers even more curious than before. “So are you going to tell us what happened or?” Bokuto’s brows raised at the younger boy.

“Oh..um, it’s kind of embarrassing so..” Yamaguchi’s cheeks tinted pink as he rubbed the back of his neck, giggles slipping in between his words.

“You got a girlfriend didn’t ‘cha?” The duo haired waiter sneered, sliding beside Yamaguchi to wrap his big arm around Yamaguchi’s small body, bringing him close to ruffle his green locks roughly. “H-huh? No! That’s not it! It’s nothing like that!” Yamaguchi managed to cough out as his head was still under attack by Bokuto’s absurdly big hands.

Bokuto pulled him away momentarily to look him in the eyes, “Then, what is it?” Bokuto asked once again with curiosity filled to the brim. “W-Well I guess it’s something like that...B-But it still isn’t that!” Yamaguchi frantically answered as he started to feel Bokuto’s piercing gaze stab through him.

“Bokuto-san. Stop it.” Akaashi, who was not up to deal with Bokuto’s antics so early in the morning, scorned from the opposite side of the cafe. Bokuto pouted and stuck a tongue out to Akaashi childishly before letting the smaller boy go. Yamaguchi then walked over behind the counter to prepare for the opening. He didn’t have much to do other than make sure no money left from the previous day was in the cash register so he ended up watching his other co-workers do their tasks. Yamaguchi’s brown eyes panned to the bar on the right side of the counter that was filled with various shiny machineries. He watched as the older man wiped down the metal parts diligently with a yellow cloth. His toned arm and biceps were showcased as he rolled up the sleeves of his white uniform to prevent them from getting dirty. Yamaguchi could feel his drool pouring out of the corner of his mouth.

If it weren’t for Tsukishima, Yamaguchi would probably head over heels for Akaashi.

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened at the foreign thought and mentally slapped himself at his absurd thoughts. Was he that depraved of Tsukishima that he started to move on to other guys for attention?

“Idiot.” He swore to himself under his breath.

“Is there something wrong?” The very man Yamaguchi had his eyes on suddenly appeared beside him with a concerned look on his face.

“Ah! A-Akaash-” Yamaguchi yelped out, flustered as the stool he was sitting on tipped backwards from the sudden jolt of movement.

Yamaguchi looked into his co-worker’s sympathetic yet confused eyes as the thought he has been obsessing over came into mind. Akaashi would be the perfect person to ask about Tsukishima. Not only does Tsukishima knows his name, he would probably not make fun of him for asking about the blonde customer. Knowing his other colleagues, Kuroo and Bokuto, they would probably laugh at him and bring it up every shift Yamaguchi worked.

Yamaguchi mentally thanked Kuroo for actually hiring at least one normal employee.

“Akaashi-san do yo-”

Just as Yamaguchi managed to muster up courage to ask the barista about Tsukishima, the bell attached to the front door rang, commencing the busy shift Yamaguchi had ahead of him.

Yamaguchi had always worked Saturday shifts but that day was by far the most hectic one he has ever gone through. Throughout the whole five hours he worked, he could barely take a sip of water, causing his raspy and dry voice to peek out every two customers. He rubbed his back as he walked home under the striking hot 1 PM sunshine, occupied by his pain rather than the one thing he forgot to do that shift.

“I’m home.” He groaned out as he opened the door to his shared apartment.

“Ah! Yamaguchi! How did it go?” Two heads peaked out the hallway as soon as Yamaguchi stepped foot in the apartment.

“Huh? What’re you talking about?” Yamaguchi said absent mindedly as he attempted to shake off his sneakers off his sore feet.

“That dude, Tsukijenga, did you at least get his first name or number or something like that?” The taller of the three chimed in, trying to contain his interested face.

“It’s Tsukishima.” The green haired boy yawned before his memories dawned upon him. “AH!” He yelled with his eyes wide open, dropping his keys on the floor melodramatically, “I forgot.”

He and his other two roommates sighed.

Three weeks passed by and to Yamaguchi’s frustration, absolutely no progress has been made. He didn’t know what to expect. Of course, Tsukishima wasn’t going to suddenly act all buddy-buddy with him just because of that time in the storm. He knew he wasn’t the social type like Hinata to begin with so he wanted to slap himself across his face for getting his own hopes up.

However, Yamaguchi felt more motivated than ever. Each night for the past week, Hinata and Kageyama had him cooped up in Hinata’s room to build up his courage to say something to Tsukishima. Anything that would trigger some action in their “relationship”. Yamaguchi felt ridiculous that he was being coached by the two biggest idiots with zero relationship experience but he had to admit, it did have an effect on him.

“See you next week, Yamaguchi!” His friend yelled out after the last professor of the day dismissed the class of freshmen students. Ecstatic that the week is finally over, Yamaguchi and the rest of his class packed all their belongings and bolted out the room. Only one thing occupied his mind as he made his way to the cafe.

He was going to ask him for his number.

Yamaguchi knew it was bold of him to even think about asking for Tsukishima’s number considering that he probably didn’t even know Yamaguchi’s name but he was determined. Anyway, if all fails, he was ready to change jobs, skip town and change his whole identity.

Each step he made felt oddly light though his lungs didn’t support that claim. He rushed through the shopping district under the blooming cherry blossom trees, pink flower petals trailing him as he rushed through the streets. He looked up to the bright blue sky to calm himself down before entering the cafe to start his long awaited shift.

“Thank you, please come again.” Yamaguchi bid farewell to the last customer in line. He tapped his foot in anticipation of the blonde customer, locking his eyes on to the door he hoped to swing open soon. He felt like he could burn a hole on the door if it weren’t for his phone beeping with a notification, averting his attention.

Hinata: Is he there yet?

Hinata: Did you ask him for his number yet?

Hinata: YAMAGUCHI REPLY !!!

He typed out a hasty response with his trembling fingers.

Yamaguchi: not yet, shut up for a sec :(

Yamaguchi: I’m already nervous as shit and you’re not helping !!

Yamaguchi borderline threw his phone under the counter as he heard the chimes of the bell attached to the front door. He briefly cleared his throat before facing up to meet the customer’s golden eyes.

“H-Hello, welcome.” Yamaguchi smiled, fiddling with his hands under the counter. Tsukishima gave a small smile back before crouching slightly towards the glass case to look at the cakes offered that day. Yamaguchi didn’t know why he even bothered to check the cake display every time if he was going to order the same exact thing anyway but he didn’t mind at all since it gave him a chance to look at him more without him knowing. Though Yamaguchi’s eyes caught something pink on top of the blonde’s head as he crouched down. He giggled as he burnt the image of a single flower petal in the middle of the blonde’s curls.

Yamaguchi’s eyes followed the petal as Tsukishima raised his head again. The pink petal slid down to settle snugly in between the curls beside his left ear. Yamaguchi suppressed a laugh by biting his lip.

“Do I have something on my face?” Tsukishima raised his brow in curiosity at the distracted employee.

“Ah, sorry! I-It’s just that um…” Yamaguchi replied. He hesitated before leaning against the counter before slowly retrieving the petal from Tsukishima’s hair. He leaned back and showed it to the confused customer to which he reacted unexpectedly to.

“A-Ah..Thank you.” Yamaguchi watched as the blonde’s usually composed face flushed bright red. His eyes began to shift away from Yamaguchi and his ears began to feel oddly hot. Yamaguchi felt like he had internally combusted at the sight of the flustered customer. He knew his own cheeks were mirroring the same red tint his customer had.

