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clairethecutepup · 7 months

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Flying Worst Class, Ch. 2: Taking off and P*ssing Off!

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[Chapter 2: Taking off and Pissing off]

Now that she managed to make it onboard, Ookami gazed around for Sherubi and Claire. Unfortunately, they’re nowhere to be seen… because they still hadn’t boarded the plane, yet. In fact, there was still 30 minutes until they closed the gate. Great job, Ookami, you committed that prior “‘wheely’ homicide” for nothing… Well, at least Ms. Brawn-over-Brains there didn’t stupidly wander away from the plane and gate again, instead of staying in place and eventually being discovered by those she sought. Oh boy, and what an awkward discovery that was for her wife and daughter…

After Sherubi realized she needed to purchase something quickly and brought Claire onto the plane, she and the small wolf-girl were greeted by Ookami: the woman who’s the living tornado! Not even the air marshal-- the security kind, not the plane-siccing kind --dared to stop the ravenous seeker of spouse and child. He didn’t even dare peek out from behind the older woman made into his shield. Only one individual was brave enough, the same person Claire fearfully hid behind: the hell that hath no greater fury and strikes fear into the hearts of all spouses, known as the furious and embarrassed wife. Yes, fellas, even the lesbian or bisexual lady lives in fear of the very hell she, herself, can create.

Sherubi storms up to Ookami, as the latter dumps a suitcase and examines the inside closely, before hitting the she-wolf’s head with a wife’s best friend: the frying pan. Ookami instantly freezes and drops the assaulted luggage, before Sherubi returns the weapon to her black purse.

“Ookami Kyukyoku, was um Himmels willen machst du da?!”

Uh oh, German… That’s always a surefire way of knowing someone’s aggravated her and quite fitting: no one speaks German, when they want to sound calm and non-threatening. The informality indicates an extra hint of: “3 seconds to explain or run…” Since Ookami can’t exactly run and the whole point of this journey was to be within “bestowing” distance, she immediately faces her wife and fixes her personal appearance.

“Apologies, I wanted to find you two. I would have avoided the whole ransacking behavior, had I known you’d simply reveal yourselves.”

“How about avoiding it entirely, next time?! We’re in enough trouble, as it is, thanks to the recent controversy… The last thing we need is our household’s head to start being a menace on random airlines!”

“Now Sherubi, I wasn’t going on airlines ‘at random’...”

A growl escapes Sherubi’s clenched teeth and her eyes narrow, causing Ookami’s wolf ears to droop and the realization she’d best continue explaining herself.

“Er, anyhow… I realized you left something behind and that’s why I'm now here…”

Sherubi’s expression immediately changes from fury and embarrassment, to concern and curiosity. If Ookami decided to go from wolf to jackass, she surely had a good reason for it. Yet, what important item could Sherubi not only have been foolish enough to forget, but also be important enough for Ookami to cause all this commotion? As the she-wolf reaches into her pocket, a flight attendant nonchalantly approaches the prior madwoman and her wife.

“Excuse me, but we’ll need you three to take your seats, we’ll be leaving soon,” the attendant faces everyone else, “That goes for all of you: please stop seeking shelter and instead seek out your appropriate seats, as well.”

Not a single eye was off Ookami, as everyone sat down and literally buckled up-- even if their distracted eyes prevented most from actually connecting both pieces of the latch together. Claire sits near the window, while the other two sit on her left.

“Oh well,” Ookami assures, “I can give it to you, when you’d actually need it.”

“Whatever you feel like…” Sherubi sighs, “Just behave yourself, as I prefer using my cookware to scramble eggs instead of brains. … Well, depending on who it is, anyhow,” Sherubi suddenly jolts up, “Moment mal, if you’re here, then who’s running the household currently?”

“I’ve found an appropriate substitute.”

“... It’s not that parrot again, is it?”

"Why ever not? He can speak and understand words, quite well."

"Yes, and even penmanship can also be said for Claire's little friend, Leena; but Heaven knows it'll need to freeze over, alongside Hell, before I'd entrust that Dummkopf with as little as an ice cube..."

“Well, that can be another reason to feel at ease, with our feathered friend taking over: he’s not her.”

“Ookami, are you forgetting what happened last time?”

