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strawberry-nugget · 3 years ago

Text

over and out | k. Bakugo

Synopsis: Bakugo has no idea he's walking into a get drunk with your ex buzzfeed interview, will this small interaction be enough to eventually get the two of you back together? Band! au

Visuals

Authors note: if you've seen this fic over at my old account with different characters no you haven't. This is the third time I'm rewritting it and I think that I finally got it right. I am splitting it into two parts so I have more content to post over the span of s few days<3 if you see any Dennis please forgive me my auto correct is more insane than I am, I was meaning to write Denki.

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, cheating (not on reader), angst, thigh/p*ssyjob, swearing, alcohol. All characters are in their 20s

I'm left with pockets of regret

Swear I won't forget

The tragedy of successes

Believing in second chances

I lie awake in my own head

The building that stands before Katsuki's eyes is no bigger than a basic and very much urban apartment complex. Its brick walls are painted a bright maroon shade, accentuated with beige drywalls that only function as a mere decoration to the studio. There are quite a few trees sprawled around the entrance; some very well kept lawn is also present and emitting a spray of fresh aura to Katsuki's nostrils, which only passes him like a failed attempt for relief.

Much like what his gut apparently needs to stop beeping it's a little red warning- it's true,hedcd rather not be here at all.

Despite his best wishes, a tingling feeling; a somewhat of swirling sensation spirals under the skin of his jaw and causes him to nonchalantly scratch through the coarse hair of his goatee. His fingernails scrub through his facial hair erratically as he looks around, but he doesn't cease to smooth out the mess he thinks he's made on himself before retrieving his fingers back, sparing them a scanning look.

Oh yeah, he's definitely nervous. The mighty Katsuki Bakugo is nervous. And for such a silly little reason too. A youtube interview- one that his PR team thought would source massive clout to him for his upcoming album.

A small publicity stunt.

Your average celebrity knows how non tv interviews can be the most fun -for example, the one that was help for him and his band members to show off their tattoos and tell the stories behind them- or extremely cringy -Machine Gun Kelly and Megan Fox did ace as the twilight wannabe couple of the year- and Katsuki is more than aware of that; the hit and miss nature of what's held in store for him. Yet, the marketing team of his band has always been pushy and persistent about them accepting most interviews throughout their career. Any reasons behind any interview have only ever seemed as an opportunity for his band to get marketed further to the public.

And right now Bakugo needs the exposure, to rile the audience up for the release of his first solo album, Ground Zero.

Taking a few more steps to the entrance of the building, he turns to look behind him, throwing a few glances here and there to his other band members, who simply stare back at him either enthusiastically or a little awkwardly even. Once he spots Denki talking to a staff member of their management team he clicks his tongue and sighs apologetically.

'I can't stand this' he mouths and Denki shoots him a smile of pressed lips and dewy eyes.

"What is it, blondie ? Do I have something on my face?"

"Shut it Denki" Katsuki snaps "Come at me only when you start wearing actual shirts"

The whole group of men snickers at Denki, Kirishima pointing out how his cropped see through shirt and the leather bikini top he's wearing on top of that is the peak of his fashion statement outfits and he shouldn't listen to Bakugo. Bakugo grunts and doesn't even bother looking at them.

"Ohhh!" Denki hisses and bumps Kirishima on the side "thanks man, seems like some people are just basic am I right?" Katsuki blinks his eyes into his and puckers his lips sourly.

There's been a lot of focus on Denki lately, Katsuki thinks and buried his face in the palm of his hands. Of course, there's always a time that fangirls will start swooning over the scrawny yet hot, eccentric guitarist, because almost every band has one. Denki is charismatic with his guitar, he writes most songs along with him and Kirshima, he has been the one to make contracts with clothing lines to sell his own solo merch, he is the next one who's working on his solo album and yet surprisingly he isn't the focus of this interview.

Katsuki is.

And no one has told him what the interview is about, because as they've claimed, it's funnier for him not to know. That's exactly what Denki's face is saying as he stares back at him with the most mischievous smug on his face, all while twisting the thin charm necklace around his neck.

Katsuki doesn't particularly like the way Kirishima and Sero are wiggling their eyebrows at him and then look at each other, only to be encouraged by Denki's smart comments to keep going.

When he glares at them, Denki opens his mouth again "Katsuki, it's just BuzzFeed!" He comments, to which Sero and Eijiro react with an outburst of laughter.

"Yeah right Katsuki!"

"Juuuuuust BuzzFeed." Sero laughs.

"Guys will you just stop!" Katsuki snaps again at them.

He's more than annoyed, he's infuriated and he feels like everyone is making fun of him, teasing him so profoundly over something that seems so damn funny to them. Even their agent, Tokoyami is, subtly giggling at the back.

Somewhere deep inside he's a tiny bit excited, but he swears he won't let his excited side show.

It's kind of eerie how everyone has agreed to keep this a secret from him, especially when they seem to enjoy this extensively; even the staff member that accompanies them, Tokoyami, smiles again, ever so slightly under the shadows of his long bangs. Katsuki clicks his tongue at him too and in return earns a strict look from the man.

Nonetheless, Katsuki sighs once again and proceeds to focus only on taking the final few more steps to the entrance to the studio. The others do pretty much the same, the sound of sneakers clashing over the pavement and the teeny chattering of everyone these few seconds pass quicker than expected.

"Okay guys," Tokoyami says "Katsuki you're up for makeup and clothes and I want you out at fifteen, we have to be at the studio to record right after this. The rest of you come with me."

.....

Fifteen minutes later Katsuki finds himself looking at his own reflection for the sole and very brief moment he's allowed to because of his schedule, he fixes a few strands of his hair here and there, praying they just stay the way he likes them. He examines his shirt then, a vintage nirvana tee he brought with him to match his waxed jeans with, he rattles the few bracelets on his arms and finally pumps his fingers to the roots of his hair, and tries to feather the sides of his mullet just so that the sides of his undercut are more than just visible.

This will be the first time his fans will see his new haircut, he thinks, but then again he doesn't expect this interview to be out until next week. His PR team surely has a bunch of Instagram content they'd want him to post in that short while.

"You're up!" He hears, faintly and he searches for his phone, eager to place it snug in the back pocket of his jeans, but the disappointed face of Tokoyami flashes in his head. 'Take a picture of your outfits' he always says 'you're the only one in the rock scene that can pull anything off' and honestly he hates it, because he doesn't care about the photos or the hell that comes with him sharing his music.

He nonetheless opens the camera to his phone and flicks his middle finger out. He snaps a picture on his phone and he even does as much as twisting the camera to the front one, taking a low angled picture of his face.

The ones his fans absolutely love.

The three gentle knocks on the door are accompanied by Tokoyami's voice which is heard from the distance once more, just to remind him that his time is up. Katsuki nods to himself and straightens his shirt slightly. He scrunches and curls his toes inside his converse, bites his bottom lip slightly and sighs.

"Coming!"

Katsuki wraps his hand over the handle of his dressing room and pushes it downwards. The beating of his heart is fast and loud; it's pumping and shaking his whole being from inside. His gut is churning excessively, as if it's trying to warn him not to walk out of that door, but he still thinks that's just caused by the atmosphere the guys have created for him.

Damn those idiots for making fun of him for something he doesn't know about he's sure those fuckers are about to put him in such deep shit.

"You're just excited" He tells himself.

And it's enough for him to believe it.

Moments later he finds himself walking eagerly towards the dim lit studio set. His eyes immediately meet with the ones of his band mates, who all seem to have kind smiles splattered on their faces as they stare back at him. He's so sure what they've cooked up is pretty bad and that moment gives it all away.

Everything else, other than the headlights that are pointing on a table with two chairs are dark. Katsuki's curiosity reaches its peak, because apparently he's supposed to have an unknown partner for this interview now.

'I'm going to kill you' he mouths as he turns to his friends and they laugh haphazardly.

Katsuki isn't one to put a smile on his face to wave to the crew members around him to greet them, he's not Kirishima, or Sero, he simply grunts at them, towering almost half of the crew that is surrounding him, heavy with recording equipment.

"Are you ready mister Bakugo?" A petite girl asks him and he growls at her, bopping his head up and down.

"He's sure in a mood" He hears Denki whisper but he ignores it, despite the girl turning her head to him instantly.

"I'm all good!"

"Alright then, please sit down and make yourself at home! We'll bring in our guest."

Katsuki smiles almost sassily and scratches the back of neck, letting a nervous growl escape him. He scans around the room again, his orbs falling right onto the rest of his band once more. Sero is pointing at him with wide eyes and a constipated smile, with his cheeks sucked in mockingly and talking to Kirishima. Denki is on his phone, typing maniacally -probably to Jirou- while Tokoyami is pointing at him angrily.

Breath work, he tells himself. He needs to work on his breathing.

The sound of bubbling laughter is what startles him next; a mellow, kind sound is echoing through the set, accompanied by the instructive voice of the staff member from before.

"Oh you're so sweet" He hears as all sound comes to pause before the giggling starts again.

Kirishima's face is the only one that is breaking in anxiety and Katsuki catches on that immediately.

Katsuki can faintly recognize that laughter, it's certainly something he's heard before whether intentionally or not but at the very moment it's hard for him to remember where or when.

It's only when the laughter turns into speech, only when the voice behind that sound sets sturdier and tickles his ears that he realizes to whom it certainly belongs to. And finally, he feels like he's been right to feel weak in the knees.

Your name falls off his mouth like a forbidden spell, but it isn't even audible -all air sucked out of his lungs, how can he even talk in a tone that you'd like in your ears.

He looks around, desperate gaze falling over his friends and he spots Kirishima shooting a concerned one back; they all know he hasn't seen you know a while. You've been present- just as frequently as him- in premeditated events that he's been invited to, such as Met Galas, after parties, mutual friends' birthday parties and any social event that artists have to attend. You being an upcoming actress that audiences wholeheartedly love after landing a role on a drama, never miss out the publicity of any event.

And he's never been able to catch more than one glimpse of you anywhere else, spare the occasional recommended YouTube video of your interviews, to which he has to press the block button, not wanting to entice himself or indulge into getting a glimpse into your current life. He's never felt he has the right anyway.

He only has the courage to watch an interview twice while editing one of the songs to his upcoming album, finding himself wondering if you would ever understand it was meant to be for you. But even that had been ripped away from him, just like you as soon as he came to realise what he had been doing.

Seeing you now, so close, and so forcefully placed in the same room with him makes his stomach churn and turn with anxiety.

He can't help but notice that you too practically freeze on your very spot. At the sound of his voice calling at your name -which you somehow heard- you take a reluctant step back, eyes wide and lips slightly part as you bring your hand just under your chest; a visible indicator of your haze and unpleasant surprise. You seem to doubt whether you want to take another step closer to him or the set and Katsuki slightly sighs, praying it's just under his breath.

"Are you alright?" The assistant next you you asks and your eyes don't even begin to bat away from Katsuki's

"Oh yes, completely fine, but when I was told I'd have an interview with one of my exes I- I didn't expect him"

You notice how the staff member panics slightly at your words so you're quick to sign her to calm down along with a long blink of your eyes. You hear her exhale in relief shortly after, her own eyes opening right into yours.

"Don't worry," You say, smiling. Your whole face alters significantly with every second passing "I won't let him yell at you"

Katsuki drags himself to the set begrudgingly at your comment, but doesn't spare you a look.

Your heart skips a beat as you're trying to walk towards the small table in the centre of the set. You spare a pressed lol smile at him and watch as he smiles back at you in a similar manner.

"Hey Bakugo."

"Hey" He whispers "you good?"

"Aha"

Katsuki can't help but frown at how your replies are overly tense, how you seem unable to find a comfortable spot in your seat, as far away from him as you can -Denki laughs in the background again, but this time Kirishima jabs him in the ribs, threatening to pinch his nipple

"Great, I'm good too!"

There's a strange awkward tension in the air and the crew of producers know that; in fact Bakugo is sure they depend on it. Fans have always been starving for the reason Katsuki and you ended your relationship three years ago and everyone knows that, yet your heart skips a beat at the thought of you having to confront that in such an interview.

You can practically hear your managers setting this whole thing up, having always been against you two breaking up; the couple whose love run cold comes face to face with each other after years. You guess they think it's the marketing that'll get both your fanbases going.

You spare him another look, eyes lingering onto his form for far too long -on his knees, his hands, the dark polish on his nails- but you're looking at anywhere that isn't his face or his eyes. Your heart is hammering, your gut is churning, it's inevitable to feel this way and you know it. The only thing you can bet on is trying to breathe to regulate the embodiment of your anxiety.

Thankfully no one is pointing out that you're shaking.

"Are you ready?" A staff member asks-not the kind girl from before- startling you.

"Ah, yes!"

"Yeah!" Bakugo grunts

The set director is frantically ordering everyone to get in their places as your anxiety continues to peak; numerous people walk back and forth, headphones on their heads, as they're trying to get into position. The commotion doesn't take too long -you find yourself having to force a smile a second before the camera rolls. Katsuki, right next to you, puts on his usual sultry face.

"Today we're doing the drunk exes question list celebrities edition. You're not the only ones to suffer with it." The girl from before announces earning a few nervous laughs from you and a few other people in the back

"I should have really been informed about this, my girl's gonna freak." Katsuki announces with a small laugh, mouthing an 'I love you' to the camera. You stare in -you hope we'll masked- shock at how his persona goes through this change, the half heart he draws in the air with his pointer and his middle finger- his rings clinging and clashing- would surely be edited with a cute gif later on.

"Well we wanted you to be spontaneous" She replies

You almost feel sorry for him, knowing that his girl would definitely be watching him. Bakugo isn't the type to tolerate much jealousy or even anyone causing him a scene about anything and it's not like you can help it. You didn't even know you were going to be having an interview with him, thinking it would be your most recent ex who was called to have an interview with you, the ex you're still friends with, not Bakugo and his atrocious ego.

You fall back into the conversation between Bakugo and your interviewer shortly after you try to put a halt to your raging thoughts and you're presented with the drink the production has arranged for you -a favorite of yours truly Katsuki Bakugo- a bottle of Hennessy X.O.

Of course Bakugo would only be a show off like this. With his money and his manners no one would even hesitate to serve him drinks this expensive.

"Show off" You mutter and he sticks his tongue out at you, whipping his head from left to right.

"Thank you so much" you say, as an assistant is setting down two glasses for you

Katsuki, ready to pour the liquor in his glass, lifts it up but quickly sets it down once Tokoyami shoots him an intense death glare from the back of the set. He clears his throat and rests his eyes on your face, squinting his eyes at you as he nudges for your glass. You snort when you give it to him, mouth dry as you're trying to not give out any satisfaction to him.

You even thank him through your teeth and you can see how bad it riles him up.

"I'm Asui," The girl who's interviewing you says "I'll be your interviewer for today if you'll have me" She earns nods from both you and Bakugo "Let's begin with our questions shall we?"

…

The first few questions are rather standard. Boring. You've been asked all of them before in the past 'are you single right now' 'what do you remember about the last time the two of you spoke' 'how did you think your fanbase took it when you broke up' and all that jazz. They're tiring to say at least, because it's noon and it's somewhat uncomfortable, digging up these few memories that you never knew had been branded in your brain.

It hurts that you have to see him like this. Only talking to you when needed, sharing things about your relationship like it's a story from a past life and even your head tells you that it is, that what the two of you had belongs into another dimension, so far away from the present.

He's so aggressive as he slurs some of his words, any hint of smug wiped away by all the drink that's in him by now, trying to brush off anything he can salvage, and for other he doesn't care at all.

"What's a gift of them that you still have to this day" The interviewer asks and you know that the rings on his fingers were gifts for anniversaries and there's a copy of your diary that has a journal entry of your first date decorating his band's first studio album

"Ah, can't remember" He says while looking at you and you take it upon yourself to reply with something worse. He has to feel the poison running through you at the sound of his words.

"I got rid of everything" You reply and you don't let anyone know about the fenced heart you have tattooed above the inside of your elbow, and you know he still has his.

It's bitter to say the least, how he's looking at you.

The mellow taste of cognac in your mouth is drowning everything out -at least that's something- and the copious amount of intrusive questions only continues to rage upon you, sneakily trying to catch you off guard while the blond next to you is still speaking.

"I noticed the two of you are tense" Asui says and you nod, downing another gulp of your drink and Bakugo is quick to fill it up for you again.

Was it an unspoken rule that you had to drink until you'd pass out?

"Since this is the first time you have actually spoken in three years we shouldn't force too much upon you" You nod again. "But we do have to ask, just why did you guys break up?"

Bakugo is staring at her, eyes almost shut, face in his palms, you can tell he is not in the mood to talk, just by the way he's turning his feet to the other side of the set, having them face the wall -it's such a touchy subject and you're too drunk to keep your mouth shut.

You want to talk, but you've avoided this subject like the plague for the past three years, not exactly sure if you do want to share this with the public just yet.

You've always romanticised the way people would know; maybe it'd be when you were forty years old, divorced to some big Hollywood star, with three kids and talking about your first love to a late night show, but the way Katsuki unapologetically looks at you doesn't seem to leave you any space to even think about that fantasy right now. You don't even know if you care about whether he wants to make the reason the two of you split public, but you remind yourself that he is the one who's over you.

He is the one who jumped from one girl to another in a matter of months after you split, he's the same person who was seen by paparazzi walking around with groupies and you have been the only one stuck in time, not being able to get him out of your head.

He's the one out there living his best life while you're the one living with your thoughts fixated on how it'd feel if he ever came back.

You choke on your words "our schedules didn't match up. We were broken and we wanted to move on"

Bakugo swears under his breath, you're still not able to relax around him and the few infuriating answers you gave back then are forcing him to open his mouth again. He doesn't feel right about having you face the big fish all on your own. He can feel anxiety reeling inside of him, but he decides to push it aside.

"Me not being able to be content enough to focus on us. I had a tour, she had to be focused on what she does. It seemed as if our lives didn't align anymore. We weren't sure we were in love."

You gulp when you trail your eyes into his, scared to even let them linger on him for even a second. He was the one who wasn't sure he was in love. You move your head around, setting your gaze over to the side where the other members are sat. They're all looking at you apologetically, as if they're sympathizing with you for wanting to keep whatever had happened to yourself; they know that being famous isn't as easy as they'd want to think it'd be. They know that what both you and Katsuki are saying is the most glorified, fictional, version of the actual truth about your splitting.

But you're sick of excuses, you don't want them to make any.

And that's what you were afraid of, them taking pity on how you are, looking at you with eyes that tell you they'll contact you later to ask you to forgive Bakugo.

And you'll never do that. Not because his friends ask.

Kirishima in particular is somewhat smiling at you, softly, kindly. It's always been a pity that the two of you stopped hanging out after you and Katsuki split, he used to be an amazing friend and he'd still be if you hadn't cut him off. Youre content enough to think that to this day he still comes over to talk to you at award shows unlike the other guys, unlike Katsuki who won't even look at your direction. You awkwardly smile back at him and lift your glass to drink as much as you're able to in one sip again.

"Do you regret it?" Katsuki likes to consider himself smart for dismissing that question like a superhero dodging a bullet. There's a faint romantic smile on his face as he speaks and you can't help but stare, trying to convince yourself that's the most warm smile Katsuki can master. He looks- he looks beautiful.

"Awe come on don't we have more fun questions?"

"Nope"

His face contorts in seriousness in seconds "I will not answer that question"

You come to terms with the fact that thinking straight is probably not an option at the moment. You've drunk a lot, shot after shot you're feeling yourself get loose, your vision blurring more and more after each one.

You quickly glance over at Katsuki's direction to see if he looks as drunk as you think you look. Indeed, there's a tint of blush plastered on his porcelain cheeks and his eyes are blinking faster than normal. The next question hits you before you have any time to process how much you want to push your memories with him away.

"Have you ever written or produced something for them?"

"As in writing a song about them?"

"Yes"

"Yeah." Katsuki answers in a heartbeat and he tries to ignore that you just want to look him dead in the eye and probably swear at him for saying that. But he soothes himself with the fact that this is only a one time thing, it's not like he's going to talk to you ever again after that.

. …

The interview finishes shortly after, the crew bowing respectfully at both of you as you and Bakugo sit up from your seats and begin to march into different directions. Asui immediately sticks to your side along with your agent, leading the two of you back to your dressing room.

Your agent seems to get distracted by a wave Denki shoots at your side -you wave back at the group, but she leaves your side to walk up to them, you watch her get smaller and smaller as she's walking away from you, throwing a smile at Tokoyami while she's at it. Asui leads you to your dressing room and you only manage to steal another glance at the band to see if Bakugo is there.

He's not, and you close your eyes really tight as you're praying to not bump into him. Asui helps you take step after step because you're stumbling and apparently, luck hates you, because as you're walking past Bakugo's dressing room, his door opens and his hand shoots at yours grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He drags you into his dressing room and you yelp, stumbling on your feet. He slams the door shut after screaming to poor Asui that he wants to be alone and drags you behind a huge metal hanger filled with clothes.

"What the fuck was this stunt huh?" He asks, eyes filled with rage and you can only hiccup as you're trying to process what he's saying.

"Like hell do I know" You finally reply "they didn't tell me you were going to be that ex"

You're trying to set your eyes on anywhere but him. His breath smells heavy of alcohol and you're sure yours does too, but that's not something you can care about at the moment; your wrists hurt from being pinned over your head. You want to throw up, you're so upset, you don't want to look at him.

So you're going to leave.

"Excuse me" You caught, your stomach turning "I don't want to be around you" You try to eiggle your hands but Katsuki won't budge. He slams your wrists harder onto the wall, your body shakes.

"You're not going anywhere" Bakugo grunts, pushing his chest into yours

"Fuck you, I am"

Your next effort to move is vain as well, for Bakugo is far too strong -your eyes fall onto his naked biceps and you try not to growl at how smooth his skin looks or how tight and big his muscles are. Seems like he's only glowed up since you broke up.

"If I had to go through an interview talking about our first kiss while drunk then you can stand the sight of me"

"No, i can't" You whine

"Yeah you can" He argues back

"I can't stand you"

"Well that makes two of us" He grunts and his face is inches away from yours. You close your eyes, letting the sound of his loud breathing overwhelm you and you swear your own breathing is in sync, your chest hurts, your throat is tight. You expect to be yelled in the face, about how stupid you are, about hoe he doesn't want to see you anywhere near him ever again.