“The usual...please…” Tsukishima mumbled. Yamaguchi nodded slowly before rushing over to get the order. He didn’t know he would be able to ask Tsukishima for his number at that point. Both parties were far too flustered and Yamaguchi certainly didn’t want to make Tsukishima more uncomfortable than he should be. Besides, Yamaguchi would definitely stutter and fumble his words up before he can even reach the word “number”.

Then a bright idea came into his mind.

He delicately placed the two slices of perfectly white cakes into the box but didn’t close it up right then and there like usual. Yamaguchi hesitated before picking up his marker, glancing at the customer in front of the empty cash register. He couldn’t see it when he was right in front of Tsukishima but now that he was in front of the glass case, he could see the blonde customer fiddling with his own fingers under Yamaguchi’s line of sight back in his original spot. Yamaguchi bit his tongue hard, trying his best to not let a squeal out. It was truly the cutest sight he has ever seen.

Yamaguchi grabbed a couple of tissues and set them on the counter. He uncapped the black marker he had in his hand and was determined to write his own number on the tissue. His hands were shaking, causing the ink to form incoherent symbols instead of his number. He was about to discard it and try again but he caught Tsukishima peeping towards Yamaguchi to see what was taking him so long so without thinking further, he shoved the stack of tissues, including the one he scribbled in, into the box.

“Here you go, come again!” He said as he gave out the box with his still shaky hands.

next: -ˏˋ chapter two ˊˎ-

taglist (open):

@teasbees-knees @yeetabish

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keatsblue · 4 years ago

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Want a Piece of Me?! - a Kiribaku Baking AU fic, pre-slash.

***

It was something he’d picked up from his mother, before she’d gotten too sick.

She’d let him roll out flour-dusted dough into thinned sheets, let him taste a batter mix or two on the tip of her spoon. Whenever he was tasked with packing the buttercream, he’d unerringly return to her with a dollop of icing on the end of his nose. She’d let out a laugh like windchimes as she wiped his face off with a multi-stained washcloth, would murmur, warm against the skin of his cheek as she kissed it—did my little dragon get greedy for some sugar again? Well, here’s some sugar!

Kirishima was her little dragon, and she’d made sure his early life was filled with candied nights and warm bellies, gingerbread castles with marshmallow spires.

After she passed, he kept it up to feel close to her.

He was far from an expert baker, but he knew his way around an oven. His hands were large and not the most suited to handling delicate fondant, but he managed. His arms were strong, good for hefting bags of fresh ingredients.

Pineapple upside-down. Triple-tiered, Italian wedding crème. Chocolate lavender truffles, topping his signature cherry cordial mousse. Delicate macaroons and finicky meringues, mirror glazes so seamless he could see his reflection. Kirishima baked his way through the entire grieving process, inviting his closest friends over for tastings, and he won.

I’m okay, mom.

He wasn’t certain when it had really started, this online business. Mina had actually made the first post, snapped the first photo. He hadn’t expected it to get a single comment.

It got hundreds. Then thousands.

People contacted him, wanting to know how they could make their own cakes look like that.

Kirishima obliged, of course. How could he not? He was going to bake anyway. Might as well help a few other amateur chefs while he was at it!

Mina helped him film. “I discovered you, so I’m your manager for life,” she’d say, with a wink. “Don’t forget about me when you make it big and become a world-famous baker, somewhere.”

World-famous, my ass, he always thought, whenever she’d suggest such a thing. He still made far too many mistakes, for that.

It was okay, most of the time. Many of the people who followed his little baking ‘show’ were more than understanding, and incredibly supportive. When he read their kind comments, it gave him a warm, fluttery kind of feeling—almost like one of his mother’s secure hugs.

There were always those few, though.

He was just getting off the rickety bus that stopped near his neighborhood when he saw it. He almost missed the last step on his way down, stumbling for a few paces as the telltale sound of a screen door sliding shut behind him signaled the bus’s departure.

However, Kirishima wasn’t paying attention to any of that. Instead, his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone, where he’d just called up his latest baking stream.

xxxx: ur cakes suck a**

He frowned down at the comment, checking the timestamp. So, it was just posted a few minutes ago.

Huh.

It was obviously a troll, no doubt about it. They didn’t even have a profile picture to go with the nondescript name. And usually, usually, Kirishima would just let comments like that slide right off his shoulders.

But he’d had a bad day. And it was funny, how something so small could pierce his heart sometimes, a sharp spear to the mighty dragon’s soft underbelly.

It was safe to say, making his way up the rusted-out stairwell to his college-budget apartment took a little more energy than usual. He jammed his key into the lock with punishing force, twisted.

The door swung upon under his palms, and the familiar scent of his home wafted toward him, riding along the sudden gust of warm air escaping. Kirishima was careful to shut the door quickly, before too much of the heat was let out. Breathed in the fruit-sweet smell from his kitchen, so if nothing else, the familiarity of it could ease his scattered mind.

His phone chimed, before he could get too relaxed. When he checked the message ID, though, he couldn’t help but smile.

alienqueen: ughhhhh I hate this asshole already

alienqueen: obviously, he’s never tasted 1 of kiri’s cakes

ducktapes: kiri’s cakes <3 ahhhh my heart

sparksmcgee: dude same, want me 2 get sweet vengeance?

As soon as Kirishima’s smile had appeared, it vanished. He frantically opened the chat, his thumbs too large to type with the speed he needed.

There was no way to tell if Denki was serious. And his friend could do it, too—every day, Kirishima thanked his lucky stars he was on the excitable hacker’s good side.

kiricakes: no need!! it’s just a troll, guys

kiricakes: super manly of you to think of me, though

sparksmcgee: ur too nice, fams

sparkmcgee: guess the troll lives… for now

ducktapes: TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! THERE’S A-

alienqueen: aksnfkasnof

kiricakes: lolllllll

Before long, he was able to lose himself in mindless chatter. The antics of his friends never failed to bring his spirits up. He plugged his phone into one of the few outlets in his crummy apartment, embedded into the wall just over the kitchen counter, so he could continue the conversation even as his battery started to wane.

The hours grew long, though, and time was scarce mid-week for exhausted, assignment-laden college kids. It wasn’t a surprise when Denki soon begged off on some coding or another that he had to re-run, or when Sero and Mina similarly slipped away (they were researching something together for Comparative Physiology, it was all very much over Kirishima’s head). In the end, he was left with only his thoughts, and an empty kitchen.

He locked his phone, and the screen went dark. He could see his reflection in it, baggy eyes and downturned lips. A shock of red hair, which had once been midnight-black.

Like his mother’s.

Kirishima turned his head. In the low light, his appliances gleamed from their shelves. Almost mocking, in a way.

“My cakes don’t suck,” he said, to no one. His grin stretched wide, and he could tell from the burn of it that he was showing far too many of his sharpened teeth. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He set his phone to record, and made another cake. It was triple-tiered, funfetti, because that was the batter mix he had on-hand. He watched the batter rise within his dented iron pans with all the patience of a general considering the battlements—or perhaps, a dragon considering its’ hoard.

Any spare buttercream was packed into a dispensary, silken and primed to hold his creation together. He spliced it evenly between his cakes with a practiced ease, layer after layer.

Then, the whipped frosting. It was a simple recipe, one of the first he’d learned. He worked the whipping cream within a chilled bowl, adding scoop upon scoop of powdered sugar until the mixture obediently began to rise, forming soft peaks.

He made several batches, and then added some orange food coloring to each.

Fuck it. I’m in an orange sort of mood.

His second favorite color, after red.

All that remained was assembly.

… throughout the process, he talked.