Ah yes, “last time”... Cue the flashback!

---------

Roger, in all his Spix’s Macaw glory, dawned a dapper little vest that resembled the larger she-wolf’s clothing. After all, one must look the part. He sat at Ookami’s desk, extending a small pen from his beak, as he signed some checks in his owner’s name: some for typical bills and all, some for a few extra bags of his favorite and gourmet bird suet (tell Ookami not…).

Then, the desktop phone rang and Roger waddled over to it. He flipped the landline’s handset over and chirped a proper, “Hallo!” Then, he placed his ear opening over the appropriate speaker.

“Hello, is this Ookami Kyukyoku? It’s the Wolfuchs Police Force; we’re calling to follow up on that hit-and-run you reported-- or the ‘hit-and-drive-over-then-reverse-over-twice-and-run,’ as you called it. So, you said you believed the perpetrator to be one: ‘Hubert Rammstein’? We’ve done some investigating and realized there’s a potential motive involved to back up your claim: something about a prior dispute with the victim, over buying the store’s last beer case. Would you be willing to appear in court and give your eye witness testimony?”

Roger mistook it as one of those “scam calls” Ookami taught him about, given it’s not every day the police call your place instead.

“‘Police,’ huh?” Roger replies, “‘Cause I don’t hear the oinking of pigs, just the mooing of a cow.”

“I beg your pardon…?”

“‘Moo, moo,’ Heifer?”

Let it be known, Ookami made the mistake of letting Roger be within reach of the more… “jokester” type of roommates, most notably: one Ricky Armond. When he wasn’t teaching “Telemarketer Defense 101,” he’d be teaching the bird other means of cheeky attitudes. It had to have been… 3 months(?), before Roger was allowed to leave the house, after Ricky taught him to catcall people. In his defense, it was humorous to see ladies (and even men) scan the area for whomever cried out about “tasty panties” and all, as no one ever suspects the seemingly innocent and lone bird. Of course, Ookami quickly caught onto it, when the bird earned her a tennis racket over the head-- and not the softer netting; however, she couldn’t fully undo all the jackal-hybrid taught her feathery friend.

“Okay, I don’t know what your problem appears to be,” the caller continues, “but don’t think it’s any wiser to mess with a dispatcher, just because we’re not the ones with a gun… You’re still boldly disrespecting a member of the police force.”

“Sorry, should it be: ‘Wah, wah, Big Baby,’ instead?”

“How about I send over someone else to deal with your attitude ‘instead’?”

“Oh no, Mommy, save me from the evil cow’s friends, they’re gonna come over and force me to open a dairy farm!”

“That’s it, sic ‘em!!”

Then, the *SEK charged in and made their American SWAT Team counterparts proud: they kicked in the doors, jumped through the windows and-- as is always a must, with armed officials --rained bullets wherever possible.

“My bad, you’re legit,” Roger replies, “I’ll make sure to relay the message to her, danke.”

Then, the bird calmly hung up the phone and went back to his work. Of course, he made sure to cease his suet embezzlement funding, now that the police were present.

-------

Back in the airplane, Ookami and Sherubi continue staring up at the ceiling. With the way they lean back into their seats and distantly gaze away, is it any wonder the flight attendant hesitantly waved a hand in front of the potential corpses’ faces? She almost became one herself, after falling back at the near-heartattack of them coming back to reality.

“Not to worry, still,” Ookami continues, “I made sure he wouldn’t be anywhere near a phone, this time.”

As they spoke, Roger currently utilized the copier to its fullest and most useful potential: turning one euro bill into several. Unfortunately, the cops figured out the bird’s efforts to evolve from embezzlement to full-on counterfeiting, so the Kyukyoku household found itself being raided by the SEK-- again. Next time, Sherubi should consider getting her wife a goldfish instead… Oh well, they can worry about that whenever they get home or when someone calls them, whichever comes first.

“Well, I’ve got better things to worry about, right now, anyhow,” Sherubi frowns toward Claire, “I hope she’ll be alright…”

Ookami shared both her worried glance and feelings. Claire’s their only daughter and their youngest, not to mention how protective you already are of an infant found than one safely born in the hospital. She’d always seemed so small and easy to fall victim to a cruel world: her aforementioned tininess, the baby face that would make any creep smile… It’s no wonder why Sherubi and Ookami proved that “mama ravens” or “mama wolves” could be fiercer than even Mama Bear herself. … And, certainly more unreasonable. Sure, the couple would argue otherwise because Claire often seemed to actually be victimized by the world, but there’s a reason they always say: “Blame the parents”...