But that doesn't happen, at least not for now, when you peek your eye open to look at him you see him latching at you full speed, as if trying to close a non-existent space between the two of you.

He kisses you and your chests collide with each other.

The moan you let out despite it being small, is muffled by Katsuki's big palm over your mouth. Your heart is throbbing in your chest, your excitement causing your adrenaline to spike, your breathing heaving as Bakugo leans down to stick his forehead to yours, sweat solidifying into droplets onto your face.

He's struggling too, breath hitched and audible but his control is better -of course it is- and his eyes are the opposite of unkind as they fall onto you, perhaps for the first time this afternoon. It's mouth watering to say the least, how he parts your legs open with his knee while making no sound, how there's no rattling on the wall you're pressed against. You almost scream when he brings his face impossibly close to yours and you close your eyes, not ready to feel what is going to come next.

You get startled when he moves right past your face, lips brushing the softness of your earlobe "We gotta be quiet, babe, "promise me you won't make a sound" he whispers and only when you nod against his palm leaves your mouth.

The breath you take as your mouth is free again is excruciating. It fills your lungs with much more air than a huff through your nose could ever provide you with and suddenly your drunk and hazy body feels a little better.

Still not good enough to acknowledge how bad you're going to mess up with what you're doing. Balugo's grip that's still tight around your wrists until now, doesn't hurt anymore, even so when he decides to drop your hands and scoop your face to bring it closer to his, you feel your core churn.

You mutter something slurred against his lips that you can't keep track of -probably prompting him to act faster than he does- before his lips are slammed into yours, your bottom lip soon snatched between his teeth as he bites hard, rolling it between his tongue.

He's never been known for kissing you softly, and you've missed being angry over the bruises on your lips after endless hours of making love till morning comes. You've missed him. Utterly. You can't believe this is even happening, thinking that you'll pinch yourself and you'll wake up, hot in your bed and then get sad about still dreaming about him. About how he used to taste.

He makes sure to help you keep track of your reality, pushing his tongue into your mouth, softly twisting and turning his hot muscle against yours, the hand that isn't cupping your face running along the curves of your body, hooking up your shirt squeezing the fat if your breasts over the cotton of your bra.

"Fuck" He pulls back to watch your breasts bounce as he's pushing your bra over your chest. "They're so perfect" He says and cups your breast in his hand, his thumb coming to toy with your sensitive nipple.

You almost screech in response.

"You know how hard it was for me to not run my mouth on everyone about you after that fucking stunt you pulled on this year's met gala?" He slurs and you know exactly what he's referring to; the ancient greek style dress, sewn and styled on you to look wet, almost exposing your chest. You're filled with pride over the fact that you indeed stirred his head up, just like you had planned to, just like you had hoped you would.

You grab into his shirt and kiss him again, forcing your lips to love in sync with his, your hips rutting against his maniacally, your cunt clenching onto nothing, your clothes throbbing in a dull ache as the seam of your pants seems to be the only thing proving you with pleasure.

"I want you to fuck me so hard" You breathe into his mouth and he hisses as you shimmy your hands under the raw trim of his shirt.

"Yeah you do?" He breathes

"So bad"

"M not gonna" He grunts and his hands wrap around your wrists, your breasts bouncing against his chest with every long, heavy breath you're taking, he wants to calm himself down. He can't do this. He shouldn't "I can't i-"

Your intoxicated self wants to throw a tantrum, dizzy and infatuated by his smell, his whole presence, indulging in feelings you've trained yourself to forget and it's not easy at all to hold back. But you hang your head low with a sigh when his hands don't move away from restraining yours.

None of this is fair. If he's so over you then why are you not over him? If he's had all the time to move on in the world and put his tongue on things he's never known the taste of then why doesn't he want to come back to you. It's not fair. Not fair. Not fair.

And you make sure to say so, pouty lips and an angry, humming voice while you're at it. Bakugo must be infuriated, you think, he doesn't react and it doesn't take too long for you to bring out the worst in him and you guess you'll have to live with the fact that he does see you through a crowd of beautiful celebrities, but he treats you like a ghost. And he'll treat you as a ghost.

He's so unbelievably perfect with his stupid girlfriend so why would he need someone like you. You've barely been with anyone in these past three years, stuck at home because of the pandemic, only ever having gotten on a date with your coworker who ended up wanting you to play wing woman for him and your best friend.

Why would he want you when he gets to have someone he can share interests with, someone to write songs with. Half of his stupid songs are written by his girlfriend.

If it wasn't for the alcohol you wouldn't even be here.

You don't catch what he says, but he's speaking, voice low and raspy, as you remember it. It sounds different than the voice he uses to talk in front of the camera, it sounds like his singing voice, like it sounded before all of this mess.

"You're not even listening to me are you?" He asks and this time you choose to answer, hands trying to wiggle away from his to cover yourself. You feel exposed now more than ever.

"I'm just going to go" You announce

You don't want to say another word because everything hurts, because your agent was right when they told you that you should at least try to date someone as a publicity stunt, because your friends had told you to never, ever, ever crawl back to Bakugo.

They should have known better, you should have known better, Bakugo isn't the person you've glorified in your head and it's easy to blame yourself for everything when three blurry years have passed since your break up.

But Arctic Monkeys make songs about the pain you're going through and Bakugo will never understand how easy it is for you to waste away in just the thought of his and a tune that reminds you of him.

And just when you try to find the words to tell this all to him and take a leave your hands are not free yet and his eyes are wide in yours, every hair of his pointing towards the sky.

"Ah fuck me, I can't even-" He kisses you instead of finishing his sentence, as if he doesn't want to wait another second and he attacks your chest and your neck with hungry kisses and bites.

You melt into his ministrations -it feels as if you have no pain reception and you fall into hellflame to prove it- and you don't feel guilty about it -not too much at least, and not right now. You find it astounding, how much you can achieve with a pouty face.

The buckle of his belt is undone by your hands and your denim skirt is lifted and bunched right above your stomach, its flare brushing the underside of your breasts. He's kissing you again, sporadically, while having to peel himself away to lower his pants, his lips moving along your jaw, placing kisses over your makeup, smudging your once perfectly placed lipstick all over your chin.

He hisses when his cock rubs against your folds, his head dripping in precum as he spreads it on you, his hands squeezing your doughy ass as he tries to pull your legs apart while trapping your heels closed with his.

After that, it's back and forth. He's rutting his hips into yours, his head rubbing against you while you're dripping on him, your juices getting mixed with his own and your cunt clenching. You tell yourself you can be satisfied with it, as he grabs your face with his hand and forces your mouth open, rolling his tongue into yours.

You whine when he bites in your neck because it feels like actually wants to take a bite, sharp canines digging into your flesh and you're scared he's going to draw blood, but he doesn't dare dive into your heat, still driving his dick over and over onto your clit. Only the occasional ache of his head accidentally aligning with your entrance is a reality check from time to time, you're too focused on coming, your world has been covered by the dark veil of your closed eyes.

He's moaning like an animal, bunching your leg around his waist to make you open up further, while he holds his cock against you with his hand, the hot throbbing of your cunt driving him towards his limit as time passes

Bakugo's thrusts only get tougher harder, abusing your clit with his raw force and he keeps that pace that has you dig your nails into his back through his shirt, he forces your leg down once again and squeezes your hips together until your seeing stars, until you come undone in cries he muffles with his mouth of yours.

His cock feels like he's going to explode, his stomach feels like it's tied into a knot with a ticking bomb and he swear he can make it, he can make another thrust without bursting but the flesh of your thighs and the feeling your cunt against him are wilding I'm his thought and the feeling is sending him in cloud nine. So much that he copes in ropes of white against you, coating your panties, your thighs, your belly.

"Shit, fuck, that was hot" He says

You mewl against his chest, feeling your entrance throb for more "want you to fuck me" You say. His brown eyes are diving into your gaze. You might be coming down from the influence of alcohol but the infatuation you have over him right now surpasses anything, even your rational thinking.

He's not doing any better, more drunk in your eyes that he ever was by that cognac, he takes it upon himself to spin you around and slam your chest against the wall, to bend your waist and open your ass up to him.

He growls at the right of you, dripping and squirming and he takes his cock in his hand and teasingly rubs it against your heat.

"Please don't tease me anymore," you plea, "can't take it. Just want you"

Katsuki doesn't think he's he's in a place to deny you or even so go against your word, that must be why he immediately aligns himself with your entrance or why he bottoms out inside of you fast, rough, but he fills you up deliciously.

You turn to face him, mouth already moving to speak your dirty words when there's a knock on the door of the dressing room.

"Fuck," Katsuki says and quickly retreats to himself "who is it?"

"Kirishima" The voice behind the door announces and bakugo's palm is once again placed over your lips "Denki said you need to be alone. Came to see if you're alright"

"M better than alright" He slurs

"Wanna come outside? I'm pretty sure she's left by now. Scanned the whole building and I couldn't find her."

"Don't care where she went"

"We have a recording session at the studio, I'll be waiting for you."

"Thanks" Bakugo grunts

"Jirou has been there the whole day, let's not make her wait any longer"

"Yeah whatever I'll be there in a sec"

Your head hurts as you try to process that they're talking about you, yet you don't make any noise. You feel bad, maybe Katsuki did want to be alone, maybe you shouldn't have followed him to try to say goodbye. None of this would have happened if you didn't want to play polite for the first time in three years.

Now you were ruining his life and it seemed like you were doing it out of spite

"Have to go," He announces, watching you nod "I don't know why we did that, but it'll never happen again"

You feel like he's jabbing at you with his words, twisting the knife to the would he inflicted on you. Of course you should have known that, you shouldn't have sacrificed your barely recovering sanity over s single moment of satisfaction. You watch him buckle his belt, wipe the sweat off his forehead and you fix your own clothes.

You count on the light that is dimmed by the copious amount of clothes to not betray the rivers of tears that are spilling down your eyes and your prayers are heard, your nose doesn't even make a shuffling noise as the lamp in your throat keeps tightening

Bakugo Katsuki is out of the dressing room as swiftly as he dragged you inside of it and in seconds he's gone. He doesn't say goodbye, and you don't look in his direction.

. …

Remember Katsuki's girlfriend? Setsuna? The singer from that forsaken pop punk band that never makes it to the charts and only gains publicity because of Bakugo? Well, she must be the happiest girl on the planet for all you and your green eyes monster can count.

Katsuki Bakugo is officially engaged. To her. It says so on her post along with a tooth rotting, sappy, cheesy fucking capture. You've memorized it by now, with how many times you've read it -it's been fun keeping this a secret, I love breaking all the norms with you, happy to be yours forever more- you could recite it, having it printed in your brain, stirring your stomach in the all wrong ways.

You've been so incredibly stupid. And you still fucking are.

Your eyes are burning as they're fixed on your laptop screen, maniacally scrolling through an article about the post you had just come across on Instagram. The one you've found is small, only 200 words, describing exactly what the reporter needs to include, with a link that leads you to their official Twitter profile so you can keep up with all Katsuki Bakugo and Setsuna Tokage news, as if that's what you want to do.

You follow the profile nonetheless, keeping yourself updated -on subjects other than Katsuki- won't do you any harm.

You leave Twitter immediately, not ready to be swamped by anything on your homepage and run to YouTube to find some true crime documentary to keep your mind off things. There's a plethora of videos about Bakugo there as well but only one catches your eye. It has your name on it -and truth be told it sends panic waves through your body- but as you read along you realize what the video is.

You chuckle as you read your name paired with a sentence you know only your fans would come up with; 'y/n digging Bakugo Katsuki's grave for 12 minutes straight'. You click on the video, moments of various interviews and red carpets playing in the background as the frame is paused a copious amount of times. You laugh at the frame of you squinting at Bakugo when he walks past you at the premiere of a superhero movie.

It's always funny that your fans know what you say between the lines, or how they pick up your energy depending on certain interviewers. You don't even have to mention Bakugo's name at all for them to realise you're talking about him and it's insufferable -you're insufferable for still thinking about him, for still talking about him publicly.

Fortunately most footage is old, only taken a few months after your break up, where things were still rough between you and Bakugo, glares and squints and death stares exchanged at every event the two of you had to be.

You click pause onto the video and then close the YouTube tab, deciding that it's time for you to go through the script you've been given for your shooting on Monday, you still have two days to learn most of your lines by heart. You visit your email and click on the doc the writers have sent you, the script popping up on your screen immediately.

You spend a few hours reading, eyes glued on your screen, reciting the words one by one, your laptop still in your hand as you walk through your kitchen and set the kettle on the stove, your eyes not even averting away from the screen as you grab a mug from a cupboard and set it on the counter.

You sigh as you finish another page, your temples burning in protest to your hand trying to reach to click on the next page. You decide it's time to take a break and the kettle makes its whistling sound, letting you know that the water is ready. You get up, grab the kettle and pour water into your mug, the tea bag you set in it a while ago staining the water in a deep sienna color.

You want the rest of your night to go smoothly. Now that the strobe lights of the city are bathing the streets, trying to mimic how the bright light of day shimmers everywhere. At least that's what you tell yourself when you pick your phone out of the pocket of your teddy jacket, or what you think when you tap onto the familiar pink and orange app, Bakugo's username falling from your fingertips in rapid speed.

Sure, there it is, a picture similar to Setsuna's, but this one doesn't show their rings -you feel eerie to think that maybe he doesn't love her like she loves him, because he hasn't posted their rings, as if his fans have no idea who she is, as is its making it any less.

It's just so sudden. Two weeks ago you jumped each other in his dressing room after an interview about your past relationship and now he's getting engaged; you hope it's a publicity stunt. It should make sense, and that thought calms down your upset stomach -just when you thought you could get him back- because Mina told you he has an album in the works and he hasn't announced it yet, perhaps, this is to promote his album, to stir fans up.

But that could mean that you too could be a publicity stunt, you think as you click on the comments, scrolling past the ones written by verified accounts. You hate the thought that Tokoyami and your agent cooked this together, but then again you trust that the person who's supposed to manage your career along with you would inform you if you were to be used in such a way so you could play along.

Any who, the comments are of crazed fans, other leaving broken hearts, other writing in all caps and some, feeding the green eyed monster inside of you; 'I wish he stayed with (y/n)' 'there goes all my hopes baku(y/n) would be back :('

You hate that you feel satisfied with people sharing this view, you were a fan favorite couple, and you still are, you're simply not together anymore.

Soon enough -and after many, many reloads comments about how Katsuki should have ended up with you are everywhere, and they're so many that by the time you reload the page the comments have been shut off. And since you're way past the point of being petty and you like to torture yourself you hit the follow button to Bakugo's account.

You want to tap on the button that will let you out if his profile but your heart commands otherwise, he doesn't have that many posts either way and you've deleted all your own from years ago. You just want to see if he's kept any picture with you. After endless scrolling you come across one that startles you.

It dates back to 2015, back when Bakugo was still young and inexperienced, back when the group only had two hit singles and was just entering the charts. The picture is him, the world wide beloved rockstar All Might and you holding All Might's shoulders, captured with words you don't know why you let your mind forget: the love of my life, my idol and an idiot.

You want to giggle, remembering the time he had posted it but your heart hurts. How could all of this go so wrong. When did you stop loving each other? When did he stop loving you? You exit his profile because tears are gathering up in your eyes. Sure if he wanted you he wouldn't be getting married. He probably doesn't even remember what happened in the dressing room.

Maybe you imagined it all.

But now you can't set your attention back to your script. There are only a few pages left and you tell yourself you can read the first thing tomorrow morning, you feel tired and your tea has gone cold, the time you spent stalking our ex's account was more than you had realised. You sigh as you lock your phone and dump it in your pocket again.

Your couch looks warm on the other side of the room and you decide to walk to it and lay down, maybe open the tv and watch anything the channels can offer for tonight. You drape the blanket you have on your couch over your feet and stomach and curl up to yourself, only peeking your right hand out to zap through channels with the remote.

BBC has a live singing show and you settle for that. The singer on your TV screen is setting his guitar down, you can't help but wonder what song he was performing before you tuned in. You've seen him before but you just can't put your finger on where.

When he walks in though your brain caps you with electricity. Because this, this is pure karma. You quickly tap onto the circular button of your remote to read the description of tonight's BBC Live; 'Headphone Jack perform their favorite songs with us tonight, enjoy' it reads and you almost slap your forehead with the remote.

Despite being reluctant though, when you hear Jirou's voice engulf the space of your living room, you decide not to change channels.

"Thank you for having us," She says and there's a comfortable silence as she reaches for her guitar "we'll start with one of my all time favorites, Arabella. Hit it Denks"

You feel an oddly familiar feeling run through you and Bakugo's face looks as beautiful as ever and as he slowly hits the drums with his sticks, sleep is making your eyes feel heavy.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo #bnha

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thevoidfishsminstrel · 4 years ago

Text

Alex Danvers wasn’t phased by much. Had she expected to get an alien sister? No. But she went along with it (eventually) and was a good sister. Had she expected to get recruited by a government agency? No. But that was fine, and she was good at her job. Had she expected to be gay? Also no. But she accepted it and she was… well she was a disaster on that front, but she was happy.

The one time that she possibly, maybe, perhaps faltered a little, and thought, ‘this cannot possibly be my life now’, however, was during the months after the arrival of one Lena Luthor to National city.

———

“Alex! I broke Lena Luthor’s chair!”

Alex whirled around to see Supergirl anxiously striding towards her through the DEO, whisper-shouting her name. “You did what?”

Kara came to a stop in front of her, nervously wringing her hands. “I broke Lena Luthor’s chair.”

Alex blinked. “How? I thought you and Clark were just interviewing her?”

“We were! I was just standing behind one of the chairs in front of her desk and holding the back of it and then she looked at me and I wasn’t expecting it and a bit of the chair just kind of broke off in my hand. I tried to squish it back into place and tucked the chair under the desk but I think you might be able to tell if you looked too closely.”

Alex sighed. “Okay. Don’t worry, I’ll get it fixed.”

Kara deflated with relief and grinned. “Thanks Alex.”

Ten minutes later, Alex phoned the L-corp lobby with an excuse to get Lena down there while J’onn phased through her balcony door and swapped the very obviously hand-shaped-dented chair with a new one that would hopefully go unnoticed. She had naively thought that that would be the end of it.

———

A week and a half later, Alex got a panicked phone call from Kara claiming that she had seen Lena at a restaurant and stayed to have brunch with her but there was now a large chunk of table missing from where they had been sitting, caused by Lena laughing at one of her jokes. Suspicion had begun to creep into the back of Alex’s mind but she was too exasperated to pay it any attention.

Kara said she had managed to cover it up with an empty bread basket and persuade Lena they should go to see the crepe stand that had been at the park recently.

Alex, Winn and James had arrived at the restaurant half an hour later in fake uniforms and a fake van, claiming a table replacement had been ordered by the restaurant management. They quickly set up the new table and took away the cornerless one along with the piece of wood that had Kara’s fingerprints permanently embedded in it.

———

Over the next few months, they replaced glasses, vases, windows, tables, chairs, various cutlery, and an array of annoyingly abstract decorations that had to be specially 3D printed because no replacements existed.

A new section of the DEO budget had to be put aside, labelled ‘Cleanup’, and the superfriends became unofficially known as ‘The Cleanup Squad’ (although Winn only said it out loud once, given Alex’s thinly veiled threat afterwards).

It wasn’t until Alex witnessed one of the events that preceded the need for The Cleanup Squad that her subconscious suspicions hit her like the ton of bricks they would have to fix.

It was a standard game night with a shot too many and a brain cell too few, all of them shouting over a game of two truths one lie, when the delivery guy arrived with their food.

Kara went to get the door while Lena had her go. That was the first mistake.

Kara had been sneaking alien alcohol into her drink for the past hour.

Lena’s third sentence was ‘I’m more often attracted to women than men’.

Kara’s foot went through her floorboards with a crunch and she stumbled into her front door, making the whole wall tremble worryingly. Alex shouted out one of the other sentences as a guess to distract Lena from looking behind her to see what the noise was. That was the next mistake.

Kara took the food from a slightly confused looking delivery guy, thanking him and checking the bags as he walked away, as Lena cheered, wine sloshing around in her glass.

“Alex wins! Women are hot and I like to kiss them.”

The door came off its hinges in Kara’s hand and as she went to correct her mistake she smashed it into the doorframe with enough force to bring down a plane. The door, doorframe and half the wall collapsed to the floor, leaving a shellshocked Kara among the rubble, holding a useless doorknob.

Nia slung her arm across Lena’s shoulders to stop her turning around again and cheered. “Woohoo! That’s great! Hey can you teach me how to win at Monopoly?”

Lena frowned. “But only half of us have had a go at-”

“Yeah! You guys set up Monopoly while I go get snacks with James.” Alex not-so-subtly dragged James up with her, glaring at Winn. “What about you, Winn?”

He jumped up with a nervous laugh. “I need the toilet! Yep!”

They all scurried off to where Kara was just standing and blinking. Alex took the food and doorknob from her hands, putting the food on the counter and the doorknob in a nearby vase while Winn and James started haphazardly piling bricks back up into a wall-ish shape. Nia and Brainy seemed to be going through every single Monopoly card and asking Lena about it in a kind of terrifyingly over enthusiastic pop quiz.

Kara snapped out of her daze and began helping as Alex sent a message to the DEO to get a new door there as quickly as possible. She dragged Kara out into the hall and made her laservision off the entire door and doorframe of her neighbour who was luckily currently on holiday. While Kara did that, she kicked the old bits of door and brick dust under a rug in the hall.

Kara fit the new door into the hole that James and Winn were leaving, blowing her freezebreath over the whole wall to freeze it all in place for the time being.

Before she could go back inside, Alex grabbed Kara by the arm. She raised an eyebrow at Kara’s confused look. “Want to explain what just happened?”

Kara blushed and glanced at (or probably through) the door. “I um… I just got distracted by the food.”

“So it was nothing to do with Lena openly admitting she’s bisexual?”

Kara blanched. “I- wha- pff no.”

Alex rolled her eyes and opened the door to let Kara through before she broke anything else.

They all moved back over to the living room area as casually as possible, Winn setting out the food.

Alex leaned down to speak quietly to Kara before she sat down herself. “You know you can talk to me right?”

Kara nodded shyly and she let it go.

———

The last operation The Cleanup Squad did, it was Nia that called.

Alex sat up in bed, having only just managed to fall asleep, and picked up her phone. “Hello?”

“Alex? Kara’s about to break Lena’s coffee table.”