Kirishima didn’t typically make a habit of speaking while he baked. He certainly didn’t speak while he recorded, but this—this was a special occasion. Soon, he found himself opening up in front of the camera like never before. He spoke of his mother, briefly. Of his love of baking, and how much he didn’t want to lose that little piece of her he had left.

It was all he had left.

The whipped frosting went on like a dream for him, a smooth and even ombre that when he finished, reminded Kirishima just a bit of an orange sunset. It was soothing, and right, and exactly what he needed.

He didn’t think much of posting the video, largely unedited, to his public account. His was still a small corner of the internet, after all—a solitary baking channel in a sea of thousands. Maybe even millions. How many people would even see it, really?

“Oh, and by the way, can you guys stop saying my cakes look like shit?”

It was only one cake.

With great effort, Kirishima stumbled his way to his bedroom. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, how much all that time in the kitchen had taken out of him.

Before his head even hit the pillow, he was out.

He dreamed of his mother’s sweets, and orange.

***

sparksmcgee: dude wake up

sparksmcgee: wake uppppp

sparksmcgee: KIRI

sparksmcgee: KIRI U GOTTA SEE THIS

sparksmcgee: KIRIIIII

sparksmcgee: fine, ignore me, Mr. Internet Sensation

sparksmcgee: wait I was joking, I was joking!

sparksmcgee: I’ll call u! I’ll do it!!

sparksmcgee: damn it kiri

sparksmcgee: just watch the fuckin’ video

sparksmcgee: https://twitter.com/Simplemachines_/status/1297739774795509761

***

Kirishima groaned, slamming a fist down on top of the source of that incessant beeping. It was too early in the morning for such ear-splitting noise.

But what was done couldn’t be undone. He was awake now, for better or worse.

He cracked one eye open, squinting against the bright blue light of his phone screen. Still bleary-eyed, he scrolled through all of Denki’s messages (seriously, man?) and pressed a thumb over the hyperlink his friend sent. It was probably just some dumb meme—

Wait. Wait.

That was his cake video from last night. And… that wasn’t all.

Some blond guy with an angry face took up the other half of the split screen, but he wasn’t doing anything. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Kirishima blinked. A… reaction video…?

He heard himself begin to speak, to layer the buttercream. Internally, he cringed.

Well. In his defense, he had been having one of those days—

He almost dropped his phone when the blond guy yelled at the top of his lungs.

“WHO WAS MEAN TO YOU?!”

Huh? Was this guy speaking… in Kirishima’s defense?

“WHO SAID YOUR CAKES LOOK LIKE SHIT?! POINT ‘EM OUT!”

Slathering on his nice, ombre whipped frosting, now. The blond guy (who was kinda cute, actually, even with his angry face) continued to watch and listen with rapt attention, occasionally letting out another unholy screech.

The video progressed to the part where Kirishima had begun describing his day, and really, he could’ve kicked himself. It’d just been a math test. He’d been excited at the time, because he’d gotten his grade back and hadn’t completely failed it, but now, he wondered. Who would want to listen to such inane, boring—

“YES! I’M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU, SHITTY HAIR!”

Shitty hair? Inadvertently, he felt the hand that wasn’t currently occupied supporting his phone drift up toward his hairline. He knew he applied a lot of gel, spiked it up on purpose. Surely it didn’t look that bad.

But even with that last comment, the guy had said a lot of nice things. And how manly, to post such a wholesome reaction video, where all the world could see?

His phone beeped again as a message banner flashed across the top of the screen. He opened it with a flick of his finger.

It seemed this time, Denki had messaged in the group chat. He didn’t have long to wonder whether his other friends had seen the video, either, messages were fired at rapid speed.

sparksmcgee: did you see it?!?? I found the guy! Your dream man!

sparksmcgee: his name is **drumroll**

kiricakes: denki, no

ducktapes: denki, YES

sparksmcgee: BAKUGOU KATSUKI, HE’S FROM JAPAN

alienqueen: Kiri go get your mans!!

sparksmcgee: if you want I can also get his credit card

kiricakes: DENKI NO

Bakugou Katsuki. Huh.

As his friends continued to bicker amongst themselves, Kirishima stretched out his limbs. He let out a soft sigh when his shoulders popped, already considering what he would bake himself for breakfast.

Maybe he’d have a slice of orange funfetti. And perhaps as he did, his mind would drift to an angry fan.

One he hoped to meet, someday.

#bnha #mha #kiribaku #baking au #bnha fanfiction #oneshot

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mgssummergames · 4 years ago

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DECOY OCTOPUS‘ SHADOW MOSES PROOF MINI TAMALES

(hingabee / foxhound / o4 / 15 points) Ingredients: - corn husks - 400 grams of masa harina (if unavailable use simple corn flour) - 1 tsp baking powder - 200 grams of vegetable oil/fat or lard - 800 ml of chicken stock

- 1 tsp salt For the filling:

- refried beans and/or cheese (optional vegetarian option) - 250 grams ground pork or pulled pork (you can make pulled pork yourself but its damn hard to get fresh on a frozen rock in the middle of nowhere) - cumin - one clove of garlic (or more to taste) - lime juice - handful of dried chiles of your choice - oregano - salt - pepper

Instructions: Since fresh produce is hard to come by on Shadow Moses this is a more casual version of traditional tamales. Making them bite-sized for portion control is just so that the other FOXHOUND members don‘t fight over them (a waste of time and effort) but you can also make regular sized ones.

1) First soak your corn husks in lukewarm water, you can do this the day before or at least 3 hours before you start cooking. 2) Start your masa by mixing the masa harina with baking powder and salt, then add the chicken stock and stir well until you get a mixture with the consistency of wet sand. Let that sit for a few minutes until the stock is fully absorbed. If you use lard whip that hand or stand mixer until it looks fluffy then combine in spoonfuls with the masa, if you use oil just add it to masa until it becomes homogeneous mixture. If the masa is still too dry and crumbly, add some more warm water or stock until the mixture looks a bit like a thick cake dough. (You can drag the back of spoon through it, if the spoon leaves a trail that holds its shape for a few seconds its perfect, if the trail stays or immediately disappears the mixture is too dry or too wet (you can add more masa harina or water respectively) Cover your tamale dough with plastic wrap or a wet towel and let it rest in the fridge while you prepare your fillings. 3) If you choose the vegetarian route you can just use your refried beans (season them with some more salt, pepper or cumin if needed). For a pork filling you would traditionally braise some pork shoulder with spices for a long time – here we use ground pork or ready-made pulled pork. Heat some water and drop in your chiles, let them boil until they are soft and plumped up a little. Add the chiles, some lime juice, garlic, two teaspoons of lime juice, 1 tsp cumin, a pinch of salt, pepper, oregano and some water (or more stock) to a blender and blend until you get a smooth paste

Fry up your ground pork in a pan with a little bit of oil (if it sticks to the pan that’s good, don’t worry) until crumbly and crispy brown. Keep the pan on hot and deglaze with a tablespoon of water before adding your chili paste and turn down the heat to low – let the mixture bubble for a few minutes before shutting off and letting it cool. If you use ready-made pulled pork just mix it well with the chili paste. 4) Take your corn husks, dry them with paper towels and split them in half if they are too big (mini tamales, remember?). If you want to do regular tamales just keep them as they are. Spread the tamale dough in a thin and even layer on the top half of the corn husk leaving a border on each side. Add your fillings and roll together so that the two sides meet in the middle. Fold up the ends and tie up with a small strip of corn husk (you can just tear them off, use two if you make regular sized tamales). 5) Place your tamales in a lined steamer (you can line it with corn husks) and cover. Steam for about 30 minutes, depending on the size of your tamales this can take a little longer. Remove tamales from steamer and let cool for a few minutes, then enjoy! (Remember to tell your boss to remove the husks before eating…) Tip: If you run out of corn husks or can not source them because, again, frozen rock in the middle of nowhere, use aluminium foil.