Sherubi used to keep Claire in a stroller, despite her ability to walk; it was short lived, however, when Claire rolled into the path of a moving truck, after Sherubi turned around for a second. Ookami would use a drone to spy on Claire, whenever the small girl went out with anyone other than herself or Sherubi; but that certainly ended, when Ookami’s drone experienced a propeller malfunction and the smoking device spiraled into the girl’s head… knocking her into the path of a crosswalk’s oncoming truck.

Then, there’s the time both parents noticed a truck driving toward them, and knowing their daughter’s history of being struck and run over, they quickly threw Claire out of harm’s way! … Despite them being on the sidewalk and the truck perfectly on the road, which caused their desire to “avoid taking any chances” result in Claire being chucked into a dumpster. Thanks to the rats and ripped bags within, she’d need both tetanus and rabies shots, for the next couple of weeks. Well, if not her mothers' reliability with her well-being, at least she has their love.

Claire notices her mothers looking toward her and tilts her head. The two simply offer a smile and the girl returns her gaze to the window-- and the duo stares again, with even more worried expressions: Sherubi bites her right fingertips and grips the left side of her long hair, while Ookami clenches her teeth and pulls her wolf ears in either direction.

"Wir bitten um Ihre Aufmerksamkeit, liebe Fahrgäste!" the overhead speakers announce, "We'll be taking off momentarily, so we'll be starting the standard safety demonstration..."

Ah yes, the airport's alternative form of "waiver-signing": you can always just say, "Well, they should've been paying attention..." whenever people die or get injured on your flights, during any complications. Cue the female eye candy, so no one has any reason to not be paying attention and make your claim more solid. She does the standard motions and all, as the pilot does the standard line-reading:

"In case of emergency, the appropriate exits are located on the left and right sides: either in the front, middle or back. Please, do NOT open them, until we actually land on the ground... Let's avoid a repeat of the infamous engine explosion, on this air-- uh, our competitor's airline --that resulted in many passengers dying from the harsh impact waiting outside the aircraft. Blauer Himmel Airlines rules, other guys all drool! Where were we? Oh, right... Emergency doors are meant to be escaped through to safety, not simply be opened in response and especially not be the demise.

If you manage to be among those who survive the emergency landing, know that we've different procedures, depending on where we land... For, well, land, just stand outside of the plane, but only if there's no imminent signs of explosion nor mass-spreading fires; for bodies of water, your seats will double as flotation devices, but you're on your own with the sharks 'cause repellant they ain't; and, by either miracle or middle finger of God-- you decide --we get stuck on the very tip of a mountain and are teetering... I dunno, just stand on either end of the plane...?

Also, if we experience a drop in oxygen, please apply the emergency masks that will deploy. Please apply your mask to yourself, before you assist anyone who’s having trouble. In other words: now’s the time to remember karma’s a real bitch, so be nice to the person beside you because they may be the difference between life and death. We adults are looking at you noisy and annoying little brats, on these sorts of flights, specifically; so don’t forget that there’s more than Krampus to finally get you out of everyone’s hair! Oh, and he’ll just come for you kiddies in general, if your parents don’t rate our airline a perfect 5 stars, so make sure they do that, ‘kay?

One final thing, before we take off: if you spot any people below us that are experiencing traffic, earthquakes or any other form of ground-based tragedy, make sure to laugh and point at them. It’s what they deserve, for choosing their grounded trains, cars and all else, instead of our airline! Vielen Dank, for choosing Blauer Himmel Airlines!”

The plane starts up, as the engines roar to life: it adjusts its wing flaps, its speed is increased, now the pilots simply need to manually lift the nose up via the elevators! One of them notices the sparks trailing behind.

“Verdammt, Kingsley!” Pilot Rüder glares, “You’re neutering the plane, again!”