Alex sighed and waved away Kelly’s questioning look. “Okay. I’ll call J’onn.”

Ten minutes later, Alex was hanging onto J’onn like a backpack as he hovered just under Lena’s balcony with a replacement table.

There was a crash from inside.

“What was that?” Lena’s voice came from somewhere further inside her apartment and J’onn floated up to peer through the windows.

“Nothing! Just… a video on my phone.”

Alex’s phone buzzed with what was presumably the panicked text she just watched Kara send.

Kara went further into the apartment, rambling to Lena about how they should get into their pjs before they watch the next movie.

J’onn alighted on the balcony and they quietly made their way inside. J’onn cleared the broken table into a bag and flew off to dispose of it while Alex set down the new one.

Just as she was putting into place, Lena wandered into the room. Their eyes met briefly before Lena turned towards her kitchen, filled a glass of water, and left again, as though she hadn’t seen anything.

J’onn was back in the next moment and they disappeared back out into the night.

———

Lena opened the door with a smile and stepped aside to let Alex in. “Alex. What can I do for you?” She shut the door and led her over to the kitchen. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee please.”

Alex sat down at Lena’s kitchen island, thinking about how to phrase what she was going to say while Lena made them both a coffee.

Lena set a mug down in front of her and sat down across the island, waiting patiently for Alex to start talking.

“Do you know?”

Lena smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I know lots of things.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Fine. Do you know about what we’ve been doing?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Danvers.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know you saw me last night, Luthor. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Lena smiled and shook her head. “Alex, I have the most high tech security system in the world and an IQ that is most definitely higher than a five year old, and even a five year old would be able to notice you lot trying to rebuild furniture around them. Did you really think I didn’t notice? You replaced a $1000 chair with Ikea furniture.”

Alex went to defend herself but just deflated. “Yeah. Sorry.” She swirled her spoon through the coffee foam. “So why didn’t you say anything?”

Lena shrugged. “She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

Alex watched her for a moment and smiled. Yeah. She was pretty sure she’d be her sister-in-law one day.

———

“Alex?”

She pushed past Kara into her apartment. “I think you should tell Lena.”

Kara blushed and stuttered as she closed the door. “Wha- I- There’s nothing to tell!”

Alex frowned at the odd reaction before she realised what Kara thought she meant and rolled her eyes. “No not that. Well… that too. But that’s not what I meant. I think you should tell her about Supergirl.”

Kara gaped at her. “Really?”

“Yeah. She proved beyond a doubt that she’s trustworthy and I can see how much you two mean to each other.”

Kara bit her lip, looking down and wringing her hands together. “But what if… what if she hates me for it?”

Her eyes were so big and sad and scared when she looked back up that Alex immediately wrapped her in a hug. “That’s not going to happen, okay? And the rest of us are here for you whatever happens. You know that, right?”

Kara nodded against her shoulder. “Okay.”

———

Kara stood outside Lena’s office, trying to drag her courage back from where it had run to hide, and wiping her sweaty palms on her slacks.

The door opened and Lena hesitantly poked her head out. “You doing okay out here?”

Kara gave a strangled laugh and nodded unconvincingly.

Lena stepped out of her office to join Kara in the corridor. “Okay, well, do you want to tell me why you’ve been standing out here for the past ten minutes?”

She gulped, breathing getting a little faster.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.”

Lena took her hand, stroking her thumb across her knuckles gently. It calmed her down a little and she sighed, leaning back against the wall and sliding down it, hand slipping out of Lena’s.

Lena came and sat on the floor beside her, offering her hand again.

Kara gladly tangled their fingers together, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, my hand’s a little sweaty.”

Lena laughed and bumped their shoulders together. “That’s okay.”

Kara sighed and brought her other hand up to her glasses. “Lena, I-” She closed her eyes and removed her glasses with a shaky hand.

She felt gentle fingers take them from her grasp and opened her eyes to watch Lena carefully fold them up and place them on the floor beside them. She looked at Kara with a soft smile. She reached up and traced the same fingertips across Kara’s cheek, making her eyes flutter closed.

“I know.”

Kara’s eyes snapped open. “You did?”

She nodded.

“Oh. Well now I feel like I’ve made you sit out here on the floor with me for nothing.”

Lena laughed, her eyes and nose crinkling adorably, and Kara couldn’t stop herself from smiling even as her heart beat faster.

“Well since you already knew I was Supergirl, I feel like I should tell you a different secret. Like how I think I’m in love with you.”

Lena’s breath hitched, eyes flitting between Kara’s as they subconsciously leaned slowly closer. “You think?”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and Lena’s eyes followed. “I know.”

“Good. Because I am definitely in love with you.”

Any other thoughts melted away when their lips met. Kara’s hand automatically slid to Lena’s waist as Lena pressed closer, soft and warm and perfect.

There was a crunch and Kara fell backwards a little, accidentally pulling Lena so she was almost in her lap, as she made a hole in the wall with her back. They broke apart giggling, resting their foreheads together.

“Sorry.”

Lena kissed her again but they were both smiling too much for it to last long. “At least you don’t have to call Alex everytime you break something around me now.”

#supercorp #a ‘lotl writing

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fayeimara · 4 years ago

Text

Miya Osamu || Little Delights | First Meeting

SUMMARY. Osamu can't help but be intrigued when his daughter starts bringing home delicious desserts prepared by her best friend's mother.

PAIRING. You x Miya Osamu

GENRE. Fluff <3

WARNINGS. Suggestive content

Haikyuu! Anthology Series | It's Fate When Your Kids Are Friends

OSAMU | First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family

Osamu's made it just in time, right as the bell tolls to signal the end of his daughter's second day in her new school year. Standing back as a swarm of kids rush out of the brick building and into the arms of their waiting parents, he takes a moment to breathe and relax. Juggling his burgeoning restaurant with being a single parent isn't an easy job, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

He stands taller than many of the other adults around him and it's evident his little girl has no problem seeking him out as a black, red, and grey blur races towards him, a thrilled, "Papa!" reaching his ears and splitting his mouth into a wide, happy grin.

His arms are already open in a silent but enthusiastic response as he crouches down and then the bite-sized impact of his daughter is rocking him back on his heels, his reaction overly exaggerated as he pretends to almost fall over from the small force of nature that's all Miya Izumi.

Standing back up, Samu catches sight of another little girl who was trailing behind, wide eyes studying him before shifting to Zumi, his daughter turning back around to wave at her, proclaiming the girl as her 'bestest friend in the whole wide world'. The girl returns Zumi's enthusiastic wave with a quick raise of her small hand before her attention is caught by a pretty young woman, her own wide smile replacing her previously hesitant expression as she's warmly enveloped into welcoming arms with kisses peppered on her cheeks and forehead.

Her delighted giggles reach Osamu and his daughter as they turn around, hand in hand, to walk back to his car, small interaction soon forgotten as his little munchkin lists off the snacks she's looking forward to having on their return to his shop. She won't be able to finish half that list, he bets to himself with a quiet chuckle at his daughter's inherited exuberance for food as he securely buckles her into car.

It's not until they reach his second pride and joy, Onigiri Miya, that he finds the first little surprise tucked away in Izumi's not so empty lunchbox. When he inquires about the remarkably delicious looking set of biscuits he certainly didn't pack for her that morning, his daughter's response is that it's a thank you gift from her bestest friend, Reina, for the lunch she'd shared with the girl on her first day.

Well, a six year old certainly didn't bake these from the looks of it. It's only confirmed by his first taste, the texture and flavour beyond even most consistent home bakers, let alone a young child. Right? But a more pressing thought flags his attention, first.

"Did your friend not have her own lunch?"

"She did! We split because hers wasn't so good, even though her mama put so much love into it. But the treats were so much better so we decided to go halfsies and have best of both!" His daughter giggles with the oblivious sweet innocence of a child.

"And what about today?"

"Mhm. Same. But I liked the chocolate brownies yesterday much much better!"

Samu chuckles at her excitement and can't help but tease his precocious daughter, "Oh, and was it better than papa's food?"

Zumi's eyes widen as she contemplates the question with all the adorable seriousness she can muster, but loyalty must break free and run because her reply is, "Almost! So close, but I love papa's cooking more than anything in the whole wide world."

It seems the whole wide world is the current standard of measurement for first graders, but he appreciates the heartfelt sentiment behind her loving words.

After another moment of consideration, Osamu settles on the thought chewing at him and decides that tomorrow his daughter won't be giving up a portion of his food which she loves so much. No, she'll have double the amount to do with whatever she may please.

So briefly, that he doesn't even ponder on the sudden image, he's reminded of the warm reunion he witnessed between the little girl and the woman who he'd assumed was her nanny, but concludes is probably the girl's young mother. Based on the number of treats Zumi brought back, Samu's certain the woman had to have thoughtfully made extras of these baked goods for her daughter to have more than enough to share with friends and then some.

Well, it's definitely no skin off his back to make his daughter even the slightest bit happier by being able to help her share her savoury little delights with her new bestest friend.

It's on the third day of your daughter's return from her new school year that you're able to confirm that something is indeed amiss. The previous two days, the small portions of her lunch left uneaten were questionable, given her voracious appetite, however, when she returns with the lunch you made for her today still sitting wholly untouched in her cute little lunchbox, you finally sit her down to ask about it.

Her response is far from what you expected, "My friend's papa made extra lunch so we could both have something yummy to eat!"

You press your lips together to hide your amusement as you teasingly inquire, "Oh? Is that so? And I guess that means mama's food isn't so yummy after all."

Her eyes widen in dismay and mouth opens in an immediate denial that you know would be a lie to soothe your feelings. Even at such a young age, your beautiful baby girl is truly a kind and compassionate soul, she would dutifully eat anything you prepared no matter how lacking the meal might be and never utter a word to tell you the obvious truth.

Before she can manage to find the right words to faithfully express how much she loves your cooking, you lean in to kiss her on the forehead and pull back with a laugh, gathering her in your arms for a warm hug. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry I can't make you the food you deserve. But please don't ever feel the need to say otherwise to spare my feeling, okay? You should always be honest about what you like or don't like."

Her little arms find their way around you as she snuggles in, voice soft and words like a wise, old soul when she denies, "But your food is made with so much love mama. Zumi says some people are just better at other things. We both think you make the best yummies."

"The best yummies, hm?" You think about the various baked goods you add in to balance out for the healthy but tasteless lunches you're able to prepare.

They are indeed good, but baking has always been something that comes more naturally to you than cooking. An interesting distinction not many people might accept, but for you the former has always been an effortless science whereas the latter is more of a difficult art.

"Well I'm really glad you like those, but we do need to figure out what to do so you're not picking at your friends' food or going hungry."

She pulls back to send a serious look your way, exclaiming, "But I'm not picking at it, I promise. Zumi said her papa made extra just for me!"

You take a moment to consider her words. She made a similar implication in her earlier statement, that her friend's dad had made extra for them both. What does that mean? Did his daughter ask him to because she was sharing her food with Reina? Or did he somehow grasp the situation and is simply being generous?

A warm burn threatens your cheeks as you consider the awkwardness of accepting such a gesture from a complete stranger. While you appreciate the kindness of Reina's friend and her dad, it still somehow feels like a terrible imposition, as if you've burdened them somehow with your lack of skills to keep your child happily fed.

It's not like you can't cook good, healthy food. You're just painfully aware how bland the food you make can be, unless you spend three times the amount of time as anyone else would need to in order to prepare similar meals. But... studying the smile that's on your daughter's face, you can't help the twinge in your heart that reminds you how much more her happiness is worth than your pride.

You won't assume this will be a daily occurrence and you'll continue to make your daughters lunches so she never goes without, however, it'll be no extra trouble for you to make double the batch of baked goods than usual. After all, you usually account for the fact that she'll be sharing with friends and classmates anyways.

However, you're now determined there will be enough delicious snacks for Reina to share not only around at school, but also some treats for her sweet friend Izumi to take home for her generous parents. Perhaps, you think, it might be prudent to include a short message, thanking the man for his thoughtful effort.

Silent gratitude isn't very much to anyone ~ (So I hope you and your family will accept these.) Thank you for your kindness, Miya-san.

Osamu blinks, unaware of the small smile that curves his lips as he reads the delicate, handwritten note carefully wrapped around one of the cupcakes Izumi brought back home today. There are only three of the original twelve left, apparently, but the one he's just bitten into is as incredible as expected.

If he's correct in his assumption from the note addressed directly to him and included with today's delightful treats, then the little girl's mother has picked up on his small action and is returning the gesture to convey her thanks. The thought is confirmed by his daughter explaining that one of each of the three cupcakes is for their family.

Three for their family? Hm. Well, it's just him and Zumi, but he's sure his brother will be all over the remaining offering when he visits tonight. If there's any left for him that is. Probably won't be, it's really just that good and anyways, he doesn't need Atsumu nosing his way into this simple exchange as it is.

The following day, Friday morning, Samu pens back his own note, assuring the woman that no thanks is necessary. There's no reason for her to express her gratitude over what's really such a simple action for him.

That evening, he and Zumi enjoy some quality mochi delivered in a white, rectangular box with a pretty decently hand-drawn background scene at a spring festival on the cover. Two little girls, one that looks remarkably like his daughter and the other like her best friend, hold hands in the centre of the street dressed in traditional yukata and sharing a box of what he assumes is mochi.

As they much into the chewy treats, he watches and listens as his daughter points out the bright colours she and her friend chose to fill into what was apparently initially a blank canvas for them to colour on. Her delight at having a pink and grey yukata, even if only in a drawing, prompting him to make a mental note about looking into the clothing and any upcoming festivals.

Osamu makes a point of saving the box, childlike scribbles over the simple sketch leaving a warm feeling in his chest and a slightly wider smile gracing his mouth.

The response he receives the Monday evening (from his penned message the Friday before) is enough to prompt a full smirk that, this time, doesn't go unnoticed by him. The woman showed an interesting sense of humour and gracious acceptance with the first cupcake note. Then, a sweet and thoughtful disposition with the drawing included as part of the soft treat for the girls Friday.

But now, Samu sees a challenging firmness in her reply to his easy brush off of her thanks, delicate lines yet again adorning the small card carefully tucked into a pretty red ribbon that's tied around and decorating another white, rectangular box.

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it ~ So please accept this gift without concern.

Sitting inside are four differently coloured, rounded treats that look familiar but he can't place off the top of his head. A quick search identifies the delicate confections as macarons, the colorful delights an absolute wonder as the airy crunch of the top and bottom shells simultaneously give way to a firm filling with the first bite, the sweet flavour almost dissolving on his tongue.

He and Zumi finish the box off in minutes, three of each flavour included to a total of four different flavours, so both he and his daughter each get seconds of their respective favourites.

The next morning, filled with anticipation at what new surprises you might include with the goods you send today, he's fully aware of the grin that stretches his face as he writes out a note of his own for you to receive later this evening.

The macarons were inspiring. Izumi and I definitely won't turn away any gifts you'd like to send our way. I wonder... what other surprises do you have up your sleeve? I sent a little something your way to inspire you too. - M. Osamu

The neatly written note returned, once again, on the back of the small rectangular card you'd last sent, brings a warm smile to your face. The various onigiri that came along with it, apparently with specific instructions communicated from Izumi to Reina that today's additional quantity is set aside for you specifically, stretches the amused curl of your lips into a delighted grin.

You split each of the four different types of rice balls with your daughter, listening to her input on the delicious food as she points out her order of most to least favourite. Although there's not a single one you wouldn't eat on any given day if given the choice, the food is simply divine.

Your note the following day is a compliment to the chef, with a cheeky inquiry as to what deities one must pray to in order to make food like that. His response is a swift rebuttal asking what cruel gods bless some with the skills to cook but others with the skills to bake, ironically echoing your own thoughts from the previous week.

So goes the back and forth for weeks, notes getting cuter, sassier, and more personal as jokes, challenges, and encouragements alike are enclosed among the lunches of two excited little girls, their own bond strengthening with this unique camaraderie between their parents, until you feel the peculiar sense that you know the man on the other end, without ever even having actually met him.

Then, one day, three weeks into the first exchange, you receive a note that makes your heart beat in your throat at the unspoken challenge which raises the stakes of the now familiar routine. It's a simple response to your unassuming request for the onigiri recipes you initially received as the first returned delight, a meal you and Reina have been craving since the first taste.

I can do one better and teach you. xxx-xxx-xxxx. - Osamu

There's no reason to be shy or hesitant, is there? After all, it's a kind offer that will only serve you and Reina well with your future attempts at her lunches. You can't count on Miya Osamu's kindness forever.

Fingers still shaking, you dial the number enclosed within and find the call picked up before the first ring even finishes.

"I wasn't sure ya'd actually call."

Oh, wow, that's a voice to melt hearts alright. You're still smiling as you immediately reply in beat, with the easy familiarity of your shared repartee over the last few weeks, "With an offer like that, how could I not?"

He's quiet for a second and you start to lose your smile, suddenly worrying that perhaps you've acted too familiarly with a man that's all but a stranger and offended him. But his next words, slowly expelled in a lazy but thoughtful drawl, have your heart beating fast for an entirely different reason, "I had a feeling ya'd sound as pretty as ya write."

Now you're the one that's silent but it's entirely because you're at a loss for words, this quietly charming man having stolen them right from the tip of your tongue.

A low chuckle breaks what you realized was actually somehow still a remarkably comfortable silence and then his delicious voice reaches you again, "I hope I didn't scare ya voice away. It'd be a shame now that I've only just heard it."

Okay so he's maybe much more of a flirt than the subtle hints you'd noticed over the notes, but then again, they were delivered through your daughters as messengers so it would be reasonable he would have toned it down. Then again, what kind of man flirts with a woman he's never met previously? He doesn't even know what you look like. Have you captured his interest solely through your mutual correspondence?

You almost snort, catching your thoughts and feeling like you're the main character to some historical romance. Maybe during a world war era. Mutual correspondence. Right. What are you even thinking? He's got you flustered already.

"Funny. I would never have imagined you would sound so pretty from the way you write." You're tempted to arch an eyebrow with your audible smirk but then you remember that it's not like he can see it.

"Ya think my voice is pretty, do ya?" His tone is full with soft satisfaction, "Maybe ya can tell me if it's better in person."

"And here I thought the offer on the table was for learning a delicious recipe."

You swear you hear the smile in his response, "Sounds like yer in either way."

"Sounds like I am." You concede in mock resignation but you're painfully aware that your words and following sigh sound more like a promise.

You and Reina find the charming storefront quite easily from Samu's instructions. It's finally the weekend, several days since your first call with him, and your handwritten notes have now upgraded into convenient, daily text messages.

He's definitely confident and teasing but not quite the overt flirt you briefly considered he might be from a few days ago. In fact, he's more calm and grounded, even if he can be a smooth talker, but you've quickly found that what came across as flirtatious was actually just him being honestly direct. Which is both exciting and flattering enough to make you nervous for this first real meeting today.

A soft chime sounds as you open the door to usher Reina through before following her in yourself. The first thing your eyes land on is a small girl running to your daughter like a heat seeking missile and the two collide in an adorably sweet hug, somehow understanding each other while seemingly talking simultaneously.

With a small smile on your face, you take a moment to survey your surroundings and find your bearings in this unfamiliar space. It's not an overly large area, focusing more on a cozy, comfortable atmosphere emphasized by the deliciously welcoming smell of various foods that make you feel right at home.

Your eyes run over the bar with stools lined against it before you do a double take, finally noticing the dark haired man that's leaning with his arms crossed against a door frame beyond it, watching as you examined his space.

He must be able to tell he's slightly startled you as an amused smile stretches his lips and he dips his head ever so slightly in greeting. "Welcome to Onigiri Miya."

"Thank you for inviting us, Miya-san." You bite your lip at your automatic formality, already certain what he's going to say next.

And he doesn't disappoint, eyebrow arching as he uncrosses his arms and, finally, steadily makes his way towards you, "I already told ya to call me Osamu. Or Samu."

Now you're smiling again because the situation is definitely out of the ordinary, the level of familiarity you feel with a man you're seeing for the first time can only be considered unusual. You take a moment to study him as he stops just before you, tall build with broad shoulders and a handsome face that looks like it belongs on a heartbreaker not a homemaker.

Your fingers itch to push back the locks of his hair peeking out from under his dark cap and falling over on side of his forehead, if only to have an excuse to run your hands through it. But that's definitely not appropriate no matter how comfortable you might already feel with this easygoing man.

"Right... Osamu, then. And of course, you can call me Y/n."

"Yer name and looks suit ya, just like yer voice and handwriting." He's got a small smile on his own face now and you're not sure if he's aware he basically just called you pretty. He doesn't really seem to do this on purpose, from what you've gathered.

You beam at him regardless and volley back, "Well, I can say the same for you too."

And for a brief second, that small smile splits into a quick grin that stutters the already erratic beat of your heart. Oh yes, this man is certifiably lethal in all the best ways.

"I'm happy to hear it. Now, let's sit ya down with the girls while I grab some things."

Izumi has already led Reina to a table by the window and Osamu gestures their way as he moves to lock the door behind where you came in and then moves off to the kitchen behind the bar again.

You notice with a little apprehension that the girls are sitting next to each other on one side of the booth still giddily talking together (although not over each other anymore) about friends and weekend plans and such, but you're not going to be the anxious oddball that separates them for seemingly no reason. Even if you're already sure of the overthinking you'll be doing at the thought of Samu sitting next to you in the booth.

He doesn't seem to think about it at all as he easily slides in, smoothly setting a plate and a tray with cups, glasses and a couple pitchers on the table just as you feel the left side of his body line up against your right. Okay, yeah, because this is totally normal for you. Not.

You hope neither he and especially not either of the kids can tell you're flustered, even as you feel the heat creep up your neck and flirt with your cheeks. Yup, normal day, normal day. Just a regular day with a new friend.

"Here ya go." You just hold yourself back from jumping when he hands you a cup from the tray and then leans over to pour what looks and smells like tea from one of the pitchers. If you're not going crazy, he's pressed even more against you for those long seconds, completely in your space even if it's not unwelcome.

He either knows exactly what he's doing or he's just one of those people that's never paid mind to polite social norms and rules of conduct that many prefer. While you're calming yourself down, he's already poured the girls juice from the second pitcher into their glasses and set out quarter plates in front of everyone.

You finally focus enough to take in the still steaming gyoza on the plate he'd placed down in the middle with confusion and ask, "I thought we would be making onigiri and eating it for lunch?"