(please excuse the clumsy test batch, we only had fresh husks on hand lol)

#mgs summer games #submission

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chysgoda · 5 years ago

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Savage

I wrote the majority of this last night while waiting for the hubby to get done painting so we could run gimlyt Dark. (Which I still haven’t run) Essentially there’s alot on Art’s mind right now and she just kinda, snapped.

Word Count: 838

“Savages.”

Art’imis doubted anyone else heard the frustrated growl that dropped from Emperor Varis’ lips as he turned away. Art’imis half-turned to look at the Garlean leader as his back turned fully on them. She took in the sight of him and felt something bubble up in her chest desperate to break through the stress and tension of all that was happening. The Emperor was broad and tall, or it seemed so at first. If his cloak and crown were taken from him she doubted he’d be much larger than Gaius Belsar. He called them savages to steal away their right to exist to make them no better than rats in the larder. But it was just a word, if she hurled it at the Xaela in the Doman camp they would grin and thank her for the compliment. He was like a cat fluffing it’s fur to look bigger and hissing to scare off an attacker. That image built itself in her mind and the something in her broke out. She laughed deep and rich like it came up from the soil and through her boots to tumble out of her mouth. All of the Alliance leaders froze and turned to stare at her. Alisae looked at her with a mix of horror and awe. Melisande gave her an impatient and long-suffering glare.

“You dare-“ Varis whipped back around to sneer at her.

“Oh yes Varis,” Art’imis watched the rage flash in his eyes and she gave him a predators smile. She could work with rage, it was a brittle thing that lacked the tempering to be used as a weapon.

“You will address me with respect Savage.”

“I will not. Still, I should thank you for the compliment.”

“Art’imis,” Aymeric and Ruabahn both called at the same time, commanders expecting their unspoken order to be obeyed. She ignored them both.

“You call us savages, but for all of our sins you lay at our feet you ignore your own. A cowards trick, hoping that you might take advantage of sorrow or guilt.” Art’imis watched the emperor’s lips tremble with building rage and pressed on, “Speaking of cowards, give my regards to whomever it is wearing your sons face. Elidibus, I imagine, it’s the kind of ploy he’d be fond of.”

“Be silent!”

“Or what?” She matched his snarl with her own and slammed her hand down on the table as she leaned over it towards him. “You’ll raze everything I hold dear to the ground? Release a new batch of Black Rose? Bore me to death with another self-aggrandizing speech? All the things you are planning anyways Varis, why should I hold my tongue? Zenos took the cowards way out cutting his own throat in an act of petulance when at last he found he was not the best, that he was as mortal as everyone else no matter what primal he summoned into himself-“

“I said be silent!” The emperor roared striding back to the table to loom over the small Auri Paladin.

Art’imis arched the eyebrow over her silver eye. “Hit a nerve there did I? It won’t be the last. I will tear your empire down around you, for every mother who could not feed her children because of your governance, for all those drained of their aether until they died alone and in pain, for the orphans you’ve made, for all of your own people that have fled into our arms. Here you will be stopped, here you shall not pass.”

Art’imis had not realized how much her voice had risen until she was shouting at the Emperor. She felt Aymeric and Hein step up on either side of her and straightened before they could pull her up and back.

“I will see to it that you do not leave this battlefield, Savage.”

“You cannot kill me in any way that matters little tin king.” Art’imis laughed again.

She finally acknowledged the pressure of Aymeric’s hand on her shoulder and turned away from the seething Emperor. The Lord Commander's hand stayed on her shoulder, the grip tight until they were back inside the Alliance’s camp.

“My dear friend, was that entirely wise?” Aymeric asked as he shook out the tense muscles in his hand. It was a horrific scolding by Aymeric’s usually calm and collected standard. Another night she would have taken the criticism as her just due for letting her temper take charge of her tongue. Tonight was not that night though, not with four of the senior scions no more than empty husks laying in the Rising Stones. Not with the splitting headaches and frantic pleas that pulled at her mind, not when she was worried sick about Alisae and Melisande falling to whatever it was that was stealing souls. Tonight she could not.

She turned her face up to the stars and blew a breath out of her nose. She had nothing left to give but the truth. “Tonight Lord Commander, I just don’t give a damn.”

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #varis zos galvus #art'imis chysgoda #Art's done #stick a fork in her

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apprentice-melphina · 6 years ago

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Three’s Company - Chapter 1

If this looks familiar to anyone, I’m reposting to my Arcana sideblog after editing.

AU where Julian and Asra meet the Apprentice at the same time while researching a cure for the plague. NB but AFAB!Apprentice (in later chapters, if relevant). The Apprentice with a capital T+A is can be substituted with whatever name you want.

Summary: The Apprentice is fully aware of Julian’s and Asra’s feelings for them. They simply choose to ignore them in order to complete their work, and out of fear that their choice might hurt the other. But when the choice is taken from them, will Julian and Asra grow closer in their mourning? And what happens when the Apprentice is given a second chance?

Even without magic to transport him back in time, Asra could clearly remember the moment he had met Julian’s apprentice.

He and the doctor had been working at the palace together for only two weeks to find a cure for the plague. While Asra preferred to work alone in his magic, he had to admit that the palace library was an invaluable resource with books from far and wide, each tome heavy with the weight of hope that it would contain the answer to the kingdom’s ever-growing problem. He also made it a point to show his face around the palace every few days to dissuade any fear that he was not as committed as the gaggle of doctors also employed by the kingdom.

It was on such a day that he was flitting about the palace that he saw the new batch of apprentices being ushered in, through the front gates and to the library to immediately begin their work in the dungeons. The doctors had to request more and more apprentices each week to aid in their work as they lost at least one a day, some to weariness, to psychosis, and others to the plague itself.

He saw Julian’s new apprentice then, though he didn’t yet know whose apprenticeship they would be burdened with. Their eyes shown with excitement, taking in the wonders of the palace and the various titles of the library. While standing in line to be marched down to the dungeon, the Apprentice made eye contact with Asra before glancing nervously down at their own hands. Asra stood up from his pile of books as the group followed Valdemar to a bookcase, waiting patiently for the passageway to open. Then they were ushered inside.

The whole time, Julian had not looked up from his scrolls and folios, muttering to himself as he scribbled illegibly at his desk. Asra had to break the silence.

“Who was that?” His voice came out husky and he coughed, hoping Julian wouldn’t notice.

Dr. Devorak’s head popped up, whipping around the room in alarm before turning to Asra when he didn’t find another living soul in the library. He lifted a heavy eyebrow in question.

“A group of people just went down into the dungeon.”

“Oh, yes, probably the new—the new recruits!!” Julian leapt up from his desk, reaching for the red volume on the shelf, the first to open the passage way downstairs. “I forgot they were coming today. I am supposed to meet them down there and fill in my apprentice on my findings so they might help me.”

He turned to Asra with a mischievous smile as he pulled the last book, black and gold, from its position. “I’ve got myself an apprentice now, Asra! You know what they say, two heads are better than one, and all that. Sounds like I might come up with a cure faster than your little—” he waved a hand at Asra’s pile of books—“magic can at this rate.”