“Whoops, Mein Fehler…”

Okay, now they’re easily taking off, into the sky! As the aircraft finally graces the lovely, blue plains-- and narrowly avoids grazing the terrified, oncoming planes! --the traveling vehicle is finally stabilized and everyone can safely move around within it. Of course, if you couldn’t tell already, “stability” isn’t exactly this airline’s strong suit-- especially not the people we’re unfortunate enough to follow, within this stupid and idiotic tale. Seriously, it’s probably safe to say this plane was doomed (more than usual), the moment one Ookami “*Baka-Sama” Kyukyoku stepped foot on there!!

[End Chapter 2]

-------------------------

*SEK: Spezialeinsatzkommando or “Special Task Force,” they’re Germany’s specialized tactical police units. Perhaps not as gun-happy, given they’re not an American police force, but they still like their “bang-bangs,” nonetheless.

*”Baka-Sama”: the term “Baka” often refers to “stupid” or “fool,” while “Sama” is the honorific reserved for those of higher status that essentially means “Lord.” In other words, it’s authentic Japanese for: “Lord Idiot.” Yeah, not all anime fans just run around and parrot whatever vowel-heavy gibberish they hear: some actually bother to be less cringe-worthy, by ensuring those Japanese terms’ injection into English sentences aren’t random and actually make sense. Seriously, it’s not even endearing nor quirky when your crappy Japanese does make sense, so knock it off…

#comedy #original writing #literature #original characters #ocs #absurdist humor #chapter 2 #stupid humor #dry humor #spoof #airplane!#flying worst class

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kingxxlink · 1 year

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With every "!!" I get, I'll introduce you to an OC!

Today's blorbo thoughts are all about my Final Fantasy 13 OC, Riona Cassel!

(riona cassel, 14 years old; during ffxiii; art by @eldritch-goth)

So Riona's super tragic, as is to be expected of a Link OC (TM). At only 14 years old, she's a minor alcoholic and a major swordswoman, though I wouldn't say major in terms of how well-known she is. She's just unusually good for her age (due to immense amounts of practice to cope with a family loss).

She loves bonfires, candles, and playing rough with/teasing friends, but is also terrified of thunderstorms, crowds, and graveyards. She used to have a pretty good relationship with her parents until above stated family loss occurred, at which point there was a familial rift.

She's paired with Hope Estheim, but does not travel with him during most of the events of FFXIII. Instead, she goes on her own journey as a Sanctum L'Cie, tasked with ending the Pulse L'Cie 'tormenting' Cocoon.

(art by bakawomans @ DA)

More info below the cut!

This is the history I wrote for her on her Toyhou.se profile:

Riona was born to Ayla and Renast Cassel in early spring, five years before her brother Eythil. She was a quiet child, often considered shy as she stuck to her mother's skirts and avoided contact with anyone outside of her family. Even her father struggled to get close to her. When her brother was born, she took to him more than she had anyone else. She was quick to learn how to hold him and was instrumental in raising him, despite how young she was. Her mother was so proud of them both, especially as they grew and grew closer, often finding ways to work at home just to be with them.

Their lives were remarkably mundane for years. The most excitement came from Ayla's job as a military engineer, but even that seemed far removed from the family's suburbanite days. Things were good.

And then the accident happened.

Riona was only twelve, left alone at home with her seven year old brother. Their father was, as usual, at the office, their mother called away for work on a confidential project. It wasn't the first time the two had been left alone, but there had never been an issue before, so no one expected one now.

Eythil was a curious boy, though, and prone to finding trouble. More often than not, Riona had been able to deter him, but she was distracted. She no longer remembers what it was that held her attention, she only remembers turning back to see her younger brother reaching for a pan of boiling oil. She remembers the moment it started to tip.

They'd called her little rabbit as a child, quick and jumpy. She proved it that night, leaping at her brother with such speed that she was able to knock him away before the boiling oil ruined his face. Little splotches hit his neck, his shoulders, but most of the oil fell on Riona's arm, burning it horribly. She was too busy screaming to realize where her brother had fallen, and it took her a few minutes to realize he wasn't moving or responding to her distress.

Eythil had hit his head on the way down, pushed so hard that his skull fractured when it hit the ground. When Riona finally came to her senses, arm burning and tears flowing freely, she scrambled for a phone, calling emergency services and then her parents, as she'd always been told to. It wasn't enough. Eythil died in the hospital shortly after arrival.