"Of course, but I couldn't put ya to work on an empty stomach."

"Mhm." You give him a dubious look, you might have mentioned your early breakfast in one of your texts to him this morning, but you have a feeling that this is also an effort to make you and Reina feel comfortable in this space together instead of getting right into the cooking lessons planned for the day.

It's an incredibly thoughtful effort and that warm flush is threatening you again so you choose to tease him and deflect instead, "Somehow, I feel it's more about your empty stomach but okay, let's go with your version instead."

You lose the fight with the flush and flutters when he chuckles at your sassy retort, especially since you literally feel the vibrations melt from his body and into yours with the way he's still somewhat pressed into you. Does the man not have enough space in his own booth? Actually... you notice you can move closer to the window yourself since there's quite a bit of space on your side too but, then again, it would be a little obvious to shift now.

The girls pick up the fried dumplings by hand with happy exclamations as they bite right into theirs, you and Osamu following suit but not before placing another two on the plates in front of each of them and then splitting the remaining ones between you.

With a dip into the soy and vinegar sauce (chili excluded for the girls), you quickly bite into the first one and savour the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth. Oh wow, yes, this is exactly what your cooking is missing. This addictive, tasteful quality that makes you want multiple helpings of whatever's being served.

With a glance from the corner of your eye to the right, you meet Osamu's eyes studying your reaction and decide to ask the question on your mind, "You made these yourself right?"

"I did."

"Okay, they're hands down the best gyoza I've ever had." You compliment him genuinely before giving in to the urge to tease him yet again because the flutters are back, if they ever even left, and you can't have him knowing just how much he affects you, "But who ever heard of serving gyoza in an onigiri shop?"

He must catch the light, teasing tone because he just smirks and throws right back, "Well if they're as good as ya say, maybe I should expand the menu."

"Oh no, don't do that!" You laugh with wide eyes, "Then Reina and I will never find space when we try to come back here during regular hours! Actually, I'm sure you're already always packed, hm?"

"Some days and times less than others, but there will always be space for the two of ya whenever ya want to visit again."

Oh yeah, it's a losing battle, the flutters are a full on tsunami of feelings now. Just push it away and chill. But then he adds, "And I can teach ya this recipe too. Anytime there's something ya like or want to try, just let me know. I'm sure we can make an amazing cook outta ya yet."

Your mouth drops open followed by your blurted question, "Why are you helping me so much? I'm sure this is a lot of time and effort for you too."

You hear the girls' conversation pause as they pick up on some subtle change in either your body language or demeanour, but Osamu's calm eyes just meet your wide ones, his lips sliding into a soft smile, as he simply answers, "Because I like ya."

You feel like you're back in grade school because you want to ask if he means that he 'like' likes you or just... likes you. But there's no way you're going to ask that question, not only because it feels a bit asinine but because that's not a conversation to start in front of both of your daughters.

You look over to the girls who are watching with beaming smiles, maybe happy their parents are good friends just like the two of them, and you return their wide grins with a reassuring one of your own before looking back into steady grey eyes. "Well, I really appreciate your help. Thank you, Osamu."

"I'd say no thanks needed, but I've been down that road before." Another quick, heart-stopping grin graces his face, this one almost as roguish as his tone is playful. He's definitely referring to your initial correspondence when you made a firm point against his initial brush off, as if his actions in making extra lunch for your daughter to enjoy wasn't incredibly thoughtful and certainly out of his way.

"Well you certainly catch on quick. Let's just hope I can say the same." Your playful smile turns into a grimace at the thought of how difficult it might be to actually improve your skills. Maybe it's just a question of talent? Maybe you're just never going to be able to reproduce food like him.

But he glances over to catch your frown just in time and reassures, "I know what I'm doing. Soon enough, you will too. Just say you'll keep supplying me and Zumi with yer baking every once in a while when ya don't need us anymore."

You know he's probably joking with the last part but you hadn't planned on stopping. You love to share the goodies you bake with the people in your and Reina's life, it makes the two of you pretty happy so you're sure Izumi and Osamu will be able continue enjoying your baked goods to their heart's content.

"Izumi will definitely get her share of sweets and snacks every day." You send a smile her way when she hears you and bounces excitedly in her seat but then you force yourself to drop it and face Osamu with a challenging look instead, "But you... well, I guess we'll have to wait and if you're as good as you say and maybe then you can get some too."

He places a closed hand to his chest as if he's been struck, the girls laughing at his overdramatic reaction, but his widening smile gives him away. You look at each other for a suspended moment, with shared amusement but also the teasing heat of something else reflected in his achromatic eyes, which makes you certain he picked up on the unintended double entendre in your words.

"Sounds like a promise." Then with an arched eyebrow at the empty plates and cups in front of everyone, Samu asks, "So shall we get started?"

You agree, helping him clean up the table and he takes the opportunity to help you and Reina familiarize yourselves with the kitchen. The rest of the afternoon is spent in an equally easy cadence as he does indeed walk you through the steps of making his recipes, flavours included.

He starts with the simplest option, yaki onigiri, which is just fried rice shaped in a triangle or oval, and then demonstrates how to make and add a few of your and Reina's favourite fillings in to change and enhance the flavour. The girls enjoy making their own mini rice balls alongside the two of you and the time flies until you're all back at the table and having the onigiri you've just made for lunch.

You can't deny there's an improvement already but your little rice balls are still nowhere near the level of skill and flavour of Osamu's, even though he and the girls all assure you that you've done a great job. You accept their compliments with a smile and the determination to keep at it on your own time until you improve even further because Reina deserves better than even this.

By the time you finish eating, the girls are unsurprisingly tired out and choose to stay at the table to watch a Disney movie with Izumi's iPad. You can't help but smile in amusement while watching Osamu grab the thing from behind the bar, tapping away on the clunky looking device which is perfect for Izumi with a thick, pink rubber cover protecting it from grade-schooler level damage.

After the movie's been set up for the two worn out little munchkins, you and Osamu head back into the kitchen for him to show you how to make the gyoza and the next hour slips away with more teasing jokes, increasingly heated looks, and slightly bolder touches.

You can close your eyes and now know the feel of Osamu's hands on yours, demonstrating how to properly fold and pleat the wrappers. You can still feel the heat of his chest brush your back from when he leaned around you to pick up an empty bowl to place in the sink, and you're pondering on what feels like a heated brand on your hip where he lightly curved one hand to shift you over.

You can't deny your attraction to the man, a slow fall that you should have seen coming from the excitement of receiving his words every day until you were eagerly expecting the notes, to this first meeting where he's everything you expected from reading between his lines and even more.

Since the girls are pretty much full, you and Osamu clean off the new batch of gyoza between the both of you - him more than you, which you tease him about again. All the while, you're panicking about this new realization of your feelings, given that you're seriously crushing on a man who might only mean to help as a newfound friend and maybe you're the one reading too much into his interactions.

It's not until you've helped him clean up, collected the girls, and are watching him lock up the shop that you get some semblance of an answer.

"Thank you again Osamu. This was not only very instructive but Reina and I had a great time today."

He's holding Izumi's small hand in his, similar to Reina's in yours, and his other hand stretches up to rub at the back of his head, his arm bent at the elbow. When he speaks, it's not a direct response to your gratitude but a question instead, sounding somewhat unsure himself for the first time today, "How about next time we have a date that's more fun than instructive?"

Your jaw almost drops in surprise but you quickly collect yourself because he's still looking a little worried, maybe because he thinks he's overstepping by calling this a date or maybe because he's not sure you'll want another one even if you do accept that.

Your smile is quick to light up your face and, with a light squeeze from Reina's hand to yours accompanied by her and Izumi's giggles, you happily reply, "Just let me know when and where, and it's a date."

He grins again, the third time today your heart stops at what you're sure is usually a rarer sight since bodies aren't always dropping to the ground around him (that you've heard of). "I think I might already have something in mind."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, but let me look into it and get back to ya."

"Sounds like a promise."

With your final reply, a borrowed echo of his words to serve as a temporary goodbye, you and Reina split away from Izumi and Osamu. Heading for your car with once last look behind you, you're pleasantly unsurprised to find a flash of gunmetal grey also glancing back your way. Later that night, finished with your and Reina's joint skincare routine and having tucked her into bed, you find the expected message waiting for you.

A/N: Okay wow I had SO much fun with this one! I hope you all do too <3 It's not triple edited per usual so please do let me know if you catch any errors or issues. No promises but probably dropping Atsumu’s First Meeting next ;)

Taglist: @yatoatyourservice, @crayonwriting

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ilikekidsshows · 3 years ago

Note

thank you thank you THANK YOU for your post about akumatized ladybug. Like, I love seeing people be enthusiastic about theories and the art has been wonderful, but the idea just sits so wrong with me. 100% I get where Marinette is coming from and the pressure she's under, but fundamentally Chat is the hurt party here. He's the one being isolated and kept in the dark and hurt by her actions (however well-intentioned and understandable). There's no resolution in LADYBUG being akumatized because, once again, that makes Chat's pain all about someone else. The only way I can see a ladybug akumatization working is if they use it like you described - so that Chat feels guilty and NEVER voices his frustrations or sadness, so the akumatization drives them further apart. Which could be a cool concept, because ANGST. But it's definitely not the way the ladynoir conflict can culminate or get resolved. Or if what drives her akumatization has nothing to do with Chat, but they use it as a stepping stone to better communication between ladynoir - that could maybe work. But Chat can't be the reason she gets akumatized. That guilt would irrevocably damage their partnership. Ladybug getting akumatized because of the pressure of being guardian and keeping secrets (with a side serving of Chat Blanc fear)? 100% do it bring it on cool beans. Marinette getting akumatized because she realises she's upset Chat Noir? No what no no no let the boy have his own feeling for once in his life

You are absolutely correct, Anon. If there's one thing we consistently see in Akumatizations, it's that no one wants to keep piling on the victim when they already had such a bad day. If Marinette gets Akumatized in the Ladynoir conflict, that will only deal with her emotions. And the conflict is hurting both Marinette and Adrien. It's very lopsided. If Marinette gets Akumatized because of the conflict, Adrien will not be telling her "well, you hurt me too". For one, because no one one wants to dump on Akumatization victims other than Chloé, and for two, because Adrien had to deal with The Collector, aka, the time Adrien's father got Akumatized and convinced Adrien that it was because he went too far in trying to be kept in the loop in what was going on in his life. Adrien would take away the wrong lesson here, which would be that he's not allowed to "bother" Ladybug.

Adrien is selfless to the degree of self harm. If Ladybug got Akumatized because of their fight, he'd take that onto himself and make the entire aftermath about making it up to Ladybug. It would be all about Ladybug, both narratively and in Adrien's mind. Marinette getting Akumatized while Adrien doesn't also signals to the audience that Marinette is the one being hurt by the situation more than Adrien, so she would get more of their sympathy. And while this might make sense from the perspective of Marinette being the main character, it doesn't make sense from the perspective that Marinette has contributed a lot to the rift between herself and her partner too. Making Marinette's mistakes only about how much they hurt her is pointless. We can see her struggling, she's very open about her pain with Alya, we don't need to see her Akumatized to get it. And it would make Adrien's pain in the situation only matter because it's another thing that upsets Marinette and it would just add fuel to all the salters who blame Adrien for his more difficult feelings and traumas because "he makes things harder for Marinette!"

Meanwhile, Adrien doesn't get to open up about his pain. At all. He's not going to scrutinize anything Ladybug does after she gets Akumatized because he's feeling sympathetic and guilty. Marinette apologising and promising to be more open to an Adrien who blames himself will be like talking to a brick wall. Adrien is going to be deaf to any apologies, because he'll feel like he needs to apologise for daring to have emotions that upset his Lady. Only Marinette's pain would get lessened, while Adrien would only get additional guilt on top of his other issues in this season.

Actually, I concede. Akumabug could totally happen because of the Ladynoir conflict. It would just be exactly like 'Reflekdoll' and 'Kwamibuster', where most of the fandom glorifies the episode for the fanservice inherent in the concept while the analysis side of the fandom tears out their hair in frustration because the episode made things worse.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #ml meta #ml theory #ml spoilers

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junipernight · 3 years ago

Text

First Impressions/Foreign Tongue

Chapter 4: Bittersweet Aftertaste

Summary: Because the discord was speculating.

“Alright, I’m calling it: it was way easier to find Kole and Gnaark than this guy,” Beast Boy declared.

“At least Bucharest is warmer than the arctic,” said Cyborg.

They were searching for a promising young superhero with air powers, Vântom. According to the news articles they’d found online, the teen wore a colorful sequined costume that was even gaudier than Robin’s; he should have been easy to spot. But of course, he could disappear and fly, which made him difficult to follow.

They’d managed to track him this far—to the Piața Universității, where just hours ago Vântom had taken down Cinderblock’s brick cousin—largely thanks to Raven’s flawless (and Robin’s very flawed) Romanian.

But now there were three roads leading out of the plaza, and they were out of leads.

“If only we had more people who could speak this language.” Starfire looked meaningfully at Raven. “Then we could cover more of the land, yes?”

“.... why are you looking at me like that.”

“You told me to ask you the next time”—Raven’s eyes widened—“before I kissed you.”

“No, I told you to ask the next time you kiss somebody ,” Raven corrected.

“Well, you are somebody, and you speak the Romanian.”

“So does Robin.”

Cyborg snorted. “Yeah, like a four year old.”

“Hey! I have the proficiency of an eight year old, at least.”

“Whatever spikes your hair, man.”

“Ask them!” Raven gestured at the crowded sidewalk.

“They do not know me and would be confused and upset,” Starfire reasoned.

Out of habit, Raven looked to their leader. Robin coughed. “It would help speed things up, but you know you don't have to.”

Raven was quiet for a moment. “Okay, fine, you can kiss me.”

Starfire’s face lit up. She started to lean in, but Raven recoiled. “Wait! Not in the middle of the street.”

She glanced around, then grabbed Starfire’s hand and dragged her over to the closest alley.

The boys waited at the entrance, blocking the view of the plaza. Raven swore she heard one of them whistling.

Raven stood very still as Starfire put a hand on her cheek. She stared determinedly at a chip in the brick wall and not at her beautiful teammate as she leaned in. She’d heard somewhere, probably from Beast Boy or one of his dumb movies, that it wasn’t a real kiss if your eyes stayed open. Starfire’s mouth was warm and sweet, like the rush of air when you opened an oven full of baking cookies. If she leaned too close, she would get burned.

Belatedly, Raven reminded herself to think Romanian thoughts.

Se 'ntorc acum. Ei Sunt aproape, copili vesnicului dor, atâtea văi atâtea dealuri au străbătut în mersul lor…*

Star pulled away. Raven opened her eyes in time to see Beast Boy turn back towards the street.

“[Thank you, my friend],” Starfire beamed. She gave her a quick peck on the cheek and flew off.

Raven followed behind, feeling strangely like she’d swallowed hemlock instead of saliva.

“You ok?” Beast Boy asked quietly.

Raven shrugged, and walked in the opposite direction Star had gone.

***

Once, just once, she’d daydreamed that things were different.

She’d imagined that they were alone.

Starfire leaned in slowly.

Her kisses were as enthusiastic as her hugs, almost—but not quite—too much. Raven closed her eyes, and the world fell away beneath her feet. There was only Starfire and Raven and the joy of flight, the halo of Starfire’s hair brushing her cheeks, a hand cradling her jaw...

Starfire pulled away from the kiss, but she didn’t go far. She pressed their foreheads together, utterly speechless, and beamed at Raven like she’d personally hung the stars in the night sky.

But of course, there was a mission. Even imaginary kisses from Starfire were always just a means to an end. Raven supposed that was why it’d occurred to her to imagine kissing Starfire at all.

Her feet touched down again. It smelled like exhaust smoke and mold up here, on the roof of the decrepit old theatre building. That’s all that could ever exist between them; a flimsy bit of theater of the mind. If she knew what was good for her, she’d strike the set and leave well enough alone.

“Very, very good!” Starfire, in Raven’s body, clapped her hands together. “Tell me, what was your joyous thought?”

“You don’t wanna know,” said Raven. Already the “unbridled joy” of flight had soured in her throat. She pushed a stubborn lock of auburn hair out of her face and forced herself to focus on finding an entrance.

“Oh but I do, truly!”

Several sarcastic responses came to mind, and Raven chose the most biting one: “You not talking.”

“Oh.”

Starfire was quiet after that.

***

*Translation: "I'm coming back now. They are near, children of eternal longing, so many valleys so many hills have crossed in their course." -- from “Solii” by I.U. Soricu

Author’s Notes:

Me: Alright, two non-romantic kisses is enough for these two, it’s time to move on to friendship, linguistics, and fluff The Discord: oh ho ho, yeah Starfire, next time ask. The Discord: They’re going to end up somewhere where Star needs to learn a language again ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Me: *uncorking a bottle of angst* well, if that’s really what you want…

#First Impressions/Foreign Tongue #First Impressions #Teen Titans #StarRae #RaeStar #Starfire #Raven #TT #Fanfiction #Juniper Night Writes

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hiro-gari · 4 years ago

Text

Troublemaker

Garou x GN Reader

Warnings: vague webcomic spoilers, canon divergence, language, slight manhandling, mostly SFW

The first time you saw him was purely by accident. Typically, you’d wait for the sound of the delivery truck rumbling away before sneaking your package off the porch in your bare feet...

But you hadn’t even heard him arrive.

And so, instead of going for a walk as planned, you were standing stunned, with the door wide open. You weren’t expecting anyone to be there to begin with, but the sight of him specifically had you reeling internally. The look on your face must have reflected as much, and he stopped in his tracks, eyebrows raised.

He seemed very out of place; his face a little too wild, framed by haphazard spikes of silvery hair, and certainly too handsomely built for any delivery guy. He shifted the box resting on his shoulder, his golden eyes catching the light from under the shadow of the cap he was wearing. It was only then you realized he was speaking to you.

“What..?”

“Where do ya want this-”

Before you could react, the box was on the ground, and he was crouched down. He was holding your cat with both hands, slowly picking her up. You hadn’t even noticed her dart out between your legs, and you wondered how he’d managed to set down the box and perfectly catch the agile creature in the time it took you to blink.

“Here,” he handed her off to you, calloused hands brushing your arms as he did, “you should probably keep her indoors.”

“Sorry, thank you, uh- sir...”

“Garou.” He corrected, picking up the box again. You tried not to ogle at the way his arms flexed with each movement, “I’ll set this inside then, since your hands are full.”

You kicked the door wide open, perhaps a little enthusiastically, and he followed you through the doorway. He set the package to the side.

“Is this fine?” He scarcely waited for your reply, and his hand was already on the door.

“Garou,” you started without thinking. The way he looked back at you made your throat tighten, but it wasn’t every day you had a man this fine in your house, “can I get you a coffee or anything?”

He seemed to hesitate, tapping a finger thoughtfully on the doorknob. He eyed you up and down with sudden curiosity, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck.

“Thanks, but I really-“ he started before the horn from the truck blared from the street, causing you both to jerk towards the sound.

“Sorry, I hadn’t realized you had someone waiting for you,” you said apologetically, letting the cat squirm out of your hands and run to the bedroom.

“Asshole...” he growled. You stepped closer and peered around him to glare at the man causing all the noise on the street. “It’s my first day that’s all, I’ll be on my own soon enough,” he added indignantly, as though he’d been offended.

“Oh, of course.”

“Yeah, but thanks anyways, er, what was your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied, glancing up at him. He leaned almost too close, and yet, you didn’t back away from him.

“Y/N,” he grinned, flashing canines that seemed a little too sharp. He brushed your hair out of your face so smoothly you barely registered that it had happened at all. “Next time, ‘kay?” As he stepped outside, the thought of giving him your number crossed your mind. But the words wouldn’t come, and you were sure your face was beet red by now. He didn’t give you a chance anyways, not hesitating for a moment as he closed the door behind him.

As determined as you were to restore your dignity when he returned, things were not going as planned.

For starters, the man on your porch this time was, well, a disappointment to say the least. It was a short, squat man, with an expression that looked as though he were about to fall asleep at your doorstep. There was no sign of that tall, gorgeous man you’d met days earlier. If your dismay showed on your face whatsoever, the man paid no mind to it. He only shoved the notepad into your hand with a barely decipherable grunt. And of course, you’d made sure specifically to require a signature, just to make sure you wouldn’t miss him.

Darn.

Avoiding eye contact as you signed, you asked casually,

“Where is Garou? Off today?” You handed the signed paper back to him. His brows shot up,

“Eh? Oh, the kid- nah he didn’t last. Caused all sorts of trouble for the boss,” he gave a half-hearted wave as he turned his back. “Ya don’t need to be gettin’ involved with a scoundrel like him,” he called over his shoulder as he went on his way.

Scoundrel? Trouble? All sorts? That was pretty vague.

Resigning to the fact you’d probably never see him again, you tried not to dwell on it.

The man’s warning probably should have deterred you from calling out his name the instant you recognized him.

He had you off the main street and tucked behind some dingy building almost before his name left your lips. You understood then, of course this wasn’t just some punk. This was a wanted man. Wanted by a lot of people, if his reaction was any indication.

“You?”

He studied your face, looking apologetic for half a second. As he should, considering the way his hand was clasped over your mouth. His hard body was roughly pressed against yours, scraping your back against the coarse brick. His eyebrows knitted together in an expression that was too terrifying to be simply annoyed, but he backed off slowly nonetheless.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?”

“I’m-” You were headed somewhere, though it seemed terribly irrelevant now. His closeness made it nearly impossible to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. “-was just on my way to work and recognized you...”

A half assed, mumbled explanation wasn’t going to cut it.

“But what do you want.” The authority in his voice was chilling.

“I was just glad, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you added hurriedly. That alone granted you a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, pulling at his cold scowl, raising your confidence marginally. “That guy- one of the delivery guys said you were in some kind of trouble-”

“In trouble?” he pressed.

“Well, it kind of sounded like you caused it,” you tried to look down, anything to ease the pressure of his steady gaze.

“I see, and yet,” his fingers grazed your jaw, then firmly tilted your chin to face him again, “here you are.”

Those bright golden eyes searched yours, wandering over your face, fixating on the way your lips parted slightly as he encircled your waist experimentally. “Is this what you wanted after all?”