Julian disappeared down the steps before Asra could muster up a retort.

The two of them had been called to the palace around the same time to find a cure for the plague ravaging Vesuvia. Specifically, they had been called upon to cure the Count of Vesuvia, Lucio. While they were both strong in their perspective areas of study, the cure for the plague had alluded them, much to the delight of Quaestor Valedmar who handled the majority of the dead bodies on their frequent trips to Lazaret. While their appointments had not been made into a competition by the palace, Asra and Julian had taken it upon themselves to make it such, teasing the other with their own progress and reviling in rumors of the other’s failures. They worked in close proximity; Asra generally made himself at home in a pile of books and pillows on the library floor while Julian spilt his time between the dimly lit dungeons and his desk in the library.

Asra sat back down among his work, shaking his head to rid his mind of the new face that had disappeared into the dungeons. Instead of reviewing his notes as he had planned, his mind drifted until he realized that he had been doodling in the margins of his notebook. An eager face looked back at him, hair half pinned back behind their head, half falling about their shoulders. He had only seen a shadow of a smile as the Apprentice had looked away from him in embarrassment, but Asra took the liberty of imagining that face split in half with a grin, the corners of their eyes pointed upward in a laugh.

A cool body wrapped around his arm, a small head peeking through his sleeves to admire the drawing.

“Pretty,” Faust commented.

Asra let out a silent laugh in agreement before scratching out the face with his pencil. Faust looked back at him, tongue flickering.

“Let’s go home, Faust.” He packed his books, not noticing a red, leather-bound book beneath a pillow that he failed to collect and returned to his shop.

“Now that we’ve completed your tour,” Valdemar continued, pressing their fingers into a steeple at their chest, “please, join your appointed doctor to begin working with them immediately. You will direct all further questions to them.”

The group of new apprentices broke apart, muttering to each other as they looked around the room to find their mentor. Julian had missed the introduction of the apprentices and the divvying up, so he stood anxiously around the edge of the crowd, waiting for one of them to walk up to him expectantly. It didn’t take long for just that to happen and Julian looked down at his apprentice with a welcoming smirk. They had their hand at their cheek as they looked up at him through heavy lashes.

“Doctor… Devorak?” they questioned.

Julian bowed in a flourish. “At your service… um…” He halted, not knowing his new apprentice’s name. They gave it.

“At your service, my dearest Apprentice.” Julian deepened his bow before grabbing the apprentice’s hand in his and bringing this forehead to it. With the working theory that the plague could be passed through contact with someone else’s saliva, this had become the preferred custom of greeting, even if one knew they weren’t infected.

“Now, follow me to my office and I shall give you a bit more information about my expectations of you.”

They followed obediently and immediately Julian felt uncomfortable. It was not in his nature to give orders, but to execute them. He had been opposed to even being assigned an apprentice for this very reason, but Count Lucio and Quaestor Valdemar both had insisted that all doctors have an apprentice so as to work more efficiently.

As they walked in the office, Julian gathered up stray scrolls and books, stuffing them on to the small shelf, suddenly hyperaware of the mess that he usually left when researching. There was no other seat than his own, behind the desk, so he sat, and The Apprentice stood in front of his desk, looking down at him with too many expectations. He looked down at his desk so as to hide a blush, moving papers about with no purpose before he found the words to speak.

“Now, then, my dear! As you know, we are working towards a cure for the plague. You’ve gone through some training before this obviously, but what exactly can you do?”

The apprentice smoothed the front of their robe in thought, avoiding Julian’s gaze before they answered. “I have had some teaching in magic as well as—”

“Magic!” Julian slumped back in his chair with a huff, bringing one hand to his temple to massage it. “Then you’d be better off with that magician than here.”

“The magician… being the one in the library?”

Julian opened one eye from between his splayed fingers to look at his apprentice.

“Yes, that man was Asra, the magician employed by the palace to find some…. other worldly solution to this plague.” Julian sighed, slumping forward again in his chair as he made some notes in the margin of a random slip of paper at his desk. “Is your only experience in magic?”

They looked at him again, a prideful gleam in their eye as they puffed up their chest. “No, sir! I’m only beginner levels at magic but I have also studied in the sciences as well. I know how to prep a surgery, draw blood, care for minor ailments--”

Julian waved a hand and his apprentice cut themselves short. “That’s all and well. I’m sure Valdemar wouldn’t have brought you here if you weren’t of some use. Then why are you here?”

There was silence, punctured only by dull moans from the other side of the thick metal door that separated the doctor and the apprentice from the never-ending doom of the plague. Finally, they found their words.

“I don’t want anyone to suffer anymore.”

Julian’s chin rested in his hand as he looked up at his apprentice from behind his desk. Now, they did not look away. Instead, their shoulders were set back, fists gathered in determination at their side as they looked at Julian.

All of a sudden, Julian threw his head back in a laugh. “Very well! I think we’ll work well together. Though I must warn you, that magician—Asra—can be a pain to work with, so try not to bite his head off. Heavens knows I struggle with the temptation every day.”

The doctor opened up a drawer in his desk, throwing aside papers and notebooks in his grumblings. Finally, he pulled a white beaked mask out of the drawer and handed it to the apprentice across from him. “Here you are! Your own mask.”

They gingerly took the mask from Julian’s hand, holding it up to their own face to compare the size. Julian continued to look through his desk, fumbling through papers and empty vials.

“Er, well, I have your first task for you!”

The apprentice looked at him with wide eyes past the mask.

“It seems as though I have no more herbs with which to stuff your mask. Now, you could go without them and burn out your nose hairs with the smell of the plague and death, but you never know when your nose might come in handy, so, I need you to go to that aforementioned magician and convince him to give us some more.”

“Convince him, sir?”

“If it were me asking, he’d need some convincing, but maybe he’ll be more forthcoming with you. We’re not on the friendliest of terms, you see, so you might want to avoid mentioning that you’re under my tutelage…”

The Apprentice looked quizzically at Dr. Devorak before nodding. What could they do besides accept whatever task the doctor had set upon them? Julian flashed his apprentice another smile before telling him where to find Asra’s shop in case the magician had left his spot in the library.

The door closed heavily behind them and Julian let out an exasperated sigh as he hid his face behind his long fingers. First, he was forced to work alongside the enticing magician and now he was given a just as appealing apprentice to order around.

“What have I gotten myself in to…”

#writing #writingmulti:julian #writingmulti:asra #the arcana #the arcana game #three's company #i'm mostly into muriel but #i really like threesomes #eventual asraapprenticejulian

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alliswell21 · 7 years ago

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Alright, so as continuation for where Katniss is drunk and admits to Peeta about them being a cute couple, here are my prompts. Prompt 134 "Was I really that drunk?" Prompt 182 "I've wanted this for so long" and Prompt 163 "Fuck me"pretty please!

Ok @amazinglovers747, I hope I’m giving you what your heart desires with this one! Thank you for the prompts!!! 😘

>>——->

I’m jolted awake by a soft knock. My head shoots up alert and frantic just to find Mrs. Everdeen with one hand on the wide open door knob and the other clutching the strap of her purse. She’s wearing scrubs, which means she’s heading out to work.

“Morning Peeta.” She says uneasy but firm.

“Mrs. E! This isn’t—“

She stops me by raising a hand. “I just wanted to thank you for bringing Katniss home last night, and taking care of her when she puked.”

I grimace. It wasn’t pretty and Katniss was kind of pitiful. Of course I helped her. I’m about to say something but she stops me again.