Things between Riona and her parents were never the same. Her father was home less than before, which hadn't been much, and her mother became a shell of a person. Any interaction Riona had with the two was hollow, lifeless, and often sprinkled with "it should have been you." Eythil had been the light of their life. It was all too easy to blame his loss on their remaining child, the one who should've kept him safe.

Everything started to fall apart. Riona was left home alone more and more, and soon she found her way into her mother's liquor cabinet. She'd seen enough media to know that alcohol made things feel "better", even if it was unpleasant to drink. She was desperate enough to try it, and...and the cabinet had been left unlocked. It was if the universe was daring her, seeing how far she could fall.

Between the binge drinking, she threw herself into swordplay, her first and only love. There was something about the gleam of a blade, its easy movement as it sliced through the air. Nothing else could replicate the powerful feeling it gave her, and god, did she need to feel power in a life as powerless as hers. She was good at it, too, and only getting better. She had to be good at something, she told herself. She had nothing else to live for.

It's been two years since her brother died. She'll be getting on a train to Bodhum tonight, to see the annual fireworks festival for herself. She's not sure if she'll come home again. But maybe she'll find a reason to live.

(Riona full outfit ref during the events of ffxiii; art & outfit design by LockeOculus @ Twitter)

Long story short, after her younger brother dies in a tragic accident, her parents blame her for it. At twelve years old, she remembers that her mother always 'feels better' when she drinks, so she delves into her mom's liquor cabinet to 'feel better'. She practices her swordplay. She avoids going home.

None of it works.

At the Bodhum fireworks festival, Riona meets Hope Estheim and his mother, Nora. Both take to her immediately for different reasons, and Rio remembers what it feels like to be cared about by a maternal figure and what it feels like to have friends.

When the Pulse fal'Cie is discovered and the Purge begins, Rio narrowly escaped it unwittingly by leaving during the fireworks. She sees the news of the Purge on television but doesn't believe what the government of Cocoon says it is, unlike her parents, unlike everyone in town. She tries to go to what remains of Bodhum, but never makes it, instead making it to the outside of The Sunleth Waterscape, chosen by the fal'Cie in control of weather conditions, and inadvertently pushed into a group of Sanctum military folk with little instruction but plenty of imagery of unnamed folks dying beneath her hands.

She learns later that these unnamed folk are Hope Estheim's new friends, and that he is one of her targets as well. By the time the Pulse l'Cie group reaches Palumpolum, Riona has chosen to work against her Focus, despite the fate that her choice entails. She joins Hope and his group and fights against the Sanctum government and Sanctum fal'Cie to the end of that story (not given here for spoiler reasons, though you can go look it up yourself if you're curious!).

When the events of the game are over, Hope is returned to his father's care, but Riona is mysteriously missing. He wonders about her, but it isn't until Lightning goes missing (events of FFXIII-2) that he starts to search for the two women and try to bring them back from wherever they have ended up.

In truth, Riona hadn't disappeared like Lightning. She'd simply run away, in fear of having to admit to Hope or any of their friends what guilt she lived under (her brother's death and her initial Focus, now wiped clean by the events of game one), and chose to wander the world of Pulse alone. Throughout her teenage years, she occasionally gained new allies and worked with them for short periods of time, but the only person she consistently spoke to was Snow Villiers, living in New Bodhum on Pulse's surface. He kept her existence secret from Hope at Riona's insistence but constantly needled her to go to her friend.

Finally, one day, she did.

I've yet to finish writing this story to completion due to not finishing FFXIII-2 or Lightning Returns, but I do know that she and Hope end up marrying and having two children: Eythil Jr. and Nora, named after their deceased loved ones. Rio never makes up with her parents, who still choose to blame her for what happened to her brother, but she also develops a strong familial bond with Hope's father and Hope's friends.