The small mewling sound you made was all the affirmation he needed. Grinning widely, he rumbled with what might have been a chuckle, or a growl. It resonated in his chest, which by now was pressed flush against yours as he pulled you closer. You clung to his broad shoulders with every ounce of strength left in your body, drunk on the heat radiating from him and the smell of his warm skin.

His lips touched your forehead sweetly, completely contradictory to the way his palms were coasting slowly along the curve of your hip. But suddenly his warmth was notably missing, and he pulled away. Your phone was now in his hand, deftly removed from your back pocket while your head was in the clouds.

“Hey-” you protested futilely. But now he was unlocking it, backing away from you, leaving you dumbfounded and wavering in his absence.

“Hate to tell ya this,” he was typing fast, talking as he did, “but I’ve got somewhere to be.” He placed the phone back into your hand with a crooked grin, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Call me, baby.”

And he was gone.

Gathering your wits in the wake of his abrupt departure, you straightened yourself out, brushing the dirt and creases out of your clothing. Unable to contain your curiosity, you scanned through the contacts on your phone, eventually landing on his name:

[Garou😈]

You could only begin to guess at what that little face was supposed to mean.

You’d find out soon enough.

#this is for my fellow simps <3 #i hope u like it #sorry for the bit at the end #we can all agree he does some cringey shit tho right 😭#sorry if this seems rushed in places 🙇‍♀️#opm #garou #garou x reader #oneshot

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fandomsand-oops-politicstoo · 3 years ago

Text

Oh my fuck…… I think this has just been sitting in my drafts….. rotting……. anyway correct me if I’m wrong but anyway, here is the quite old post:

@boowoomuu tagged me to post four songs I’ve been listening on repeat recently!! Thank you!!!

I chose to interpret it more like listened to a lot, because I don’t listen to stuff on repeat that often??

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

Ghosting - Mother Mother

I Kissed Someone (It Wasn’t You) - dodie

Best Part - Daniel Ceasar feat. H.E.R

These are really not similar at all but I kinda like that.

Tagging: @ryebreadeater, @ukrainianstruggles, @unashamedly-enthusiastic, @successisajigsawpuzzle and @iriswesstallen!

(This is me now btw:

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Elton John

Vi Er Ikke Kønne Nok - Katinka Band

NFWMB - Hozier

Santé - Stromae

(sneaky fifth: Moon River - Jacob Collier….. I love it…. it’s so floaty, listen with headphones for extra Float™️))

#Only if you want to of course!!#me #tag games

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mlqcconfessions · 4 years ago

Note

Your headcanons are perfect! Thank you for your work!♥️ Can you make a Headcanon for all four when they are drunk and MC tries to take them home so they can Rest? I think it would be so funny with a drunk Victor...

Who doesn’t love drunk MLQC boys? And this is my first headcanon with Shaw, so hope I got his character right! I changed the scenario a bit to better fit the boys’ personalities! Hope you don’t mind!

MLQC Headcanon - Overestimated Yourself

Victor

He’s a true connoisseur of fine wines, and actually enjoys small drinks with you

He doesn’t let you drink past 2 glasses (not after what happened on Christmas last year)

“But Victor!”

“No buts. You can take the 2 glasses, or you don’t”

He swiftly ignores your attempt at pinching his nose (he pinches yours, instead)

“Dummy”

Fine. You want some wine? I’ll give you some wine.

You ask the waiter to bring out the bottle with the strongest percentage (he nervously glances at Victor, who seems entirely amused with this situation)

“Ri-right away” (poor guy)

You anxiously watch Victor as he takes a sip of the new wine, your phone out and ready to record his expression

Nothing.

NOTHING

No change in expression whatsoever

It’s official. He’s a monster

He looks at your face, pouty with your lips out, and smirks before taking another sip

A few hours have passed, and he’s still drinking (from the strong bottle, even!)

Your chances of getting him drunk are close to zero, and you sigh in defeat

The waiter comes by with the bill, to which Victor returns with his card

Hmm?

“Victor?” (he looks at you like nothing is wrong, but you and the waiter’s faces beg to differ)

He turns his head to the card he’s holding (it’s his business card)

..........

You can’t help but burst out laughing at this adorable mistake

“Victor, (you’re still recovering from laughing too hard) are you drunk?”

His expression doesn’t seem to change (but that’s in the eyes of normal people)

In your eyes, you can tell that he’s lost his usual composure

He did, after all, drink more than he usually would

You can’t stop smiling even as he hands the waiter the correct card

As the two of you are walking to the car (with a driver, of course, no drunk driving) he puts his hand on your shoulder

You can sense a change in the atmosphere temperature

“I want a new proposal idea on my desk by next week” (your mouth opens wide and you can’t believe what you just heard)

It’s official. He’s a monster

Kiro

As a superstar, he and his team often go on company dinners after a successful promotion

And that includes drinks (he’s usually the one to buy it, because he just likes to)

Kiro’s constantly offered drinks by everyone around the table

He can’t take in alcohol to save his life (one shot, and he’s soon dancing on the table)

So he figured out a way to avoid having to accept any more

“Kiro, let me pour you a glass”

“Oh? I guess it’s my turn cook the meat now!”

“Take this special drink I made. It’s a mix of beer and soju”

“Savin really likes that, so you should give it to him!” (Savin has built up a high tolerance because of this)

But whenever he’s at home with you on a special day, he likes having a few drinks

The only problem is, he gets so clingy when he’s drunk

“MC, I love you so much”

“Can I braid your hair?”

“Hey! Stop getting so close to her!” (he’s fighting with a fork)

“MC, did you know otters hold hands so they don’t drift apart? (he holds your hand and takes it next to his heart) Now we’ll be together forever!”

Why is he so precious?

It’s cute for the first few minutes, but it gets a little tiring after a few hours

“Kiro, how about we play a game?”

“What game?” (his eyes are shining)

“Whoever can fall asleep the fastest wins! But you can’t say anything, or you lose right away!” (....this is what you do with the kids at the orphanage)

He mouths ‘okay’ and immediately lies on the couch with his hands folded together on his stomach

You look at him trying so hard to not open his eyes, and nearly let out a laugh (you’re still playing a game)

Meanwhile, he has his ears perked to catch you talking

After you’re done cleaning up after dinner, you return to the couch and notice Kiro’s arm is dangling off the edge

I guess we have a winner now (you quietly tiptoe to his side, kiss him on the cheek, and grab a blanket to cover him with)

He hasn’t had much sleep in a while, especially with his new song about to come out

At least he’ll be able to drift off for a few hours

“Good night, Kiro”

As you go to the kitchen to finish putting away the plates, he slowly opens his eyes and smiles at the sight of you (you had your back to him, so you would’ve never thought that he was awake)

He closes his eyes once more, happily content with knowing you’re next to him

“Good night, MC”

Lucien

You can never tell when he’s drunk or not

But he definitely can tell when you are (that’s what makes this so frustrating)

It seems he always catches you at your worst moments

Of course, he ensures you that everything you do is adorable (but that’s not the answer you want to hear)

Determined to see his drunk side, you invite him over for a dinner

You emphasize that you’ll prepare the best wine you can offer (at least with your budget)

A couple glasses of wine in, and you’re already starting to lose focus

Lucien doesn’t even change faces as he refills both of your glasses

“Don’t drink too much, MC (you’re giving him a pouty face)”

“Hmmph! Says the person who’s on his 5th glass”

He laughs at your timid remark, adding on to his list of MC’s drinking habits

The first one on the list is you trying to enter Lucien’s home with your own door passcode (he always loves watching you get frustrated through the *door monitor on the wall)

After a few hours have passed, you just decide to give up

He’s never gonna get drunk, who am I kidding?

Your head has cleared up a little (because you stopped accepting his refills)

Lucien, on the other hand, seems too quiet

He’s quiet, but not THIS quiet

It’s been a while since he said anything, so you’re worried (he has mentioned how he’s been feeling a little stressed lately)

“Lucien..?”

You lightly tapped his shoulder, and he responded by meeting his eyes with yours

He still didn’t say anything, but you notice his face is brushed with pink

“....! Lucien? Are you drunk?”

“Haha.....it appears so....” (why is he still so elegant when drunk)

He gets up to help you clear the table, but is a little wobbly on his feet

“Woah, Lucien! (he’s leaning on your shoulders) Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

You walk him to his apartment (it’s like 10 steps) and as you’re about to turn around to leave, he lightly taps your shoulder

“Lucien?”

“MC? When did you get here?” (is this a habit, too???)

Gavin

Birdcop doesn’t usually drink, because he’ll need to be on alert at all times

“But it’s your resting day tomorrow! You can afford to lay back sometimes” (you’re handing him a beer can, cold from the fridge)

He looks at your enthusiastic expression, quickly decides that he can’t win against you, and sighs in acceptance

He’s just hoping that nothing bad happens during this drinking fest (because he can’t protect you 100% when he’s drunk)

Luckily, the night passes on without much turbulence

Except for that moment when you accidentally knocked over the chair (how does that even happen) while you were walking to get more cans

“Alright, MC (he’s collecting the remainder of beers). Confiscated”

“...! But!”

“No buts. You need to sleep early for work tomorrow”

You grab his to stop him from taking your oasis beers (he jolts a little)

“I already took the day off for tomorrow! So I could spend the entire day with you” (Gavin is being swayed)

In the end, you win (like most times) and your drinking party with Gavin resumes

You can hold your alcohol quite well (due to all the after parties you go to)

But poor Birdcop isn’t (he never tries to build up tolerance, because he doesn’t need to)

He’s out like a night light, and you smile looking at his peaceful face (he deserves a break, more than anyone else)

After you clean up, you snuggle in next to him

Perfectly content with this scenario, you rest your head on his shoulder

Then you hear some mumbling (how cute)

It’s getting late, and he should be heading home now

But as you get up, he pulls you down towards him (so he’s wrapped around you like a bear)

You try to break free, but he doesn’t train every day for nothing

Instead, you wrap your arms around him the same (falling asleep knowing that you’re protected)

He wakes up in the morning and panics

Shaw

He’s not an alcoholic but he definitely likes drinking

Especially when you’re there to make things interesting for him

He likes watching you act all dumb when you’re drunk (but immediately stands in front of you when you act too chummy with the other customers)

He keeps giving you different types of drinks, just to see how you react

So far, vodka wins by a long shot

He has videos of your drunken self (that he sometimes sends to you whenever you don’t reply to his messages)

But Shaw isn’t the type to get drunk, and both of you know that

So when he called you at 2AM, sounding wasted, it’s no wonder that you were surprised

“Shaw? Do you even know what time it is right now?” (you’re trying to sound annoyed, but holding in your urge to giggle)

“Don’t talk back to me, MC”

In contrast to his cold words, his voice was soft and full of laughter

But a loud crash can be heard over the phone, and thunder booms in the distance

Then, silence

“Shaw? Are you okay?” (no answer)

“Shaw? This isn’t funny!” (at this point, you’re nearly ready to run out that door)

“....alleyway” (the call ends there)

Alleyway.....? Ah, maybe.....

You grab your stuff and quickly go outside, almost out of breath as you run to the alleyway near the neighborhood park (the same one where he first asked you out)

Sure enough he’s there, crouched against the brick wall with his arms in front of him

You walk over to him, forehead beaded with sweat, and say in an exasperated tone

“What the heck, Shaw! Do you know how worried I—”

You’re unable to finish your sentence as you notice the wounds on him

You cup his face to closely look at his cheeks (they’re both covered with marks)

“Who...just who did this to you?”

He doesn’t say anything, and just pulls you closer to him (you catch a whiff of the strong alcohol)

Like always, he doesn’t tell you much (and you know better than to prod at a painful spot)

You just let out a sigh, and gently pat the back of his head (he always relaxes when you do that)

“Tell me everything when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you”

He doesn’t say anything, but his tighter embrace gives you reassurance

(The next day he completely forgets what happened and laughs at you for trying to make things up)

This guy....

*this is what I was imagining when I said the screen on the wall for Lucien’s part

Yeah I don’t know why Shaw’s got so dark (it’s probably because I was replaying the latest chapters)

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jmeelee · 5 years ago

Text

Except at Waffle House

A Sterek AU inspired by that ridiculous Reddit post about the girl who’s BF keeps fighting the cook at Waffle House.

As far as boyfriend’s went, Braeden hit the jackpot when she met Derek Hale. She hadn’t been looking for a partner when she’d stepped into the first class of her Master’s program, but there he’d been, sitting dead-center of the third row in the cavernous lecture hall. Derek was… different. Intelligent, well-read, handsome, driven; he’d weathered tragedy and trauma with elegance, emerging on the other side with a soft-spoken grace. He made Braeden laugh with a wit so dry it kindled a fire in her belly. To other women, Derek’s obscene good looks—chiseled jawline, soft hair the color of midnight, ass you could bounce quarters off of—might have been his biggest draw, but for Braeden, it was Derek’s hard-won composure. When she decided to drop out of the Federal Marshall program and pursue her own independent career, Derek never batted an eye. When she came home from dangerous missions sporting cuts, scrapes and bruises, he didn’t rage over her playing fast and loose with her own welfare. He simply said, “I’m glad you’re home safe.” Derek never yelled, never lost his temper, never fought. He was a dream come true.

Except at Waffle House.

Truth be told, Braeden didn’t love Waffle House, but food was food and a girl’s gotta eat. Derek, however, had some deep-seated appreciation of the greasy chain that stretched back into his childhood, before his parents and older sister died. So while she preferred to eat elsewhere, Braeden found herself at Waffle House a few times a week, feeding Derek’s desire to reconnect with fond adolescent memories.

“Service might be a bit slower today,” said their usual waitress, who’s bright yellow name tag read Erica. She plopped an iced-tea in front of Braeden, and a steaming cup of black coffee before Derek. Erica snapped her bubblegum, pulled a tiny notepad from the pocket of her black apron, and snatched a stubby pencil out of her perky blonde ponytail. “Boyd’s training a new cook. What’re y’all having?”

Sure enough Boyd, the owner of the franchise, stood at the grill, patiently pointing at burners and griddles while the long-fingered hands of the tall, thin guy next to him flew around like drunk hummingbirds. Braeden figured the new cook was replacing Scott, who had quit the line to attend Veterinary school. When you spent several days a week eating there, the Waffle House family became your family.

Braeden was known to make her way through the various menu items. Some people had their tried and true staples, but she preferred to throw tradition to the wind. One day it was pecan waffles, the next, chili smothered hash browns. Today, a cheese steak omelet. Derek however was a creature of habit. “I’ll have the--”

“Steak and eggs,” Erica interrupted, graphite scratching over the paper. “Steak medium-rare and egg yolks slightly runny. Whole wheat toast, well done.”

“You got it,” Derek said agreeably, handing over his flimsy laminated menu. “Thanks, Erica.”

They filled the void between placing their order and receiving their food with anecdotes from work and a fast and furious game of hangman on the back of their paper placemats. Waffle House may be lacking in sophistication, but it’s service was always speedy.

“Here ya go.” Erica plunked plates in front of them and topped off Derek’s coffee. “Let me know if you need anything else.” But the call bell rang in the kitchen and she bustled away, already half-way down the aisle.

Three forkfuls of cheesy goodness passed her lips before Braeden realized Derek was poking at yellow lumps on his platter with a stiff triangle of toast, watching the yolks crumble like a house of sand. She finished chewing, swallowed. “Derek? Is something wrong?”

“It’s my eggs,” he lamented. “They’re super hard. Not runny at all.”

Had she known the repercussions of her next words, Braeden might have given them more thought. But unbeknownst to her, she was about to score red on the Waffle House Index of how prepared she was to weather the coming shit storm.

“Just call Erica back,” Braeden suggested, waving her fork in the air. “The kitchen can whip up another batch. No big deal.”

Famous last words.

Erica flounced over, ponytail swinging behind her. “Sorry about that, honey,” she chirped. “The new cook is still finding his groove. I’ll be right back with the correct order.”

Derek thanked her again but watched with hazel eagle eyes as she brought the plate back to the open kitchen, speaking to the mole-speckled guy at the grill whose bed head hair was barely contained under his dorky paper hat. Derek squirmed in his seat.

Braeden’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s a really complex call-in system these employees need to learn. And all that crazy code with the jelly and mayo packets? They’re bound to make mistakes sometimes.”

Derek grunted, watching Erica return with a heaping plate of eggs. This time they were scrambled. “These are scrambled,” he said stupidly, blinking at the fluffy little clouds.

Looking down, Erica seemed to see them for the first time. She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Ugh. Stiles.”

“Yeah, it’s a style of eggs, just not the one I ordered.”

“No,” Erica shook her head. “S-T-I-L-E-S. Stiles is our new cook. I promise I’ll be back with the correct eggs in a few.”

But ten minutes later a plate of thinly sliced hard-boiled eggs laid out in a flower pattern was placed in front of Derek. Braeden couldn’t help it, she threw back her head and laughed. “At this point, I think the cook’s fucking with you,” she told him.

But Derek wasn’t in on the joke. He pushed the plate away and threw money down on the table. “Hopefully both his cooking and his comedy routine improves,” Derek grumbled, pulling on his leather jacket.

Maybe now they could finally eat at some different restaurants.

----------

Three days later, they were back at Waffle House.

“There are over 1,500 other Waffle Houses in America,” Braeden said for the millionth time, waving her map app in Derek’s face. “Look, there’s one twelve miles away.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Derek scowled, sending his second plate of eggs back to the kitchen. First, they were poached, then they were part of a bacon egg and cheese sandwich.

The third time a single slice of toast sat on a wide white plate, a perfect circle cut from the center. Inside the circle was an egg. Cooked over-hard.

Braeden took a fortifying breath of humid maple-scented air.

“Okay I’ve had enough,” Derek yelled, standing up from the booth. “You,” he pointed at Stiles the cook, who stared back with a wide insolent mouth and tricky amber eyes. “Take this garbage back and cook my eggs the right way.”

Stiles slowly pulled a dirty apron over his neck, dislodging his ridiculous hat, and sauntered around the counter on long legs to stand in front of Derek, crowding into his personal space. Toe to toe, there was barely any difference in height between the two men, though their body types varied greatly. Derek was built like a brick shithouse, Stiles like a twink.

“Is there a problem, dude?” Stiles asked coolly, with the poker face of an Easter Island head. The only crack in his stone facade was the tiny quirk at the edge of his pert lips.

“Yeah,” Derek growled, pushing a finger into Stiles’ thin chest, “my problem is you and your shitty egg cooking skills.”

“Shitty?” The quirk blossomed into a fully grown smirk. “I’ve made you several plates of superb eggs, dude. It’s not my fault you won’t even try them.”

“Quit calling me dude.”

“Sure thing, buddy.” Stiles winked and stared Derek down like a cowboy in a duel with nothing left to live for. Where had Boyd found this sadist cook?

“My name is Derek. Not buddy. Not dude. Derek.” The words leaked out between Derek’s clenched teeth. Braeden could slice American cheese off his jaw right now.

Stiles smiled like he’d won the lottery, angling his body slightly away from Derek, but never breaking eye contact. “Hey Waffle House, Derek here thinks my eggs suck. Do all of you fine, upstanding people think my eggs are good?” Stiles got several thumbs-up, two enthusiastic whistles, and one wrinkled middle finger from a white-haired man hunched over at the service counter. Stiles gave the guy a thumbs up. “Thanks for your honesty mister. It’s much appreciated.”

“What the hell was that? What are you trying to do?” Derek was snarling, and the look between both men was lethal. Eyes sparked. Lips wetted. Fingers twitched. Braeden held her breath, sure fists would start flying at any second. Derek made muted sounds of rage worthy of an aspiring ventriloquist. They were too close, puffed out chests a hair's-breadth apart.

Stiles shrugged. “My Waffle House, my rules. Rule number one, pull that stick out of your ass, Derek.”

Derek took Stiles by the surprisingly broad shoulders and backed him into the coat rack. “Next time I’m here, you’re gonna make me my food the way I order it.”

As quick as it started, the altercation was over. Derek backed out of the overcoats, and Stiles came stumbling after like two teenagers emerging from a closet after seven minutes in heaven. Derek made a beeline for the exit.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles yelled at Derek’s retreating back. “I'll show you sunny side up!”

The whole thing was made even more ridiculous by the merrily tinkling overhead bell as Derek slammed outside.

_______

“Feeling up for trying Schwarma tonight?” Braeden asked when they pulled into the lot and parked next to Stiles’ run down blue Jeep.

“Not a chance,” Derek replied, practically backflipping out of the Camaro.

----------

“Derek, NO!” she said.

DEREK, YES he heard, and Derek, her Derek, the pinnacle of poise, yeeted himself over the counter, grabbing the yellow crossover uniform tie around Stiles’ neck.

----------

“At least Stiles didn’t spike Derek’s drink with meth,” Erica shrugged. Today the two men were rolling around on the greasy tile floor.

“Are you being ironic?” Braeden asked, taken aback by the seriousness of Erica’s tone.

“Waffle House is an irony-free zone,” Boyd informed her with a straight face. “I’m just thankful there’s no AR-15s or nudity today.”

“Yet,” Erica leered.

What the hell happened at Waffle House?!

----------

“I’ll have an Angus patty melt, and a slice of Aunt Maggie’s Triple Chocolate pie, please,” Braeden ordered as chaos descended around her. “It’s like when I have food in front of me, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.”

“That’s the magic of Waffle House,” Erica said sagely.

“It’s something,” Braeden replied.

----------

She was scattered, smothered, covered in food debris, collateral damage from Stiles and Derek’s ongoing war.

“Don’t worry, Hunny,” a friendly woman in the adjacent booth told her. “Throw a tide pod in with that shirt and the stains will come right out! Just don’t eat it like those crazy kids are doing these days.”

“Who in their right mind would eat a tide pod?” Braeden asked.

The answer was a serious side-eye. “Who in their right mind would keep returning to a restaurant to tussle with the cook?”

Touche.

----------

Waffle House had a special Valentine’s Day candlelight dinner, which Braeden could have happily gone her whole life not knowing about or participating in.

Erica sat them right next to the fancy new digital touchscreen jukebox. Stiles came out, fed the machine twenty dollars, and set it to play “I Touch Myself” by Divinyls two-hundred and forty times on repeat.

Braeden wasn’t sure if Derek touched himself that night, but any guy who took her on a Valentine date to Waffle House and proceeded to fist-fight the cook certainly wasn’t going to be touching her.