“I texted your dad and let him know you crashed here after the party. It’s fine to stay anytime is too late, Peeta. Just remember that although you’re college kids now, we parents still worry. Also, I know you’re a complete gentleman an everything a mom could ever want for her daughter’s best friend, but next time, please take the couch?” She says fidgeting.

“Moooom…” Katniss groans next me. She rolls over under the covers so she’s facing me. “It’s Peeta! He’s welcome in my bed whenever!” She throws her arm across my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s to make a point or if she’s still out of it.

I would’ve guess she expelled every last drop of alcohol last night when she retched half her lungs. We almost didn’t make it to the bathroom. It was lucky I was still sitting next to her when she first jerked up saying she was gonna hurl, but to be honest, this attitude isn’t very normal either.

Mrs Everdeen rolls her eyes a little annoyed. She knows Katniss will do what she wants, and there’s little she can say to her as a mom to dissuade her. She pretty much lost that right when she succumbed to depression and Katniss had to step up as head of the family. Mrs E still tries to be motherly sometimes though.

“We will talk about this drinking business later, Katniss. You’re still 18 and Prim looks up to you.” Says Mrs E. sternly. Katniss grunts on my chest. Then the older woman turns back to me, “Peeta, dear, I doubt Katniss will be up to fix any breakfast but if you’re hungry, I’m sure you’d be more than able to whip up something to eat. Feel free to help yourself to anything you want.”

“Oh, um… thank you ma’am. For calling my father and… everything.”

She nods, stares at us in bed for second, shakes her head and is gone.

Katniss lifts her head and groans again. “Was I really that drunk?”

I chuckle, combing my fingers through her lose hair. “Yeah… it wasn’t a pretty sight either.” I forget myself for a second when she nods and her head thuds back on my chest, and I bring my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her to me.

She sighs, nuzzling her nose into my shoulder.

“How come you smell so good? I smell so bad right now.” She wonders, which leads me to believe she hasn’t gain her sober filters yet.

“I didn’t get drunk beyond reason,” I giggle.

“No… you always smell sweet. Like cinnamon and dill. I wish I could smell you all day…”

Before anything else gets said between us, she’s back to snoring softly. I detangle myself from her. It wasn’t as difficult, since she was under the covers and I was on top of them, giving us a layer of separation. She frowns, but rolls over and keeps sleeping.

I set to make us both breakfast. Mrs. E left a note telling Katniss she should drink lots of fluids, and take Tylenol as needed from the bathroom medicine cabinet plus other stuff that couldn’t wait for the end of her shift. After a while, I hear Katniss shuffling around somewhere in her room, and then the door to her shared bathroom with her sister opens and closes. I put her out of my mind while mixing ingredients and beating some eggs. I’m flipping the last pancake in my batch, when she trudges into the kitchen, hair dripping wet, wearing my discarded polo shirt from last night and tiny shorts.

My heart rate spikes looking at her. She’s swimming in my shirt and I can barely see the cuffs of her shorts under the hem of my polo, but I believe she’s the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. She rubs her bleary eyes adorably and pouts as she sits on the kitchen island.

“Hey…” she greets.

“Hey!” I answer smiling. “How are you feeling?” I ask her setting a cup of apple juice in front of her and two Tylenol.

“M’kay, I guess.” She swallows the pills and chugs the juice in two gulps. “My head feels cottony, but at least I don’t have a splitting headache, and after my shower, and my change of clothes… I feel loads better.” She rubs her nose against her shoulder, on my shirt, and sniffs it.

My heart stutters.

I don’t comment on it though. Instead, I smile placing a plate full of eggs, bacon and pancakes before her. “Eat, and there’ll be no trace of last night… almost…” I laugh.

She scowls, but Katniss Everdeen doesn’t waste food, and she eats with gusto. She asks about her sister, and I hand her the note from her mother, where she explains Prim was spending the weekend with her friend Rue. Then, I gather the dishes and start washing them, and suddenly, her small, delicate hands slide around my waist from behind. My breath hitches. She’s never in her life done anything like that. Not to me, not to anyone!

“Katniss?” I ask in a shaky voice, “What are you doing?”

She circles around, squeezing between me and the sink coiling her arms around my neck. “Trying to be a cute couple with my… boyfriend?” Her voice pitches higher on the last word.

We hold each other’s gazes for a second, and then our lips come together tentatively. After a few tiny pecks, I dry my hands on my jeans, and cup her face to deepen the kisses. She sighs against my lips, and opens her mouth to me when my tongue prods. We finally come up for air, panting and staring at each other, and then we are laughing together and kissing some more.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” I say caressing her cheeks with my thumbs.

“Why haven’t you, then?”

I shrug, “Because you can be a little intimidating when you scowl.”

We both laugh and kiss again. After a while, when we separate, I look down at her choice of outfit.

“You know, I kinda like how you look in this,” I say tugging at the collar of my polo shirt, “but you may wanna change into something else, this one’s got a bit puke on it. That’s why I took it off and stayed in my undershirt.”

I laugh when Katniss scrunches her nose in disgust. But then my mouth goes slack when she pushes me away and whips the shirt up over her head. She doesn’t have a stitch of clothing on besides her tiny shorts. I think my eyes are going to pop out of my head looking at her bare chest. I have the good sense to bring my reluctant eyes to her face, and notice just how much bravery this is costing her. Normally, Katniss is modest and reserved, but right now there’s a stubborn determination screwed up in purse of her lips, and the deep breaths she’s inhaling.

“You are absolutely gorgeous.” I tell her seriously.

Then she realizes we’re still standing in the middle of the kitchen, and her face flushes. She brings my shirt up to cover up, and I pull her into my arms to shield her as well.

“Let’s go back to bed,” she whispers lowly.

“I-I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Katniss… not when you’re half naked, and… you have no idea the effect you’re having on me right now—“

She presses into me finding just how much she’s affecting me, squeaking a little giggle, while I groan. “I think I have an idea,” she says peering up at me.

I’m speechless. This new side of Katniss is about to make come undone.

“Come on, Peeta,” she purrs. “Part of being a cute couple is being naked together in bed.”

I almost choke on my own saliva. “Are you- really? Um… will you… is that…?” I’m not sure what to ask, because this just can’t be happening so fast and effortlessly. I never thought Katniss would be willing to do something like this with me, and my brain is going on overdrive.

She smiles sweetly, a smile that I know and recognize, and that’s what makes me relax.

“I’m sure, Peeta. Plus my mother said to help yourself to anything you wanted,” She takes my hand leading me back to her bedroom with a sly smile.

“I don’t think she was referring to that! and you just killed the mood.” I grouch.

“Did I?” She turns around, kisses me coyly and runs her hand slowly down my front, from my chest to my groin.

I buck into her hand, all comments of her mother are instantly erased and I’m hard as iron. This time we close the door tightly behind us. She tosses my shirt on her desk, shucking off her bottoms while I trip over myself to follow suit. Once we’re both undressed and staring at each other’s body, lightly caressing and discovering each other’s skins, she licks her lips and mumbles.

“Fuck me…”

“Yes ma’am,” I say right before tackling her onto the mattress.

Our very first time is messy, full of giggles, and just a little awkward. It perfect! And I can’t wait to do it again.

#prompts #everlark drabble #friends to lovers

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lespetitesmortsde · 7 years ago

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Bechloe where Beca's a baker who saw Chloe move in through her window and is awkward but also wants to get in on that from the Neighbours AU list "I just moved into the building and I found banana bread on my doorstep. I probably shouldn’t eat it cause I have no idea where it came from buT IT’S DELICIOUS"

Beca tried very hard not to be creepy, but that’s kind of difficult when her past-time for the last hour and a half has been to stare out the window and watch a gorgeous redheaded woman carry box after box into the house beside her own.