(Riona during the events of ffxiii-2; art by @eldritch-goth)

ty for the ask sadie!!!

and to anyone who made it this far: ty for reading!! I hope you enjoyed! <3

#kingxlink #oc:riona #my oc #final fantasy 13 #ff13 oc #oc #original character #fan character #fc #riona cassel #friend art #ask game #asked and answered #not my art

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justiceheartwatcher · 1 year

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☕️ PUZZLING ☙ Thursday, March 23, 2023 ☙ C&C NEWS 🦠

Your roundup today includes: Australia reverses course on boosters; the bizarre, sordid tale of Stanford’s woke law school rebellion last week; New York DA scrambles to get Trump indictment; Israel freezes anti-Christian bill; and you won’t believe the latest delusional young lady who is VERY confused about her identity.

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avo-kat · 2 years

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meal ideas:

spaghetti veganese (heh)

chili

empanadas https://bremen-vegan.de/blog/rezept/vegane-tex-mex-empanadas/

paprika hendl https://www.ichkoche.at/sojageschnetzeltes-auf-paprikahuhn-art-rezept-233054

veggie lasagne (zucchini instead of noodles, spinach, tomato sauce, veggies, soy strips)

pizza (puff pastry as dough for quick version, veggies, tomato sauce, cheese opt)

potato salad (oil)

noodle salad (mayo)

olivier salad

okroshka (for summer only!)

zucchini puffer https://www.eat-this.org/vegane-zucchinipuffer/

pelmeni (ugh effort, prep a lot in winter)

seitan (flour washing for hours prep a ton sob)

kartoffel gratin https://www.eat-this.org/das-einfachste-vegane-kartoffelgratin/

kitaiskaja kartoschka (recipe????)

sushi (cucumber and tofu rolls)

sides or whatever, quick and easy:

oven roasted potatoes (rosmarin, with zaziki maybe?

oven roasted broccoli (oil, pepper, chili?)

cauliflower cutlets (dipped in flour, pan-fried)

bok choy tossed in pan, with soy sauce and garlic

ramen (broth, soy sauce, wine, salt, sugar)

scrambled tofu

pan fried kohlrabi

regular meals:

veggies in pan asian version (cabbage, carrots, leek, bean sprouts, tofu)

veggies in pan old version (carrots, beans/lentils/chickpeas, cabbage, tofu, [tomato, paprika, leek added later so not mushy])

with vinegar for diff flavor

spices: oregano, basilikum, pepper, paprika sweet and spicy, schaschlik mix // coriander coriander coriander pepper, veggie broth

links https://www.eat-this.org/vegane-dan-dan-nudeln/ https://www.eat-this.org/schnelle-erdnussbutter-nudeln/ https://www.eat-this.org/unser-liebstes-tofu-stir-fry/ https://www.eat-this.org/einfache-seitan-gyrospfanne/ https://www.eat-this.org/schnelle-vegane-quesadillas-mit-jackfruit/ https://www.eat-this.org/koreanischer-geschmorter-tofu-dubu-jorim/ https://www.eat-this.org/vegan-beef-and-broccoli-brokkoli-stir-fry-mit-seitan/ https://www.eat-this.org/veganes-seitan-frikassee/ https://www.eat-this.org/veganes-japchae-koreanische-glasnudeln/ https://www.eat-this.org/veganer-brokkoli-auflauf-mit-braunem-reis/

#food to make for when i dont know what to eat

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bundleofyarrow · 3 years

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Hi! You said you were wanting to do a fluffier piece for Nanami so... how about #26 from the touching prompt? Or any of them tbh... they’re all nice prompts and I really love Nanami...

yes thank you for this! finally a prompt where i could write some domesticity with Nanami~ shoutout to @darkcloakedinfinitevoid whose writing has convinced me roommates to lovers is the perfect trope for Nanami! i also just wanted an excuse to write about some food

Breakfast

It’s 6:50AM. The rice cooker should be done soon. The miso soup is set to simmer. The oil in the pan in front of you is heating up. Nanami usually wakes up in ten minutes, and you wanted to save the noisiest things for last. One by one, you place stalks of asparagus covered in batter into the oil and watched them fry. Next to a small bowl of cucumber and plum in rice vinegar, two eggs rest waiting their turn.

“…what’s all this?”

Nanami emerges from the hallway, voice low and groggy. Though you’re a little bummed he woke up early, you can’t help but smile at his mess of hair. And when you realize he was only in a pair of joggers, chest and abs on full view, you bit your lip and quickly looked back to the stove. Nanami’s body was, for lack of a better word, ripped. It’s Saturday and he’d soon be off for a run to the gym.