__________

Braeden parked down the road and walked to Waffle House, unsurprised to find Derek’s car in the parking lot. She’d quit going with him two weeks ago. To so many hungry, lost, and seriously hammered people, Waffle House’s warm yellow glow was a beacon of salvation. For Braeden, who watched from the peaceful vantage point of the parking lot as her boyfriend grappled the skinny cook into a headlock and proceeded to give him a vicious noogie, it would forever be a reminder that Derek was the perfect guy for her, except when it came to Stiles. Once upon a time, Braeden appreciated the fact that women everywhere were always looking at her man. He turned heads, but none of them ever seemed to turn his. Except at Waffle House, and it wasn’t a woman.

Derek walked out of the restaurant twenty minutes later to find her sitting on the hood of his black Camaro. “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” he asked, monotone. She wondered at Drek’s equanimity, which has always seemed so inviting to her before. Maybe Braeden just didn’t inspire passion in Derek, the way Stiles obviously did.

She nodded.

“Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

She shook her head. “Not unless you can tell me what this is really about. Not unless you can tell me who you are. Because this person isn’t the Derek I thought I knew.”

Lately, she’d been thinking a lot about a proverb her mother used to recite when she was younger. Briseann an dúchais trí shúile an chait. The true nature of someone’s character is revealed through their eyes. Derek’s head swiveled between Braeden and the view through the glass window, where Erica was helping Stiles off the floor, and Boyd was mopping up spilled chocolate milk, and several patrons were still surreptitiously filming the whole ordeal on their cellphones. Derek’s eyes followed Stiles like a wolf stalking prey. “Shit, I—”

“Derek,” she said, sliding down the hood and coming to stand before him, “you were an amazing boyfriend and a great guy.” Braeden sighed. “Except at Waffle House.”

Derek shoved his fists into the front pockets of his too-tight jeans, scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the brick facade of the restaurant. “Yeah,” he relented. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too, Derek.” She gently patted his stubbled cheek. “Good luck with-” she gestured toward the golden fluorescent lights, the black and yellow signage, at Stiles standing stock still and Bambi-eyed behind the counter, holding a chunk of frozen bacon to the top of his head- “whatever the hell this is. I’ll see you around.”

She waved good-bye to Stiles through the window, who raised a hesitant hand back to her, and walked out of the parking lot.

Roughly a year and a half later, Braeden thumbed through a used newspaper while she waited at her local coffee shop for the barista to call her name. She flipped from business to sports, passing the society section on her way, when a pithy headline caught her attention.

Waffle Brawls lead to Wedding Bells.

Huh. So that’s what all the fighting was really about.

Underneath the catchy title was a byline: “Groom learned sixteen new ways to cook eggs during fearsome flirtation.”

“Caramel Macchiato for Braeden!”

Braeden tossed the paper onto the tabletop, leaving it open to Stiles and Derek’s wedding announcement, and left the coffee shop with a laugh on her lips.

You couldn’t make this shit up. Except at Waffle House.

__________

As per usual tumblr won’t let me link to anything so the Reddit post that inspired this story so you can find that in the notes! Thanks for reading hope it made you laugh.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #sterek fic #please don't take this seriously it is crack #outsider pov #braeden pov #but trust me Sterek always get a happy ending

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killjoysfromyesterday · 4 years ago

Text

my first prompt for bad things happen bingo! excited for this!

@badthingshappenbingo

pneumonia - kobra kid

word count: 1,218

i’m truly sorry, i don’t know how to do a read more cut on mobile, i’d really appreciate if someone taught me : (

——————

it started as just dust allergies. a common cold. something like that, something that he didn't even pay attention to.

but before he had a chance to speak up and get himself sorted out, the coughing and the chills peaked and left him all hollow inside.

jet had mother-henned him into going to bed early, after the firepit left him sneezing and coughing like ghoul after a bad cigarette. he couldn't tell what time it was now; probably morning by the light peaking through the girl-proofed (see also: boarded up) windows in the bedroom. the heat of the day was creeping in, settling like a fog even indoors. it just added to his lethargy.

with a heaving sigh, he kicked the blankets from his gangly limbs and rolled over, grunting as his shirt stuck to him with cold sweat. his red jacket was draped across the edge of the mattress, probably set there by poison.

and speak of the devil, the door creaks open and the light pitter-patter of poison's footsteps fill the room. kobra tries his best to sit up for him, because maybe if he pretends not to be sick anymore they'll all stop mother-henning him and let him go to the crash track, but scooting up sends him into another coughing fit.

kobra's dizzy when his lungs finally decide to cooperate, and he slumps back against the nest of pillows poison had propped up for him.

“your fever isn't letting up." poison comments, hand cool against kobra's forehead. their eyebrows are stitched together like they always do when they're worried, and somehow it just makes kobra feel worse.

"have you been drinking water?" poison's voice cuts through his thoughts, and he shakes his head, which absolutely does not help the headache that's forming in the crown of his skull. his sinuses feel like they're going to explode and shit, he just wants to fall back asleep.

his eyes must've fallen closed because he didn't even notice that poison left the room until they reappear a few minutes later wielding a rag and a bottle of water. his throat's so dry it's hard to swallow, but the effort of sitting up to drink sounds fucking impossible.

poison unscrews the cap and sits down next to the mattress, helping kobra grip the bottle. their hand is beneath kobra's face as he drinks, catching the inevitable drops of water that roll down his chin.

"i know, kobes. just a couple more sips, okay? then you can go back to sleep, i promise. scout's honor." poison says when kobra starts to pull away, scrunching his face up at the taste. clean water's hard to get in the desert, and the treated shit always had that sour taste left over from the treatment formula. but to appease poison he takes a few more tentative sips and poison doesn't fight when he pulls away this time.

"where's everyone?" kobra asks as he lies back, half lowering-half flopping himself back onto the linens.

"jet’s with mads on his day off. the girl’s out with ghoul, they went to drop some stuff off to doc and pony. why?" poison says, pouring the remainder of the water bottle onto the rag.

"i promised her we'd go to the track today." kobra lets out a sigh of relief when poison sets the rag on his forehead, the cool cloth seeping into the heat of his fever. it doesn't last very long, but it feels better than before with the warmth of the desert baking into the room like a fucking sauna.

"it's alright. you can go some other time." poison smiles.

"i feel bad." kobra chews on the inside of cheek.

"why?"

"feel like i'm lettin' her down." he mumbles.

"kobes. you're not. she understands. she's old enough to get this stuff now." poison's words are reassuring but kobra's still not sure if girl would understand. they'd been planning this trip for days now.

"i guess so." he sighs, and tries to think of a way he could make it up to her later.

"we're home!" ghoul's voice rings through the diner, and a second later a weight slams into kobra's chest like a ton of bricks and sends him coughing again. the girl's hair rubs up against his chin as she settles herself on his chest. thank witch she's still snuggly, because with how independent she's getting, it hurts to see her need them less and less. it's all part of growin' up though, as jet would say.

"careful, girly. kobes isn't feelin' too shiny." poison warns. the girl edges off of him a little bit, her little face scrunching with concern.

kobra turns to ghoul. "how were doc and pony?"

"they're alright. you know doc, summer always makes his legs ache in that chair. pony's good." ghoul, much like the girl, attaches himself to his comfort person as soon as he gets home: he's slinking into poison's lap, nuzzling his face into poison's neck. poison wraps their arms around him, and ghoul makes a pleased nose that kobra's pretty sure is as close as a human gets to purring.

"i'm sorry we can't go today, baby." kobra sighs, and the girl climbs off of him a little bit to look at him.

"it's okay. you're sick." she claps her hands. "oh! and since jet isn't here to be doctor, i'll help you. first, let's assess your diagnostics."

"diagnosis." ghoul corrects, and poison nudges him. the girl just giggles.

"yeah! and then we'll work down to the root of your problem, and, oh, can we use those cool bandaids from the market?" she gives her best puppy eyes to poison, who relents (of course.)

"sure, but just one. no wasting." they say, and girl's rocketing out of the room, her swift footsteps disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

"see? told you she wouldn't be upset. kid takes it in stride." poison says, resting their head on ghoul's shoulder. ghoul's already dozing off, and kobra's about to be right there with him, because all this exertion has him all dizzy and sleepy again.

the girl's back wielding a box of colorful bandaids, and she carefully plucks a yellow one and peels off the backing. she sticks it on kobra's forehead, sitting back to survey her work.

“there. don’t you feel so much better?” she asks.

“i feel so good, i feel like i could run all the way to tommy’s now.” kobra takes extra effort to make his voice as enthusiastic as possible, even if it’s scratchy and a bit unconvincing.

“woah! that far?” the girl asks, eyes wide.

“yeah, that far. but for now, i’m real tired.” kobra yawns.

“okay. but promise that we’ll race to tommy’s sometime? promise?” she

“pinky swear.” kobra says, locking his pinky with hers.

“alright girly, let’s let kobes get some shut-eye.” poison interrupts, tapping a now-sleeping ghoul who makes a noise of complaint as he rises from poison’s lap. the girl springs up from kobra’s bed, trotting over to where poison was opening the door.

“night-night kobra.” she whispers, following poison out. poison chuckles as they close the door behind them.

kobra falls back into his doze with a smile on his face and a bandaid on his forehead.

_________

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

Text

A Place to Belong Chapter 31: Patchwork

Chapter 30

Read on AO3

January 27, 1750

Moonlight and the fire were the only things illuminating Brianna’s sleeping face as Claire rocked her gently in their usual nighttime chair in their bedroom. She had just finished tucking her in when there was a little knock on the door. She pulled a shawl over her shoulders and tiptoed to the door, expecting a hungry little Maggie to greet her. Instead, wee Jamie was looking up at her with those big doe eyes, his cheeks stained with tears.

“Jamie?” Claire said. “What’s the matter, darling?” She crouched down before him, feeling his head. “Do you feel ill? Is it your tummy?”

He sniffled, shaking his head. “My heart hurts, Auntie.”

Claire’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” She held onto his shoulder and pushed back some of his hair.

Fresh tears trickled down his ruddy cheeks, and he sniffled loudly.

“Did I kill the bairn, Auntie?”

Realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and her eyes immediately swam with tears.

“Jamie…Come here…” Claire wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. He quietly blubbered into her shawl, and she rocked him gently in the doorway.

“It’s alright, darling…I’m here…” She swallowed thickly and blinked back her own tears. “Come on, let’s sit down. It’s alright.” She released him to take his hand, and shut the door behind them. She led him to the hearth and pulled him into her lap in the armchair, as she’d done every night with Brianna. He curled into her reflexively, resting his head in the crook of her neck.

“You didn’t hurt the baby, Jamie,” Claire said softly, stroking his head and rubbing his back.

“But I made the Redcoat angry. And Mam had the bairn because the Redcoat hit me.”

“Your mother had the baby because she was ready to come out,” Claire said, deciding to not explain stress-induced labor to an eight year old boy. “Little Caitlin was very, very sick, even before she came out. And that has nothing to do with what happened with the Redcoats. Do you understand?”

He hesitated a bit before he nodded against her.

“Da and Mam hate me.”

“What?” Claire adjusted him in her lap so she could look into his eyes. “Your parents do not hate you, Jamie. They could never, ever hate you.”

“But Da doesna play wi’ me anymore, and Ma doesna sing anymore. They’re mad because I hurt the bairn.”

“No, no, darling. You’ve got it all wrong.” Claire used the edge of her shawl to wipe his face clean of tears. “It’s like I said, you did not hurt the baby, and your mother and father know that. They don’t blame you, not at all. They’re just…” Her voice broke, and she swallowed and wet her lips. “They’re just very sad, sweetheart. Because they miss little Caitlin so much. When people are sad, it…it takes a long time for them to…to do the things they used to do before they were sad.” She sniffled quickly, wiping her own eyes.

She knew too damn well what she was talking about.

“Your Da wants to play with you, and your Ma wants to sing to you. But it’s just…very hard for them. Because their…their hearts hurt, Jamie. Like yours.” I poked gently at his chest, and then placed a hand over her own heart. “My heart hurts too, love. For Caitlin, for your Uncle Jamie. When I lost your Uncle, I thought my heart would hurt forever, and I thought I’d never want to sing again.” She knew there were tears falling out of her eyes in earnest now, but she was powerless to stop it.

“But slowly, with time, the pain became easier to bear, and all of a sudden, I wanted to sing again.” She stroked his hair again, running her hand down his face to caress his cheek. “Your Da and Ma will be better again, someday. But even now, they still love you. So, very much. Do you understand?”

He nodded, sniffling again.

“Good lad.” She kissed his forehead. “You’re very, very brave, Jamie. Did you know that?”

He shrugged and averted his gaze.

“D’ye…d’ye want to sing now, Auntie Claire?”

Claire’s heart constricted in her chest. “Do you want me to sing to you, darling?”

He nodded, and then curled himself back into her, not at all different from the way his baby cousin did. Claire decided on a lilting French lullaby, rocking him gently as she sang. She waited for his breathing to become heavy and even before she allowed herself to weep quietly, stifling her tears in her shawl.

This poor, dear boy.

How long had he carried this guilt? How long had he felt like he couldn’t share it with anyone?

God, how she loved him. How she loved them all.

Claire debated not getting up at all, but eventually decided to try her hand at maneuvering her grip on him to get him into her bed. He only stirred a bit as she moved him, and he was out cold again by the time she pulled the blankets up to his chin. She nestled herself in between the two little ones and kissed both of their heads before falling asleep herself.

The next morning after breakfast, Claire pulled Ian aside and told him what had transpired the night before. The pain in his eyes upon hearing what Jamie had said to Claire was indescribable. He pulled her into his arms, hugging her perhaps tighter than he ever had.

“Thank ye fer giving him comfort, Claire. When I couldna.”

Ian brought his son outside to talk to him shortly after, presumably for a heart-to-heart that was a long time coming. Jenny was none the wiser, and Claire kept it that way. She was burdened with enough guilt; she didn’t need Jamie’s anguish added to the list.

And slowly, so very slowly, the family rebuilt, stitching together the fraying pieces of each other’s grief like a patchwork of hearts.

Gradually, they healed.

——

March 1750

A loud clap of thunder tore through the air, sudden and startling enough to cause Claire to drop her knitting needles. All three little girls on the rug gave shriek, and little Michael and Janet stiffened with shock, quickly bursting into tears, their red faces screwed up comically.

“Och, dinna fash, Michael,” Maggie crooned, gathering her baby brother into her lap as expertly as a mother of three. Claire could tell she was still nervous at the loud noise, but she was channeling that energy into comforting her little brother.

“Kitty,” Maggie chided as she rocked Michael. “Hold Janet, like I’m holdin’ Michael.”

Michael was still weeping, but had considerably calmed, while Janet was still openly wailing.

“Dinna want tae!” Kitty blurted directly into Maggie’s face, causing Michael to cry out again, and Janet to wail all the harder. Brianna tossed her head back in a ruthless giggle.

“Och, that’s enough ye wee devils,” Jenny tutted, setting aside her knitting to join them on the rug and gather Janet up herself. “When are ye going tae learn to be a good sister, Katherine? If ye keep makin’ the weans jump, they’ll grow to hate ye someday.”

Kitty just laughed again, echoed by Brianna.

“I want them to hate me!” she exclaimed, standing up and pulling Brianna off the floor as well.

“What a thing to say!” Jenny exclaimed, aghast at her daughter’s tongue.

“I’m bored, Mam,” Kitty ignored her, going on. “I dinna want tae sit in the house like a bairn.” She gestured emphatically at the whimpering toddlers in Jenny’s and Maggie’s arms. Apparently four years old was no longer a bairn in Katherine’s eyes, and recently having turned four was getting to her head.

“Well it’s storming something fierce outside. If ye’d like the wind tae carry ye away into the sky, ne’er to be seen again, be my guest,” Jenny quipped, kissing Janet’s head and stroking her cheek.

“Really, Mam?” Kitty’s eyes lit up, and Claire had to bite her lip to stifle laughter. She made eye contact with Ian, who was sitting at the hearth, showing wee Jamie how to carve wood. Ian, too, was desperately trying to hide his amusement at the absurdity that was his daughter.

“Come on, Banna! Let’s fly on the wind like faeries!” Kitty seized Brianna’s hand and dragged her roughly behind her, causing her to shriek with giggles.

“Faeries!” Brianna repeated enthusiastically.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Claire interjected, quickly throwing her knitting aside to stop the little heathens from marching right out the door. “You’ll catch your death from the cold, wet rain.” Claire caught both of their little arms in the hallway.

“Ye’ll heal me, Auntie. Dinna fash.” Kitty tugged against her grip, and Brianna copied, even repeating: “Dinna fash, Mummy.”

Soon, they were both grunting with the effort of breaking free of Claire, clearly not getting very far.

Claire opened her mouth to chastise them, but another loud thunder clap suddenly sounded, causing them both to squeal and stop pulling away, burying their little bodies in her skirt. Claire laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Still want to go outside?”

“Aye, Mummy,” Brianna said dubiously, her resolve having weakened considerably.

“Fergus and Rabbie are outside,” Kitty said stubbornly, despite the obvious fear still lingering in her blue eyes.

“They’re in the barn, silly girl,” Claire corrected.

“We’ll go in the barn. Right, Banna?” Brianna nodded.

“And get underfoot of the lads? I don’t think so.” Claire started ushering them back into the parlor, and they did not much attempt to fight her.

“Why do they get tae go outside when it storms?” Kitty complained.

“Because they’re big lads now, Kitty.”

“Da’s a big lad,” Kitty quipped. “Da’s inside wi’ the bairns.”

“That’s ’cause yer auld Da will lose his footing in the mud,” Ian interjected, patting his pegleg knowingly. “Come here to me, ye wild wee heathen.”

Kitty bounded over to him and scrambled into his lap, and Ian handed his block of wood and carving knife over to wee Jamie.

“Can ye teach me, Da?” Kitty said, pointedly staring at Jamie and the carving tools. Claire settled onto the rug with Brianna in her lap, joining the circle that Jenny and Maggie had started with the little ones.

“No, he canna," Jenny interjected quickly. "I'll no' have ye losing any fingers."

"Auntie will heal me!" Kitty said for the second time that day, sounding exasperated that nobody seemed to agree with her that it was as simple as that.

"Ye're too wee, Caitríona," Ian crooned.

"Because I'm a lass?" she challenged, jutting her chin up. A wide grin spread over Claire's face. Her own little voice echoed in her memory, an ingrained response for when she was advised against — or strictly forbidden from — doing something she felt she should be allowed to do.

"Because I'm a girl, Uncle?”

“Och, ’course no’,” Ian said. “I’ll no’ be coddlin’ ye because ye’re a lass, Kitty.” Jenny fired a look at him, and he just winked in return. “Ye can carve as much wood as any lad, but no’ today. Yer wee fingers need to grow a bit first, aye?”

Kitty pouted dramatically, crossing her arms with a loud huff. Janet and Michael began squirming; it was about time for their feeding and their nap, but there wasn’t any chance of them sleeping with the howling wind and the clapping thunder.

“I have an idea,” Claire suddenly piped up. “Why don’t we play a game?”

“A game, Auntie?” Maggie said, her soft voice pitched higher with excitement.

“Yes, a game we can play inside the house. No need to get all wet or carried away by the wind.” Claire tickled Brianna’s side, and she giggled, nuzzling into her breast affectionately.

Jenny threw Claire a look that could only be described as: God bless you. She departed shortly after with Janet, then returned with Mrs. Crook, who took Michael from Maggie. They disappeared upstairs together, presumably to get them fed and put down for at least an attempt at a nap.

“Alright, if you want to play, you must join me on the rug in a circle, and listen to the rules,” Claire commanded, gently pushing Brianna out of her lap. Claire got up on her knees, sitting back on her heels. Jamie looked to his father for approval, and he nodded, and the little boy scrambled to the rug, nestling between Maggie and Brianna. Claire made a big show about starting to talk, but then stopped, letting her eyes fall on Kitty.

“Kitty! Don’t you want to play?” Claire said, aghast.

She shook her head. “Games are for bairns, Auntie.”

“Ye are a bairn!” Jamie shot back, an edge of blatant annoyance to his voice.

“Am no’, clotheid!” Kitty shouted.

“Oi!” Ian cut in, clamping a hand on Kitty’s shoulder. “Ye’ll no’ speak to yer brother that way. Like it or no’, ye’re still a wee lass. And ye can either sit here and be a grump wi’ yer auld man, or ye can have fun wi’ yer Auntie and yer sister and yer cousin. And yer brother, clotheid that he is.” He whispered that final bit into her temple, coaxing the tiniest of smiles from her stubborn little face.

“C’mon, Kitty,” Brianna said, her diamond eyes wide with pleading, her little lips downturned in a begging pout. “Wan’ you play.”

Kitty looked at Brianna, then back at Ian. Ian whispered something softly in Gaelic, and another grin broke out over her face before she slid off his lap and plopped to her knees next to Brianna.

“Alright!” Claire said, pitching her voice higher for the children’s sakes. “This game is called hide-and-seek.”

“How d’ye play?” Jamie blurted.

“If you’ll be patient,” she playfully poked his nose. “I’ll tell you.”

Claire proceeded to enlighten them on the rules of this coveted childhood game, their eyes wide with wonder. She was occasionally interrupted by another clap of thunder, or a particularly loud gust of wind, but the children didn’t seem all that bothered, too engrossed in the new game.

“We can hide anywhere we want?” Jamie said.

“Anywhere inside,” Claire said emphatically, looking directly at Kitty, then Brianna. “If you leave the house, you lose the game. And your mother will punish you.”

They all stiffened, nodding in understanding. Apparently one of those statements was far more weighty than the other.

“Alright. I will count first, all the way to twenty.” Claire stood up and tapped the empty chair by the hearth. “This is where we’ll go to count. Home base. Alright?”

Ian’s eyes were sparkling with affection from the other chair, a calm, peaceful smile having settled over his features.

“You have to close your eyes too, Ian,” Claire said, hands on her hips. “Can’t have you cheating and telling me where the children hid.”

“Aye, Da! Close yer eyes!”

“No cheating, Da!”

“Alright, alright,” Ian acquiesced, folding his hands and closing his eyes.

“Good! Now, are we ready?”

“Aye, Auntie!”

“Yes, Mummy!”

Her ears were assaulted with a cacophony of excitement, and Claire could not help but laugh.

“Alright! I’m closing my eyes…” She dramatically brought her hands to her eyes, and the four children squealed. “One…two…three…”

“Come on, Banna!” Claire heard Kitty hiss, and there was a great bustling of little feet.