More than once, Beca debated the merits of going out and offering to help her, but that required more game than she had ever or would ever possess. It wasn’t a bad day for moving, either. The sky was overcast, but still bright without being too hot. So Beca didn’t feel bad for whom she could only assume was her new neighbour.

It was Beca’s day off and she had originally planned to use the day catching up on her boring adult stuff, like paying bills and updating her budget (which she preferred to call ‘the financial situation’ in a veiled reference to one of her favourite musicals). Yet, here she was, staring out her kitchen window like a weirdo, trying to check out an unsuspecting lady.

Sometime shortly past noon, Beca gave up on trying to be a functioning adult. She put away her tablet and calculator on the small table by the pantry and decided that if she was going to stare all day, she could at least do something useful at the same time. From beside the calculator she picked up her kitchen notebook and walked to her spice rack, flipping to one of her favourite banana bread recipes.

At this point, cracking open her book to make banana bread isn’t so much necessary as it is habit. These days, she knows her recipes by ratio and plays with the fun stuff: flavouring, aromatics, density, leaveners, and the like. Not that Beca doesn’t like the classics, but nutmeg and cinnamon in particular for banana bread is a little ‘meh’ in her opinion.

A few weeks ago, she tried cumin and coriander with a bit of orange zest, which worked well, especially when paired with an unsalted, fresh coriander herb butter. She introduced it at her bakery after her at-home success, and so far, it was still selling well. She even got her friend Benji, owner of the cafe beside the bakery, to flavour a chai latte that would pair well with it.

They often played off each other like that, running the joke that one day they’ll tear out the wall separating their businesses. He was a good guy, if a little weird at times, and he makes a shot of espresso that gets Beca to sigh in pleasure.

Especially when she’s baked a batch of biscotti for the occasion.

But back to her current spice rack dilemma. She didn’t want to do anything too ‘out there’ because she has zero clue about the redhead’s tastes. Maybe she doesn’t even like banana bread. It doesn’t matter, she’s going to get some. It’s the least Beca can do after drooling at her all day. Beca’s baking is fucking delicious, so the new neighbour can always use it to make friends if nothing else. She seems like the kind of person who makes friends easily. And no, it’s not just her pretty face. Well, Beca’s assuming her face is pretty. She’s only seen it from a distance, but she has faith.

So Beca opted for a pretty vanilla banana bread, if you don’t mind the pun. She chuckled as the joke went through her mind and grabbed a jar of vanilla beans and a different jar full of cardamom pods.

Now, most banana bread recipes don’t have a liquid component aside from beaten eggs. However, Beca uses a quarter cup of cream for richness and, in this case, to host the flavours from the cardamom and vanilla pods. After getting a small step stool from the corner of the kitchen, she grabbed a small cast iron pan that hung from her ceiling. She set a burner to medium and tossed a few cardamom pods into the pan, lightly toasting the spice.

God help her, she is such a nerd for baking.

She measured out her cream into a glass measuring cup and split a vanilla bean to scrape out the seeds. She took another peek out the window. The woman was lugging yet another box into the house. Beca wondered how the decently-sized but also kinda small moving van had this much crap in it.

Shrugging off the thought, she added a touch of water to the pan in order to cool it a bit, and pulled it off the heat. She added the cream to the pods before adding the vanilla seeds and after a quick internal debate, the vanilla pod as well. The pan wasn’t too hot, so she used her bare hand to swirl the pan and thus the liquid around, and smiled as it started to change colour, taking on the colours and flavours of the spices.

She set it off to the side to finish steeping , prepped her dry ingredients, and mashed a few bananas from the freezer. Periodically, she glanced out the window to keep loose tabs on where the redhead was. Last Beca noticed, the woman had shut the back door of the van and gone inside.

A little disappointed, Beca preheated the oven. Then she buttered and floured a loaf pan, and took out a stick of butter from the fridge to soften for later. She figured she might as well use the last of the rosewater she’d made a few days ago for a shortbread experiment to create a rosewater whipped butter to go with the banana bread. It would complement the cardamom and vanilla softly, since it’s a delicate flavour.

Beca tried to stay aware of not overcomplicating her flavour profiles. Sometimes, less is more. She’d once made a twelve-spice bundt cake and while it was not awful, it wasn’t particularly good either.

She combined all of her ingredients and then poured the mixture into her prepared pan. One long look at it later, and she spritzed the top with rosewater. She justified it by telling herself it’ll tie the flavours of the butter to the banana bread better, and even keeps the profile if the butter is skipped.

It was a reasonable decision and not at all impulsive.

Beca slid the pan into the oven, picked up her notebook, and went to go lean against the counter in front of the window. She propped the book against the glass so she could pretend she wasn’t trying to scope out the neighbour if she needed an alibi. It’s a stance she’s been caught in before, more than once.

When you’ve been baking for more than fifteen years (Beca started when she was eight), you don’t have to set an alarm anymore unless you’re very busy. Despite being distracted, Beca was technically not busy, so she figured she’d be safe relying on her internal clock.

Luckily for her, the universe did not want her to burn anything today.

She caught the rare glimpse of the redhead through the other house’s windows. Sometimes the woman popped up in the only upstairs window Beca could see, sometimes in what appeared to be the kitchen, and most often in what looked like a living room.

45 minutes later, the bread passed Beca’s test for doneness and was put aside to cool. She turned away from her viewing pleasures to pull out her stand mixer. She changed the attachment from the ever-trusty dough hook to the whisk and dropped the stick of butter into the bowl. Eight minutes of whipping, starting at medium and going all the way to spastic, brought lovely, white, fluffy, and aerated butter into existence. She added a healthy measure of rosewater, but there wasn’t much left, so she tossed the rest in too. Another minute on high and she was scraping out the butter onto some wax paper.

It took a few minutes to wrestle the butter into a cylinder and then to squeeze the extra air bubbles out, and then Beca just stared at the tube. Something was missing. She grumbled a little as she went to her decoration drawer and pulled out five weirdly angled pieces of plastic. Beca loosened the wrapping on the butter tube, pressed the pieces of plastic into it, slipped a couple of elastic bands around the tube, and then wrapped the whole thing in cling wrap.

Stars. That’s what the presentation needed. Butter that looked like stars.

xxxxx

It had been a long day of moving stuff into her new place and Chloe was exhausted. She’d spent the better part of eight hours straight lugging heavy boxes in from the rental van. She flopped heavily onto the couch, thankful that her best friend Aubrey had been around to help her yesterday so she could get all the furniture moved in without too much struggle. She could’ve used Aub’s help today, too, but it was miraculous that Aubrey had gotten even one day off to help her. The law didn’t rest.

Chloe sighed, feeling her limbs get heavier as she laid there. Her mattress was still on the floor of her bedroom and she hadn’t gotten a chance to build her bed yet. At this point, it was looking like she might not even make it upstairs before she passed out. The couch looked like a better and better option the longer she didn’t move.

Her stomach rumbled and Chloe groaned because she doesn’t have anything to eat, aside from some instant ramen. Even that basic assembly seems too daunting.

When Chloe was trying to figure out where her phone was—she couldn’t tell anymore if there actually was something in her pocket, or remember if she put it down somewhere—someone knocked on her door.

She cocked her head to the side, trying to recall if she was expecting anybody. Not that she knew of. And unless she can’t remember a very lucid dream where she ordered pizza (which would be amazing), no one has any reason to be on her doorstep. But, even though she was absolutely beat, she got up with considerable effort, and went and opened the door.