His surprise isn’t unwarranted. Ever since Nanami began staying with you, he was the first one awake and always had breakfast ready by the time you were out of bed. No matter how much you protested, he would say it was thanks for letting him stay over. You shirtless is thanks enough, Nanami is how you wanted to respond, but instead you decided to make him breakfast for once.

“It’s breakfast, of course!” You try to sound less tired than you actually are.

Nanami stops rubbing the sleep from his face and moves closer to you in the kitchen. Each time you turn to transfer the tempura asparagus to a plate, you catch a bit of his scent. “Isn’t it early for you?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be a surprise breakfast if you already made it before I was awake.”

“This is for me…?”

You crack the eggs into the pan and begin to scramble them. “Of course silly, do you see any other Nanami around?”

He doesn’t answer at first, looking like he was considering something. “I can help.”

Shaking your head, you point towards the electronic kettle nearby. “Water for the green tea is ready. How about you set that up?”

Nanami grumbles a bit but does as he’s told. He finds that everything else is already prepared, and mulls over the feeling of being doted on for once.

Soon the eggs finish and breakfast is ready to be served. You scoop rice into two bowls, fill each halfway with miso soup, and top it all with the scrambled egg. The tempura asparagus gets its own tray and you quickly arrange the pickled plum and cucumber on small plates. Green tea doesn’t take long to steep, and soon you pour some into small tumblers for drinking.

“Ta-da!” You gesture to the picture perfect breakfast spread. Nanami is literally snapping it on his phone. “Breakfast is served!”

Nanami steps towards you, and thinking he is going to take the seat you’re standing by, you attempt to move out of the way. But he catches your arm in a gentle hold, looking down at you. The physical proximity alone makes your face go a shade of pink. He slowly leans down and places a soft, brief kiss on the top of your head.

“Thank you. This is the first time someone’s made me breakfast.”

You’re quick to catch his hand as he pulls away.

“Keep kissing me, and I’ll make you breakfast all you want.”

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader #nanami kento

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alpacasandravens · 2 years

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HAPPY DEAN’S 43RD BIRTHDAY!!

“Da,” Jack says at breakfast, “it’s Dee’s birthday tomorrow.” He levels a serious look at Cas across the kitchen table. It’s a much heavier look than any six year old should be able to give, especially not one with a bowl of soggy Crunch Cookie Crunch in front of him.

“Yes.” Cas takes a sip from his coffee. He’s using the Winnie the Pooh mug today, which had a permanent coffee ring on the inside and a couple chips in the rim from accidentally dropping it in the sink. When he sets it down, he squints at the eggs currently cooking in the pan in front of him. Scrambled eggs aren’t supposed to look like that, he thinks.

“When’s his party?”

A little over a year ago, Jack had passed some of God’s powers to Billie, letting the rest scatter into the earth. He’d promptly de-aged himself, finally feeling safe enough to be his true age. Since then, he had lost a lot of his memories. Probably for the best, Cas knows. That means he doesn’t remember everything Dean had put Jack through, only vague feelings. Things were bad for a while, and then they weren’t anymore.

Jack is in the first grade now, and whenever it’s one of his classmates’ birthdays, the whole class is invited. In November, his friend Annie’s birthday party had been at a bowling alley, and even though none of them could pick up the bowling balls – they all had a ramp to push the balls down, and even with bumpers, they barely hit any pins – he had brought it up regularly since.

“Dean isn’t having a party, Jack,” Cas says. “He has to work.”

Read the rest on AO3 here!

#destiel #deancas #dean's birthday #supernatural #dean winchester #destiel fic

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astrhae · 4 years

Note

*screams* because oh my god your last RT with iron man on a mission but with a baby is the cutest!!! perfect for a prompt pls!!! tony and his baby boy peter!!

someday, we’ll pass it on to you

superfamily, fluff with a dash of angst, tw: hospitalisations. also on ao3

------------------------

Steve is cooking breakfast the first time it happens.

The TV is on, volume muted and Peter strapped in his high chair in front of it, his small toddler hands gripping tight to his giraffe doll when –

“Da!” he waves his hand towards the TV.