They each giggled like mad when Claire found them, hiding in trunks, wardrobes, under beds, behind curtains or tapestry. Kitty and Brianna were always found stuffed in the same hiding places, hands clasped together and eyes squeezed shut. They played several rounds for almost an hour, the house full with pitter-pattering, squealing laughter, and not-so-quiet whispers. Ian helped the smaller ones count, Brianna especially never having counted so high. There was even a point where Ian gave up his carving and joined in, much to the excitement of all the children.

It hit Claire halfway through Ian’s second round: This was the first time he was playing with the children again, the way he did before Caitlin.

It’ll be alright, little darlings. Da is playing again, and maybe your mother will sing again soon.

——

April 16, 1750

Claire, Fergus, and Brianna were sitting on a blanket for their second annual picnic with Jamie. This year, Brianna’s vocabulary had vastly expanded, and she babbled on and on to the gravestone, most of it hardly understood by either Claire or Fergus. She proudly showed off her lamb again, describing all of the games they liked to play together, all of the things she did with Kitty and her other cousins. She eventually became restless, and Fergus took the cue.

“Alright, ma petit, time to go,” he said, putting a hand on the stone. “Say goodbye.”

“Bye, Da.” She blew a kiss at the stone as she had last time. Fergus stooped to kiss Claire’s cheek before erupting with a ridiculous growl to chase Brianna with. She squealed and scampered out of the graveyard, laughing her little head off. Claire turned around and watched them go, her heart warming as she watched her boy, not at all so little anymore, chase after his baby sister.

When they disappeared from view, their laughter still echoing through the fields, Claire turned back to the stone.

“Hello, love,” she said softly, resting a hand on the stone. “Somehow, I…” She sighed with a shudder, quickly swiping at her tears. “I feel weaker today than I did last year.”

“Christ, I don’t have any right to be so shaken by this, do I? I didn’t carry her for months and hold her as she lay dying…” Her voice broke. “But I suppose I know what that’s like.” She was crying in earnest now, her body trembling. “It’s so fucking unfair, Jamie. Hasn’t this family suffered enough…? It feels like…God, it feels like I’m the only one that can’t move past this. Your sister…she’s so strong, Jamie. She’s stronger than I’ll ever be. She’s…handling this all so much better than I could have hoped she would. So it makes no fucking sense that I’m so…”

She stopped herself in frustration.

Broken.

She wept quietly for a few minutes, unable to muster any more words, her hands aching to fist his shirt in her hands, her body pulsing with the need to be held by him.

“I just…I feel like I was holding it together, you know? Before I…I saw another baby buried.” She wiped her eyes again, finally catching her breath. “Now everything hurts again as terribly as it did after I lost you, after I lost Faith. I finally learned to live without her, without you…and then I had to hold my dying goddaughter in my arms.”

“Most of the time, I already know what you’d say. I can hear it in my head. But right now…I don’t know what you’d say, Jamie. I don’t know how you’d handle watching your family starve, watching your sister lose her child. I just…I don’t know.”

As she often found herself doing, Claire took hold of the rosary, squeezing it into her palm as if trying to permanently imprint God’s grace into her skin.

“But,” she said, lightly stroking the top of the stone with her free hand. “I do know a few things. I know that our daughter loves me, and needs me. I know that our son loves me, though he doesn’t need me as much as he used to.” She smiled a tiny bit for the first time in several minutes. “I know that all of our nieces and nephews love me, and they need me in a different way than they need their mother and father. And I know that Jenny and Ian love me and need me, too. Especially now.”

“I pretended long enough to believe it last time, so I can do it again, I suppose. As always, I’ll carry on, Jamie. Even though people starve and beautiful children pass away��there’s nothing else to do.”

She bent and pressed a kiss to the stone, gently returning the rosary to its proper place.

“Keep them close, my love,” she whispered. “Both of those little angels.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #claire fraser #jamie fraser #brianna randall #brianna fraser #ian murray #jenny murray

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justkeeptrekkin · 4 years ago

Text

Wrote a little Good Omens/Star Trek crossover

.... for the awesome @comicgeekery. Thanks for the inspo!

5th April, 2063

“--historic day for humankind. For this is truly the first time that we have been able to refer to ourselves as such with the certainty that there is, in fact, life elsewhere in the perceivable universe.”

It’s a balmy, spring afternoon in London when Crowley rolls out of bed and turns on the television. Honestly, he’s fairly used to ignoring the news; it’s only on because he’d left it on channel one last night for a nature documentary that he and Aziraphale have been watching about whales. That’s why he pays very little attention to the picture on his projector screen.

“-- quite extraordinary. It seems as if this was all triggered by Zefram Cochrane's attempt at warp-speed flight, and er-- just coming in now, these beings call themselves Vulcans, Jane, and-- aha-- well, they’re not quite saying that they come in peace, but if our translators are correct, they’re offering us a long and prosperous life--”

Crowley slams his mug on the counter. He’s run out of coffee. He could very easily conjure up some more now, right here, but miracle-coffee is never as good as the nice Costa Rican stuff he buys. Or, more accurately, that Aziraphale buys for him, because he’s just that much of a kept man, apparently.

A knocking at the door. A light rapping that Crowley recognises immediately, and it would usually make him humiliatingly happy except for the fact that he’s just woken up from a--

He checks the time on the TV screen.

-- from a two week nap, he hasn’t got any coffee, and the TV is blabbering on far too loudly. Waving a hand at said TV until it is muted, Crowley slides over to the door, dressing gown belt flapping about against his leg, and opens it with a flourish.

Aziraphale has that bright-eyed, bushy-tailed look about him: never a good sign. “Crowley--”

Crowley plants a brief kiss on his cheek, then immediately retreats back into the kitchen, shoulders heavy with sleep. “I’m going back to sleep, angel. World’s too loud still.”

”Crowley--” the sound of the door slamming, very purposefully, Crowley thinks, as Azriaphale continues: “I have been trying to call you all morning. I thought you left your phone on vibrate for such things.”

“I did. Didn’t I?” Crowley scratches his head. He’s sure he’d changed the ring tone for Aziraphale’s phone number specifically so he’d wake up when only he called. “Apparently not, sorry Angel-- any news?”

He sees the way Aziraphale is rolling his eyes and flapping about when he turns back around from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. His hands are fiddling with each other in that excitable way that they do, a happy nervous way that he’s come to adore. Crowley hands him a cup. Aziraphale takes it with a pointed raise of his brow.

“Any -- any news? Really. You could not have asked a more absurd--”

At that point, apparently, he’s lost for words. More frustrated than Crowley realised, and so he begins to take Aziraphale’s bright eyes and bushy tail a little more seriously. Particularly when Aziraphale puts down the cup of tea of all things, and gestures to the television, one arm outstretched and gaze still fixed on Crowley.

The screen remains muted. However, Crowley gathers what Aziraphale is gesturing at fairly quickly. He’s so used to letting the news blend into the background, tired of feeling depressed by the human race -- especially with this World War III nonsense -- that he’d completely missed that something, actually, rather important has been happening.

It looks like the research base in San Francisco. Crowley knows only a little about this; as the angel who created a fair few of the stars in the sky, he takes interest when humans start pointing their big magnifying glasses at them. Zefram Cochrane, the inventor of warp-speed engines, and a few other important looking men (who may well be important, what does Crowley know? He hasn’t been paying attention) welcomes three people. People, except they’re not human. Humanoid, perhaps, but human? No. Crowley can spot an alien a mile off.

“Crikey,” he mutters, hovering in his sparse living room with his dressing gown open and tea steaming.

Aziraphale nods fervently.

“Which ones are these?”

“These are the Vulcans,” Aziraphale explains. “Do you remember? Our colleagues -- oh, I forget their names -- a few of our colleagues helped set up. Erm.” Aziraphale purses his lips. “Well, their version of Eden.”

“Something like Sha Ka Ray, if I remember,” Crowley mutters, unblinking as he watches one of the Vulcans raise their hand in a v-shape, the humans mimicking.

“That was it! Sha Ka Ree.”

They’re wearing long, heavy cloaks. Even expressions, but glints in their eyes, as if they are taking some professional enjoyment out of this. The humans, barely containing their own excitement -- and probably a good dose of apprehension. Human beings, finally meeting an alien species who could take them down a notch, teach the buggers a couple of things. Crowley and Aziraphale certainly never managed to, much as they’ve tried. Far too stubborn.

After a while of sitting and watching the proceedings-- the beginnings of a new, enterprising delegation-- Crowley gives a long exhale.

“Those bowl cuts are questionable.”

Stardate: 53459 (17th July 2269)

“What? Just give them a quick ring? Give the flagship of Starfleet’s exploratory expedition a cheeky call, just to check in? ‘Hello Enterprise, nice to meet you’?”

“Yes. Why, do you not think that they’d appreciate it?”

“It’s less that they won’t appreciate it and more that it might blow their tiny minds, Angel.”

“They’ve met plenty of extraordinary species by this point -- extraordinary by their standards, anyway. A call from us will be -- how do they put it -- ‘a walk in the park’--?”

“Not the point. That’s -- that’s actually the bit that I’m struggling with, here. What is the point, exactly? What are you aiming to achieve? You looking to freak them out or…?”

“Well, I thought perhaps we could… ah. Tell them who we are.”

Aziraphale looks at Crowley. Red hair tied up, ringlets around his face; silver eye-shadow; a black jumpsuit in the style of the Terran fashion that really leaves very little to the imagination, with cut-outs here and there all over his body. Legs crossed, foot bouncing impatiently, arms sprawled across the back of Aziraphale’s sofa. In his old bookshop, Crowley always sticks out like a sore thumb, and he’s always loved that about him.

He tilts his head. “Really,” he drawls, vaguely amused.

“Yes. Don’t you think it’s about time?”

“IIIII dunno…” Crowley sucks air through his teeth contemplatively. “Never ends very well. Tell humans that angels and demons roam their planet and they get all agitated. Don’t need to tell you that, you remember how much it traumatised dear old Hieronymous. Couldn’t stop painting us, the poor bastard.”

Aziraphale sighs. “Yes, well, that was different. That was almost a millennia ago, now.”

The bookshop is still just as dusty as it has ever been. Crowley has been urging him to at least install a proper computer -- one that will answer to him, rather than sitting there stupidly, looking like a brick. But he is quite happy with it as it is, especially when he has Crowley here, lounging about as he’s always done, draped across the furniture like he’s still wrapped around that apple tree. And drinking more wine than is good for them.

“Right so -- let’s just role-play this--” Crowley’s glass makes a decisive clink against the table, “-- we patch into their network. Right? I find their frequency and just, try and call from my PADD.”

“Yes,” he confirms, not liking his partner’s tone of voice.

“So then they answer, all, military-like and ready for some sort of diplomatic… situation.”

“Mm…”

Crowley’s leaning forward in his seat, gesticulating a enthusiastically. “They see us, they’re all, ‘oi, how did you get this number?’ and we’re all, ‘sorry, just thought we’d pop in and introduce ourselves, we’re your new neighbours,’” he wrinkles his nose mockingly, “‘Cept we’re not new at all, not really, we’ve been here since the dawn of time, but don’t worry too much about that’.”

“Well--”

“So they’re all, ‘ah, immortal beings from outer space!’ and we have to explain that, actually, we’re not really from space at all, we’re the ones who made space, and no, sorry, we’d love to patch you through to God, except She’s been a little busy for the past six thousand odd years, no can do, just got us boring old sods’.”

“Crowley, really. Don’t you think you’re being a little reductionist?”

“No.” Suddenly serious. “I don’t. They’re humans. They’re brilliant, but they’re also humans, which means they’re also thick as shit.”

Aziraphale purses his lips, electing to ignore the love of his life for this moment. Sitting up properly, linking his hands in his lap. “I think it’s time.”

“And what do you think they’ll do?”

“Perhaps it will bring about some new, interesting philosophy. About the nature of the universe, of the overlap between science and faith.”

Crowley’s brow quirks, yellow eyes staring, wide and disbelieving. “Some ‘new and interesting philosophy’? Books. You’re talking about books. You think you’ll get some nice literature out of this.”

Aziraphale flounders. “Well, that’s not exactly how I’d put it--”

Crowley scowls. But then, he’s taking out his PADD from his purse, making aggravated noises as his fingers fly across the screen.

“You’re doing it?” Aziraphale asks hopefully.

“Yes, yes. You got all happy as soon as you started talking about it and-- I was never really going to say no, was I? You know how pathetic I am by this point, surely.”

He’s not looking at him, but Aziraphale is gazing with those big, angel-eyes that Crowley’s told him he uses sometimes. They drive him insane, but he can’t help it, not when Crowley’s being so unintentionally romantic. “Oh, Crowley.”

“Shhhht. Stop. I’m not doing anything nice, I’m--”

“Not nice, I know.”

Aziraphale smiles serenely. Crowley’s scowl deepens, just as the PADD begins to ring.

The screen is propped up against a wine bottle, just in time for the image to reveal a man. A man in green and gold, sand-blonde hair swept back and a look of cautious curiosity in his hazel eyes. Behind his chair, a woman in red is leaning over the controls. The captain’s head is angled slightly, tilted as he seems to consider his situation -- consider the two strangers who have called their starship.

“Greetings, this is Captain Kirk of the Starship: Enterprise. To whom am I speaking?”

“Oh, how exciting,” Aziraphale whispers, nudging Crowley a little. Then, more loudly, “Greetings, Captain Kirk! My name is Aziraphale, and this is Crowley.”

Crowley sighs, seeming very put upon.

Aziraphale nudges him again. “Well! Don’t be rude, Crowley.”

“Yes, hello, how very nice to meet you,” he simpers accordingly.

“This is a secure line, gentlemen. How did you access our co-ordinates?”

“Ah, yep, sorry, my fault,” Crowley waves a hand. “I’m -- well, we’re, er… we can do stuff. Lots of stuff. He’ll explain later.”

He shoots Aziraphale a glare, which seems to be a warning that this could go horribly wrong. Aziraphale, ever the opportunist, elects to ignore this.

“That I shall,” Aziraphale adds, pointedly.

Kirk thinks. He thinks, sitting so still as he leans towards the monitor, that for a moment, Azirpahale thinks the screen has frozen. Then, turning his head to his right, he notes that he is talking to someone. A certain someone who then appears on screen, a royal blue shirt and hands clasped behind his back. A Vulcan. The two converse with a silent look.

Ah. Aziraphale knows that look very well.

“Be that as it may,” Kirk continues, turning back to them, “it is technically a federal crime to trace Starfleet co-ordinates and to contact a ship without first organising an official meeting. That is, unless it is an emergency.”

“Oh, yes, I have heard of your ship’s adventures, captain,” Aziraphale rushes. He puts down his glass of wine. “You’ve done an awful lot of good, helping those in need.”

“We… do our best,” he says with a slow nod.

“Sorry. For the, er… illegal call,” Crowley says.

Another moment where both men share a glance. And then, the Vulcan in blue tilts an inquisitive chin.

“Sir, may I enquire as to the colour of your eyes? They do not appear to be contact lenses.”

It takes a moment for Crowley to realise that he’s the one being addressed. Then, “Ah! Bollocks. Forgot the sunglasses-- see Aziraphale, this is why we don’t call Starfleet when we’ve had two bottles of Rioja.”

“Awfully sorry, dear--”

The captain looks up at his colleague with a wry smile and a raised brow. “Spock, don’t you think it’s a little rude to as a stranger questions about their appearance?”

“A stranger who has made contact with Starfleet’s flagship outside of legal parameters.”

“Still, politeness can go a long way,” he adds with a smirk, and a look in his eyes that’s, quite frankly, obscene.

Crowley clears his throat. “To answer your question-- although, seems like they’re more interested in each other,” he says to Aziraphale as an aside, “- to answer your question, yeah, they’re real. Snake eyes. Unfortunate accident involving a bastard called Lucifer.”

A pause. The man named Spock tilts his head. Kirk leans forward in his seat.

“Lucifer, you say?”

At that, Crowley gives a wicked smile. Aziraphale sighs. This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined this conversation starting.

Stardate: 51650 (9th May 2271)

“My point is -- my point is -- tribbles. Tribbles, now -- whose idea were those, then? Who thought they were a good idea? They’ve -- they’ve not got faces, they’ve not got hands or feet or paws or anything, just, little balls of fluff that just poof! Reproduce, until you’re up to your tits in furballs.”

“Now, tha’s what ah been tryna tell yeh, captain. And you mind what he’s saying, too, Lieutenant Uhura! I know you thought they’s adorable, but they’re terrors.”

“Pointless, they’re pointless. Don’t know what they were thinking of when they made tribbles, whoever they were.”

“Aye! See, straight from the mouth of an angel!”

“Er, former angel.”

”Them wee bastards’ve been cloggin’ up my ship’s engine, would ye believe?”

“Our ship, Scotty.”

“Oh. Well, o’course, captain… I didnae mean no disrespect, captain--”

“In Russia--”

“I swear, if you’re about to say that Russia invented tribbles, Chekov, I’ll kick you out of this here bar faster than you can say Alabama Slammer.”

“Alright, now, Bones, it’s shore leave. He can say what he wants. We’re all here to relax. Isn’t that right, Spock?”

“Yeah, he sure looks relaxed there, Jim.”

“I am not accustomed to frequenting such establishments.”

“I would like to state, for the wecord, sir, that I was not going to say that Russia inwented tribbles.”

“I -- ah -- actually, I have a bit of a confession to make in that respect…”

“Angel. Please. Please don’t tell me that you’re… Christ, you didn’t…”

“You are the angel responsible for creating the tribble species?”

“You have a lot to answer for, Aziraphale.”

“It wasn’t intentional! Or, rather, the intention was to simply create a creature so lovely and adorable that no one could quite resist it. And, I suppose, what with evolution and how that may have changed their, erm, reproduction process…”

“You bastard.”

“Crowley -- for Heaven’s sake, it was simply an accident! You can hardly say that it’s worse than some of your creations.”

“I invented Luton airport. You invented the universe’s most irritating pest. Honestly, I figured some lower ranking demon had been the one to come up with it, but now I feel, sort of… betrayed.”

“Don’t say that! May I remind you that you are the one who came up with the M25? Which nearly destroyed the universe as we know it!”

“I beg your pardon? Would you care to rewind and just, explain that last bit, Aziraphale?”

“Oh -- er, it’s a long story.”

“A very long story that would mean another round. Angel, you are definitely bloody-well buying.”

Stardate: 43897 (24th November 2366)

“You know, when you said that you wanted to check-in with Picard and the team, this isn’t what I imagined.”

Their call isn’t immediately picked up. However, when it is, the first thing they see is a large barbershop quartet. They’re all wearing pink, candy-stripe suits and wicker hats. The bridge of the Enterprise looks much the same as it did under captain Kirk, if not for this barbershop quartet, and perhaps a few technological tweaks. And, of course, the current captain who sits in his chair, face in his hand.

“Er.” Crowley looks at Aziraphale, who looks back at Crowley. “This doesn’t look like a good time.”

“No, by all means,” Picard gestures to the screen, other hand still covering his face. “If you have any advice to offer, then I will happily take it.”

“What…” Aziraphale trails off, purses his lips. The, trying to affect something light and airy, “What seems to be the problem, captain?”

Picard looks over the edge of his hand. “Are you aware of the being that calls itself ‘Q’?”

He’s about to say that he isn’t -- perhaps Crowley knows this Q?-- but before they even have a moment to deliberate, the tallest of the barbershop quartet members steps forward from the throng and hops down the steps to Picard’s side. Dark eyes that have seen too much, brightened by mischief. And for a moment, there is the faintest flicker of recognition as he doffs his hat to the screen, leaning against Picard’s captain chair.

“Good day to you, gentlemen. Did you like my song?”

“No,” Picard says quite firmly. “Now, would you please leave and take your pestering elsewhere!”

Q tuts, rolls his eyes. Pokes his thumb in Picard’s direction. “He’s just grumpy because he hasn’t had his morning cup of Earl Grey.”

“You…”

It’s Crowley that says this. Leaning forward on Aziraphale’s sofa, snake pupils narrowing. And it’s then that Aziraphale realises that this is absolutely someone they know. He just can’t put his finger on it, whilst Crowley clearly has.

“You know him?” Picard says, with the smallest flicker of hope.

“Wait. Wait a second now,” Q points his finger at Crowley, frown deepening. He miracles his hat away, cradles his chin. “Now, we worked together a long time ago, didn’t we?”

That makes Aziraphale stare back at Crowley.

There’s some hesitance. “Oh. Sure, probably. Long time ago, now, wasn’t it? Who knows. Worked with lots of people.”

“No, no, no -- we did a lot of creating with each other. Some fun messing around you know?”

“Er. Not sure. Might have a different person in mind--”

And then those eyes widen. A wicked grin on his face, and Aziraphale can only imagine that this Q must be a demon.

That’s when Aziraphale finds himself standing on the bridge of the Enterprise. Jean-Luc Picard looking up at them despairingly, whilst the rest of his crew work as diligently as they can with a quartet serenading them. Data, notably, is working with the utmost focus, whilst Wharf looks like he’s two seconds away from ripping something in half bare-handed. Riker looks no more patient.

“Oh,” Aziraphale remarks. “You’ve -- you miracled us here!”

No use, Q is far too preoccupied by Crowley. Pointing a finger in recognition. “You’re Crawly! I remember you! Oh, we got up to some good stuff together, huh? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of the guys from the Milky Way neighbourhood. You guys really like to keep to yourselves, I never understood it. Totally obsessed with your ‘Eden’ as if the rest of us don’t exist.”

“You o know him,” Picard says with some accusation.

Crowley looks, to put it lightly, a little embarrassed. Hands sliding in his pockets and averting his snake-eyed gaze, “Yup. Long time ago. Hung out with a different crowd, then, you got to understand…”

“Qasphiel.” The name bubbles up on Aziraphale’s tongue from nowhere; memories of a gaggle of angels who called themselves the Q Continuum, who were cast out for blasphemy. Creating your own little gang was never something that The Almighty did like. “You’re Qasphiel. You know, I do remember you, now that I think about it.”

Q looks Aziraphale up and down once. “I don’t remember you. Were you one of the more straight-laced types? Yeah, we wouldn’t have hung out, much.”