No one was there. Chloe couldn’t believe it. Not even one whole day in her new place and the neighbourhood kids were already pranking her. Then, she looked down.

“Oh,” Chloe said softly, bending down to pick up a Ziploc container. There was a note stuck on top. Chloe looked around to see if she could spot the person responsible, but she couldn’t see any sort of movement.

She took the tupperware inside, closing and locking the door behind her. In the kitchen, she set it on the counter and pulled off the note left on top.

Welcome to the neighbourhood!Hope you got moved in alright. Please enjoy some banana bread. It’s not vegan, gluten-free, or calorie-wise, but it should be delicious. There’s also a butter that goes with it, if that’s something you’re into.Of course, you don’t have to eat it either. It’s pretty sketchy to eat random banana bread from your doorstep. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never know.

Smiling, Chloe took the lid off of the container. It looked like banana bread. It smelled like fancy banana bread. She poked it. It felt like regular banana bread too. Not that she’d know what poisoned banana bread looked or felt like. Tucked in a smaller container at the side was the butter. Chloe opened that one too and laughed when she saw the butter in star shapes. Yup, that spelled out fancy banana bread. It must have been a pain to cut all those stars out of a block of butter.

Her stomach rumbled again. “Well,” Chloe murmured, “if this is how I die, so be it.” Without bothering to try and find a knife in one of the still numerous remaining boxes, Chloe tore off a chunk. She eyed the butter, debating quickly, before smushing her bread into one of the stars.

She put the whole piece into her mouth.

Holy shit, was it delicious. It was rich and dense, but smooth and creamy with the help of the butter. There was also something extra, some spice she didn’t know. She could make out the vanilla, but something in there had more depth that blended well with the banana and the vanilla.

She ate three-quarters of the loaf, eating a couple of pieces without the fancy butter, just to say she tried it both ways. Honestly, it’s probably one of the best dinners she’s ever had. She just wished she knew whom she should thank for the truly delectable gift.

Also, she should probably give the container back. At some point, anyway.

Is it possible to fall in love via baked good? Chloe thought about it as she put what little was left of the bread away and trudged upstairs to clean up and sleep. Yeah, it probably was possible. Chloe was a goner.

xxxxx

After returning the van in the morning, and unpacking more of her belongings, Chloe took a bowl of ramen outside to eat on her porch. She was impressed she found a bowl, pot, spoon, and chopsticks, too. About halfway through her noodle lunch, a man left the house directly across from hers, and walked right toward her.

“Hello!” He called out as he approached. Chloe moved the bowl from her lap and got up, brushing her right hand against her pants.

“Hi there!” She replied brightly, stepping down to meet him on the walkway.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood! I’m Jesse,” he introduced himself with a little wave.

“Hi Jesse, I’m Chloe,” she shook his hand once he’d stuck it out there.

“Nice to meet you. Do you need any help?”

Chloe shook her head. “Thank you, but no. It’s just putting things away now and I want to be able to find things again.”

“No sweat,” he smiled easily. “Am I the first one to say hi?”

She shifted on her feet. “Kind of?”

He looked at her, waiting for the explanation.

“Well, yesterday someone knocked on my door, but when I opened the door, nobody was there. They left some of the most delicious banana bread I’ve ever had, though, but I have no idea who it is,” Chloe sighed.

Jesse laughed. “That’ll be Beca,” he told her. “She owns a bakery further into town.” He turned to point at the house next door. “She lives there, and you’re right, her baking is amazing.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped, as she looked over at the house. “Really? What’s it called?”

“Grain of Salt; it’s right beside a cafe that my best friend owns.”

“That’s so cool,” Chloe gushed, glancing back to Beca’s house.

Jesse smirked a little. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

Her hair whipped as she turned to look at him. “That’d be great!”

He nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” He started walking away.

“Wait! I need to change, I can’t go over like this!” Chloe cried, gesturing frantically at her sweatpants and tank top.

“Relax,” he said calmly. “She’s probably not dressed much better by now.”

Chloe’s brow furrowed.

“She opens the bakery every morning, so by the time two p.m. rolls around, she’s already back home and lounging.”

“Still,” Chloe said, drawing it out.

“Nope,” Jesse walked back to take her hand. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”

“Wait, wait, let me at least grab her tupperware container,” Chloe said, pulling away and marching into the house. She emerged a minute later with a clean container. “Okay, now we can go.”

Jesse led the way, even though Chloe now knew where to go. He’s also the one who knocked before calling out loudly, “Beca, open the door!”

From somewhere upstairs, slightly muffled, someone (presumably Beca) yelled back, “Go away, Swanson, I’m not watching a movie with you! Not now, not ever!”

Jesse rolled his eyes and leaned towards Chloe. “She’s being dramatic. I made her watch Titanic the other day. She hated it,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Come on, Becaw! I have someone for you to meet!” Jesse smiled smugly.

The door flung open. “You know I hate that nickname!” She growled, before realizing exactly who it was with Jesse.

“Hi!” Chloe greeted, and on impulse went right up to Beca and hugged her.

Beca looked at Jesse, lost, but he only shrugged in return. “Um, hi?” Awkwardly, she patted Chloe on the back.

“I’m Chloe,” she said as she pulled away.

“Beca.”

“Nice to meet you!” Chloe smiled, then offered the container to Beca. “And thanks, it was amazing.”

Beca wrenched her gaze from Chloe’s eyes down to the Ziploc and back. “You finished it already?”

Chloe blushed. “I hadn’t eaten dinner when I discovered a poor defenseless banana loaf on my porch, and then it was so good I just could help myself. I finished it off for breakfast this morning.” She shrugged, “I have no regrets.”

Beca tilted her head to the side. “And did it work well with the butter?”

Chloe nodded emphatically. “Oh my God, it was so good!” But Chloe paused. “Wait, you didn’t try it?”

Shaking her head, Beca replied, “No, I didn’t want to ruin the presentation. I had faith it would be good, though, so I’m glad it was.”

“Aww, I wouldn’t have minded! Also, what spice was in there?”

“Cardamom.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that one before. It was nice though. I don’t know how to describe it, but it added to the experience.”

Beca smiled. “That’s great. That’s the goal.”

The two women just kind of gazed at each other for a few moments.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Jesse asked, already taking a couple of steps back.

Beca rolled her eyes. “What brought you here anyway?”

Jesse gestured at Chloe. “She wanted to know who baked the banana bread. Had to be you. That’s all.”

She looked at him warily. “That’s it?”

Chloe jumped in before Jesse could say anything more. “Yup! I needed to know who made this. Tell me all your secrets!”

Beca noticeably blanched. “All?”

Chloe grinned, stepping forward so Beca would step back and let her in the house. “Yes! You’re like a magical baker, I need all the baking secrets.” Chloe wandered in, slipped off her shoes, and went looking for the kitchen.

Beca stared after her, half in amusement and half in disbelief. She closed the door and followed her, hoping she wouldn’t destroy the organization of the pantry before she got there.

Jesse watched the door close in front of him. “I’m good here,” he muttered under his breath. “No, I don’t want to come inside thank you. Geez,” he shook his head at his friend’s behaviour. “Maybe she’ll get laid and be less grouchy, though.”

He turned and walked away, chuckling at the exasperation he could hear in Beca’s voice as she asked Chloe to put something down before their conversation dissolved into two distinct giggles.

#ask #anon #bechloe #fic request #lespetitesmortsde #fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #baker beca au #ficlet

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