“Excuse me? I… I’ll have you know, that since then I’ve become quite the rebel--”

“What’re you doing here, Qasphiel?” Crowley interrupts with some exhaustion. “Coming in here and getting on everyone’s nerves -- believe me, I get that it’s fun for a while, but, come on. You must be a bit knackered of it now, no matter what the others are getting you to do.”

“Ah, but I don’t work on anyone’s terms any more. Not even the Continuum’s,” Q smiles smugly.

“That’s awfully nice, but the alternative is buggering off, so the rest of us can get on with our lives.”

He narrows his eyes at Crowley. “What’s in it for me?”

A weary sigh. And Aziraphale considers just how kind Crowley has always been, even if he doesn’t always see it. “Listen. How about -- what about a catch-up. Grab a drink on some planet in the Omicron Delta quadrant. Talk about old times? Big Bang and all that?”

“Ah yes,” Q sighs. Then, apparently distracted, “You know, I don’t recall the yellow eyes,” he gestures to his own. “The demonic thing. Did you fall with Lucy and the others, Crawly? Bad luck.”

“That’s a story that needs telling over a drink.”

There’s a long moment -- too long a moment -- where Q considers this offer. Picard is leaning back in his seat and watching the interaction over steepled fingers. Even Data has stopped to listen, head tilted in interest.

Then, Q shrugs.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

And with that, Picard’s bridge is once again empty of divine or immortal beings. Or barbershop quartets. It is extraordinarily quiet.

Picard lets out a long exhale. “Never a dull day.”

Stardate: unknown

Three suns set upon the horizon of Alpha Centauri. Palm trees wave in the breeze; planted there a few decades ago when this planet first became populated by humanoid species. The air tastes like salt and smells like ozone. A burning orange sky, a deep purple scattering of stars directly above them. Small, clay houses, their shutters closed in the late afternoon heat. Mountain ranges in the distance, seeming so small from their little balcony.

“Total tourist trap,” Crowley mutters into his glass of Romulan ale.

Aziraphale stifles a burp. “Sorry?”

“Look at it. Tourist trap.” Crowley crosses his legs on the railing of the balcony. “All of it. Built like a Terran city, as well. Palm trees and all that bollocks. Shops and restaurants, Christ, it couldn’t get more human if you tried. When will they stop colonising and just learn to appreciate?”

“Mmm.”

“Remember when we could come here and not be harassed by people selling sunglasses? When it was just a big, ol’ expanse?”

“Empty,” Aziraphale remarks. Then, wide eyed, “Hot.”

They watch the first sun dip behind the mountain ranges. The Romulan ale burns Crowley’s throat nicely.

“D’you ever wonder what it would’ve been like?”

Aziraphale takes a slow, indulgent breath. And Crowley knows that he understands what he’s asking. “Sometimes. But I think it’s better that we didn’t run away. We did save the universe, after all.”

“I know, obviously. But do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t?”

Of course he does. They both have. Images of a war-torn universe, of all of this: gone.

Crowley drops his hand, finds Aziraphale’s. Their fingers link, and they absorb the light of three, alien stars.

#star trek #good omens #ineffable husbands #lmao #my writing #this was meant to be 5 +1 times and i just realised it was 4+1 #oops sorry m8

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

A Magically Sweet Competition

Summary: Everyone gathers together for a fun gingerbread house competition before winter break.

Word Count: 3922

Read on AO3:

“You excited?” Sophie's bright voice drew Violet’s attention away from Prisha and over to the redhead who sat at a table donned in yellow and black colors.

“Yeah, I guess,” Violet gave a shrug.

“I think it will be fun, all of us participating in a gingerbread competition.” Prisha’s thumb brushed over the top of Violet’s thumb. That made the blonde’s heart skip a beat as she smiled over towards her girlfriend.

“Better get ready, Soph. Ravenclaw is going to take it this year,” Renata smiled over at her best friend who was busy talking with Omar about a spell that could mimic the effects of the grand hallway so she could use it in the Hufflepuff dorms. Renata sat comfortably on Minnie’s lap who had turned into a blushing mess and was trying to count the candy that was on Gryffindor’s table.

“You got that right,” Louis strolled forward hand in hand with Clementine through the doorway that had appeared in the brick wall.

“I wouldn’t count Gryffindor out,” Clementine smiled up competitively at her boyfriend who was about to speak up when another voice appeared right outside the room of requirement.

“Fuck yeah! Gryffindor’s gonna kick ass!” Mitch leaned on the brick wall while Willy ran forward with Allison under the space his older brother had created.

“We’re here!” Willy declared proudly. “I brought Alllie too!” Allison gave a short nod before taking a seat along the wall with Willy.

“Please, Hufflepuff has this in the bag,” Mariana strode forward with a confident smile. Gabe and Nurgul were walking beside her, their fingers intertwined as they whispered towards each other. Mitch scoffed and opened his mouth when Marlon ran forward, a bead of sweat running down his face.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. The Quidditch team meeting ran late.” Marlon’s eyes brightened when he saw Sophie and immediately made his way over to spend some time with her before the competition began.

“They sure make you put in the work, especially considering its nearly Christmas break,” Aasim appeared through the doorway walking side by side with Tenn who he had run into on the way to the room of requirement.

“They want to make sure we’re in shape for when Quidditch starts up again,” Violet stated simply. Prisha’s expression looked more concerned. She always got that way whenever the sport was brought up.

“Who else are we waiting for?” Louis leaned back in his seat at the Ravenclaw table.

“A bunch of Hufflepuffs and Jesse. I think that's it.” Mitch moved over towards the Gryffindor table with his hands shoved in his robe pockets. Everyone moved around and began to sit round their house table besides a few of the couples who wanted to spend some more time together before having to go off to their separate tables. The wall had returned to normal, the bricks moving piece by piece until the entrance was covered.

After a few minutes the brick began to move again and revealed Brody and Ruby who were holding bags upon bags of candy they had secretly bought in Hogsmeade. Mitch ran over and instantly helped his girlfriend with her bag, stealing a quick kiss. His romantic gesture made Brody blush as she brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eye. Ruby locked eyes with Aasim who blushed before waving at his girlfriend.

Sophie let out an impressed whistle as her friends placed the different bags of candy onto the table in the middle. “That’s quite the stash you snuck in.”

“It was nerve-wracking,” Brody let out a shaky breath before a small smile covered her face. “But also really fun, right, Ruby?”

Ruby looked over at her best friend and gave a warm smile. “That’s right. Usually I don’t condone sneaking off school property but seeing this is the last time all of us will be here during the winter time I thought I’d made an exception.” Ruby’s words dampened the mood in the room for a split second. Everyone knew she was right. Most of the students went home to their families during Christmas break. Only a few like Violet, Louis and Marlon would be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays besides Prisha who had also decided to stay behind this year. She seemed rather happy about the decision, almost as much as Violet although the blonde was more subtle about it than her girlfriend.

“Oh, there’s James and Jesse,” Louis pointed through the open brick wall and towards the couple that was casually walking hand in hand towards the room. They were completely lost in their conversation as they strolled without a care in the world besides each other. Slowly James lifted up Jesse’s hand and placed a gentle, loving kiss on it. It made the Gryffindor’s heart pitter patter as he smiled over warmly at his boyfriend. After a minute the pair entered the room, refusing to let go off each other’s hands until they needed to.

“Hello, hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long,” James gave a gentle smile at his friends.

“Not at all,” Clementine responded and snuck a piece of candy, tossing it in her mouth.

“In fact, your timing is perfect,” Louis got up from his spot and moseyed over to the center of the room with a dramatic turn, his Ravenclaw robes fluttering in the wind as he flashed an excited grin. “Welcome to what is sure to be the first in a long-lasting tradition of friendly gingerbread house-making competition!” He shot up his hands and was met with mixed reactions. Some like Willy and Renata clapped enthusiastically while others merely got up from their spots to join their respective tables. “Now before we start, we need to clear up who’s on some teams. Allie-”

“Allison,” The Syltherin corrected with a blank expression.

“As the lone Syltherin here, you will be joining the greatest house: Ravenclaw!”

“Whoo! We get Allie on our side!” Renata swung an arm around Allison who gave a faint smile at her friend’s enthusiasm before returning to her neutral expression.

“And as for the Hufflepuffs since you’re such a huge, lovable group of badgers we must, sadly, split you into two teams.” Louis wiped away a mock tear.

“That seems fair,” Sophie nodded along and leaned back in her chair. “We do have a lot.”

“The numbers are still skewed,” Prisha shook her head.

“Agreed,” Aasim had a small frown on his face. “Ravenclaw seems to have the least amount of participants.”

“Well, you’re the smartest house at Hogwarts, right?” Clementine had a smug expression on her lips. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“True,” Aasim nodded in agreement with a smirk.

“Thank you, my darling,” Louis gave a playful wink over to Clementine who blushed slightly at the gesture. “Now back to who’s on which Hufflepuff team.” Louis cleared his throat. “I will choose at random. Hmmmmmm,” Louis’ fingers waved around wildly. “Sophie, Tenn, Mariana, Gabe and Nurgul.” Gabe and Mariana fist bumped before he and Nurgul shared a smile, clearly happy with that decision. Sophie and Tenn high fived and Louis’ smile grew as he continued to talk. “Which means James, Ruby, Brody, Violet, and Omar make up the other team of Hufflepuffs!” Everyone seemed happy with the teams and soon the groups were at their respective tables and ready to start the competition.

“The rules are simple,” Louis called out from the Ravenclaw table. “We all will have two hours to work on the gingerbread houses. Magic is allowed and candy is appreciated. Once the time in this fancy ass hourglass is empty,” Louis motioned over towards the device which Renata displayed dramatically, “We will choose which is the most radical gingerbread house of all!”

Everyone nodded and chattered in agreement.

“Alrighty then, my fellow Ravenclaw, start the timer!” Louis exclaimed loudly and Renata turned over the hourglass with her wand. As soon as the sand started to pour down the tube the different houses began their work. The first Hufflepuff table all started to discuss things while Tenn and Mariana worked to place the gingerbread pieces onto the cardboard house.

“Can we use these chocolates I got on the house?” Nurgul asked, holding up chocolates wrapped in bright blue and gold paper.

“I don’t see why not!” Sophie smiled brightly over at her friend.

“Oh! We could use it as the roofing,” Gabe bounced slightly in his seat then paused for a moment, deciding whether or not to speak up. “Can we, ummm, put sweet tarts on the gingerbread house too?”

“Sounds like a plan, boss!” Sophie gave a thumbs up over to her fellow Hufflepuff whose smile grew at those words. Within minutes Tenn and Mariana had gotten all the pieces of gingerbread up. The two best friends smiled and high fived in victory.

“Good job, you two,” Sophie ruffled Tenn’s hair and then proceeded to layer the gingerbread with icing for all the different types of candy. Every type of candy was valid and had a place on their gingerbread house. The team of Hufflepuffs laughed as they continued to focus first and foremost on getting as much candy as possible onto their house. But it was a double edged sword: while it made the gingerbread house extra tasty and colorful, the weight of the different candies was starting to affect the shape of the house.

“Oh, cheeseballs!” Sophie groaned as a wall slid down.

“That’s okay,” Mariana leaned forward and grabbed a gummy worm. “We can cover the gap with these.” “That sounds like it’ll work,” Gabe helped his sister as they covered mistake after mistake. Meanwhile Nurgul and Tenn were spreading powdered sugar over the tinfoil to make it look like freshly fallen snow.

“Oh,” Nurgul’s eyes brightened when a thought entered her mind. “I have an idea!”

Tenn glanced over and looked in awe as his friend used her fingers to make little indents in the snow, making it look like someone had walked towards the house.

“Whoa, that’s really cool!”

“Thanks,” Nurgul smiled and brushed off the powdered sugar on her hands.

“Keep it up, team,” Sophie continued to use the icing as glue to keep the house upright. “Hufflepuff’s gonna take it this year!” She sent a competitive smile over to the Gryffindor house. Minnie returned the smile while Marlon had a smug expression on his face as he opened another bag of candy.

“Alright, Jesse and Marlon, if you could get started on putting the pieces of the house up then Minnie and I can work out the other details.” Clementine directed.

“Meanwhile Willy and I are going to make this the most badass gingerbread in all of Hogwarts!” Mitch had a smirk on his face as he high-fived his younger brother. The two began to work with their magic to make a small bomb that would explode with a spell, covering the house in the colors of their Hogwarts house. While that was happening Clementine was instructing Jesse, Marlon and Minnie on the design based off their common room. Marlon and Minnie worked to make the smaller details with candy while Jesse and Clementine were making quick work of the bigger decorations.

“Oh, fuck!” Mitch’s voice drew his team’s attention just in time to see the candy paint bomb blow up in his and Willy’s faces.

Willy laughed and began to lick the sweet paint off his face. “Look guys, Mitch and I made an outhouse too!” Willy gave a drumroll as Mitch flicked open the outhouse door, revealing a gingerbread man squatting over the hole in the outhouse. With a quick swipe of his wand Mitch activated the spell on the gingerbread man who dropped a brown jelly bean into the hole. Mitch and Willy laughed and looked over at the other Gryffindors. Some seemed to enjoy the humour like Marlon while others like Jesse returned to their work right away.

“Heh, shit like this is gonna win us the competition!” Mitch huffed and leaned back in chair.

“Maybe,” Minnie reached forward to push some candy on the icing when a bag of Skittles fell off the table. “Shit!”

“Got it,” James caught the bag and handed it over to the Gryffindor with a gentle smile.

“This is why we’re gonna win: cause you Hufflepuffs are too soft.” Mitch smiled over at the table.

“It’s called having manners,” Ruby crossed her arms with a frown.

“Besides, you just blew up an icing bomb in your face,” Brody looked over at her boyfriend with a teasing smile.

Mitch seemed to shut up at that. “Well…. I,”

“Nice shithole,” Violet nodded over to the outhouse as she worked with Omar to secure some candy to function as lights on the roof while James put a spell on them.

“Thanks,” Mitch smiled proudly then turned back to his brother. “We should make a doghouse!” “Yes!” Marlon’s eyes practically sparkled at that idea. With that the Gryffindor table continued to work diligently, albeit a bit chaotically on their gingerbread.

“I would argue that using a base of three would make the most sense structurally for a gingerbread skyscraper,” Aasim gestured to the tinfoil base where the Ravenclaws had removed the house structure. If they were going to win this, they would do it by flaunting their brain power as much as they could.

“This is why I’m the highest ranking amongst the Ravenclaws,” Prisha leaned forward and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Using a structure of four would give more support for all the candy.”

“But it would be shorter,” Aasim huffed angrily.

“But it would be a more secure base,” Prisha rose to her feet.

“I highly doubt that,” Aasim rose up from his seat.

“Wow, it’s sure a good thing you made so much gingerbread,” Louis munched lazily on a brick of it as he glanced over at Renata who seemed distracted, staring over in the direction of the Gryffindor table. “Renata?” “Hm?” She looked over at the dreadlocked boy. “Oh, yeah! I made plenty.”

“Sneaking a glimpse at Minnie?” Louis wagged his eyebrows playfully.

“Yep! Just like you’ve been doing with Clem!” Renata stated it simply; it seemed like nothing ever embarrassed her. But that sentence sure did make Louis a flustered mess.

“I… Clem… looking respectfully,” Louis scratched the back of his head and glanced down. Renata chuckled and elbowed her friend. “I’m just teasing ya. Anyway, you see what happened over at the Gryffindor table? I wonder if it’s true that Hufflepuffs will pick up any candy we “accidentally” drop.” Renata did the air quotations which made Louis’ eyes grow large when he saw where this was going.

“Only one way to find out,” Louis tossed a bag of M&Ms in his hands before dramatically dropping it by the closest Hufflepuff table. “Oops!”

“Here you go, Louis,” Brody paused in her decorating and handed over the bag of candy.

“Thanks, Bro.” Louis smiled and took the candy before turning towards Renata. “Seems legit so far.”

“Time for my participation in the testy test.” Renata took a bag of gummy bears and chucked it directly at Sophie. The redhead caught the candy with ease, leaning back deeply in her chair.

“A free snack, Ren?” Sophie shook the gummy bears.

“Take one and pass it back!” Renata instructed. Sophie gave a nod, tossing a gummy bear in her mouth then tossed it back, causing half of the contents to end up on the floor.

“Hey, don’t waste our candy!” Prisha snapped over at Louis and Renata who gave short nods and waited for the others to continue to argue before continuing.

“Care to be part of the test?” Renata wiggled a pack of assorted candy in front of Allison. The Slytherin glanced at the bag before taking it and tossing it over to Willy, hitting him square in the back. The Gryffindor jumped slightly at the sudden attack but after looking over to see it was Allison his smile grew and he mouthed a thanks then snatched up the candy.

“Eh, good enough,” Louis shrugged and the Ravenclaws continued on with their shenanigans.

“So, I was thinking we put the gumdrops here to line up the walkway,” Brody gestured towards the display. “Then we make them change colors at random.”

“Sounds fine by me,” Violet placed the powdered sugar around the tinfoil.

“Can we have the jellybeans on the roof glow too?” James looked a bit nervous at his own suggestion but the warm smile on Ruby’s lips put his mind at ease.

“I think that's a grand idea, James.”

The second team of Hufflepuffs worked together with ease. Each of them offered up reasonable ideas and wishes for the gingerbread house, only pausing here and there to pick up the candy that Renata and Louis would purposely drop their way.

“Seems like our other table is having fun,” Omar noted, drawing his friends’ attention over to the other Hufflepuff table. Sophie was waving her wand this way and that while Gabe and Nurgul were working on lining the pavement completely, getting too lost in their conversation to make it a straight path. Tenn and Mariana were busy using colored icing to make cool designs on the very limited parts of the gingerbread that was still showing.

“I don’t know if their house will be able to hold up all that candy,” Violet watched as Sophie held up a corner and urged her brother for help.

“Better than how Ravenclaw is doing,” Brody nodded over at the Ravenclaw table where pure chaos was ensuing. Aasim and Prisha were still in a heated debate. Prisha had taken the initiative and had set up a base of four gingerbread bricks but that didn’t stop Aasim from striking back with his idea of what the base should be. The next part of the tower only had three pieces of gingerbread to support it. Louis and Renata hopped this way and that, sticking different types of candy and icing on the beginnings of the gingerbread skyscraper. They had grown too impatient with their friends’ arguing to wait for it to be finished. Allison quietly added on whatever the hell she wanted to as well, the faintest hint of a smile on her face while doing so. The second Hufflepuff team watched in silent awe as slowly but surely the Ravenclaw’s creation was falling over. But before it could the Ravenclaws noticed and the pair that had been arguing this whole time held it in place while the other three worked to pile whatever candy they could to make sure it didn’t fall over.

“It looks so cool!” Willy’s excited voice made them glance over at the Gryffindor’s house. It looked nice albeit a bit sloppy in areas here and there. A level chaos ran throughout the whole thing, the handiwork of the Gryffindor brothers. Clementine, Jesse and Minnie continued to work on the main house while Mitch and Willy worked on the next version of the candy bomb that would cover the gingerbread with pop rocks. Marlon was humming happily to himself while he made a dog house that he was rather proud of.

“Well, let’s not spit away all our time,” Ruby’s words made her friends focus back on their own gingerbread house. The rest of the time flew by in a blurred chaotic mess for everyone besides the second Hufflepuff team. When the sand had run out, a happy chiming noise signalled that time was up and the teams all lifted up their hands and stepped away from their creations.

“Alright, now it’s time to judge the different houses.” Louis declared. “Let us start with the masterpiece that is the Ravenclaw skyscraper!” His announcement made Renata do a wild spin and hold out her hands to display the work. It was a sloppy, ill-conceived building that was barely standing up. Icing was slathered around the base and all around as different candy and words covered the sides. With a wave of her wand, Renata made a few cracked corners sparkle while Louis’ wand magic made some lights flutter for a few seconds. Half of the team looked proud of their work while the other hid their faces in embarrassment. After some chattering the group of friends moved onto the first Hufflepuff’s team’s gingerbread house.

“Get ready for the sweetest gingerbread house you’ll see at Hogwarts,” Sophie gazed at their creation with pride, the other team members looking happy as well at their creation which was completely covered roof to ground in different types of candy. Not a single inch of gingerbread was showing on the house. It was a sort of impressive feat that the structure was still standing at all. It seemed like they had been so focused on making sure every voice was heard regarding candy that they had forgotten to put any magic spells on it. After a few minutes of examining it the groups moved onto the Gryffindor house.

“We decided to base it off our common room,” Clementine explained with her hands on her hips. Each of the Gryffindors looked at it, clearly proud of their accomplishments when Mitch and WIlly jumped forward.

“Get ready for the most kickass magic of all!” Mitch nodded towards his younger brother who exclaimed some incoherent spell that made the bomb explode. It covered the plain house with bright red and gold but that icing paint job was sloppy at best.

“We can also make this guy take a shit,” Mitch opened the outhouse door which made the gingerbread man drop a brown jellybean. The magic tricks were met with mixed applause. Renata, Sophie and Louis seemed especially in awe at the magic tricks. After some talking, the groups moved towards the final house.

“So, it's a bit simple,” James warned with an apologetic smile.

“But we put out hearts in souls into it,” Brody added and gave James a reassuring smile. Each of the members took turns activating the different spells. The first spell made the gumdrops along the walkway glow before they bounced around and switched spots. The second spell made the powdered snow swirl around and float in the air for a few seconds, making the third spell come to life as the gingerbread man spun around in the snow. The final two spells made the jelly beans glow different warm colors of green, reds, yellows and whites. All of the friends stared in disbelief at the magical gingerbread house the second Hufflepuff team had made.

“Well, I don’t think anyone will argue who the true winners are of the first annual gingerbread house-making competition. It’s... drumroll please,” Louis’ request was met by a sea of different drumrolls including his own. “The James, Brody, Ruby, Violet and Omar Hufflepuff team!” The announcement was met with loud cheering. Everyone gathered around the winning team and congratulated them before Renata asked the important question.

“So now can we feast on the gingerbread houses?”

Sophie let out an excited gasp and looked around with heightened anticipation.

“I don’t see why not,” Clementine strode forward and took a gumdrop from the Gryffindor’s creation. That seemed to signal the others that it was okay. Soon everyone was digging into all the gingerbread houses except the winner’s one. Many of them thought it was too cute to destroy, at least for right now. Everyone laughed and filled their bellies with sugary goodness, enjoying the final day together before they had to go their separate ways for Christmas break.

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