That’s normal enough, but Steve speeds up moving the scrambled eggs onto a plate anyway. Tony was out on an unavoidable meeting, leaving him alone to keep their child well fed, entertained –

“Da! Dada!” comes the next shrieks, and Steve rushes into the living room to calm Peter down when –

Iron Man Stops Bank Robbery.

The bold letters of the headline stare at him. There’s a reporter, people milling about in the backgrounds, flashing blue and red sirens at the edge of the screen.

A dreadful, swooping cold worry nearly forces Steve to drop the plate.

But he holds on tight, feeling his chest loosen when the channel’s camera pans to the side to show Tony, barely scraped at all, in his new Iron Man armor.

Slowly, he lets out a sigh of relief, placing the plate on the table and closing his eyes for a second.

They’d largely retired since they adopted Peter, preferring to keep their superhero life separate from the quieter life they were ready to start, but there was something to Tony that kept pushing him to keep inventing.

Nanotech, handy huh? he hears the echo of Tony’s smug voice, more thankful than ever for his husband’s quick mind.

Rationally, he knows a bank robbery is nothing compared to aliens.

That didn’t mean his husband would get away from a dressing down, though, because why the hell didn’t he call for Steve? Danger was danger. It did mean, however, that Steve could go to Peter without his heart hammering away in fear.

“Da!” Peter shrieks this time, growing impatient, hands reaching out to the screen with intense concentration.

Not for the first time, Steve grins at the warmth that his son brings. “Yes, Peter,” he kneels next to his son’s chair, “that’s your Dad being quite the hero.”

Peter turns his wide eyes to Steve. His face scrunches up, and he aims –

He aims his palms out at Steve.

Elbow locked straight, fingers the slightest bit curled in –

A repulsor.

“Peter?”

“Dada!”

Confusion melts into fondness.

Steve smiles.

Reaching up, he flattens his hand against his son’s far smaller one, curling gently around it. “You wanna be like him?”

“Da!” Peter agrees again.

One year old, and you already know who’s the best of us, Steve pauses to reflect, all his fears chased away by a fierce pride. “Your Dad’s coming home real soon,” he promises, “you should tell him that.”

Peter must understand, somehow, because he gives Steve a toothless smile.

------------------------

With legs that finally balance themselves, Peter simply won’t stop moving. Tony loves his son, he really, really does, and with a fierceness he didn’t know had in him. But after a gruelling week, all Tony wants is to sleep – which, according to Pepper as she had shoved him home, was the first sign of an apocalypse

And maybe there was some truth to children being the universe’s way of delivering karmic retribution, because their child was maddening.

So maddening that he managed to exhaust even a supersoldier.

“Peter, please stop running?” Steve pleads. He’s slumped on the floor, lightheaded and leaning heavily against the sofa’s armrest. Peter darts from one end of the room to the other. “You need a bath, then sleep. And your Dad needs rest too.”

At that word, Peter pauses the slightest bit.

“Dad!”

Across the room, similarly slumped on the floor, is Tony. He opens up his arms, spreading them wide and hopeful. “I’m here, Peter.”

Peter stops running. A miracle.

He tilts his head. “Wrong.”

Words come easier to Peter now, but they often got garbled, meanings jumbled up. There was nothing wrong, except perhaps Peter’s dislike for baths. Karma, a voice that’s definitely Jarvis echoes in his head.

“I’m here,” Tony tries luring their son again. “Come over and I’ll tickle you.” His eyes meet Steve’s, and Steve can only shrug. Neither of them understood what finally managed to get Peter to stop running.

Tiny feet stomping down and bottom lip pouting out in dissatisfaction, Peter frowns too. “Dad wrong.”

“What’s wrong, Peter Pumpkin?”

Usually, when Tony calls him that, he giggles. This time, Peter shakes his head, as resolutely a two-year-old can.

Then, he lifts both hands out in front of him, palms raised to Tony’s face.

“I’on Man.”

“What?” Tony blinks.

Peter steps forward, stumbling slightly with his hands still raised.

“I’on Man,” he says louder. “Hero.”

And –

“Oh,” Steve laughs, delighted. “Oh.”

“What?” Tony asks.

Steve shouldn’t be that happy. Since when did Peter start seeing Iron Man as a hero? Sure, their son knew about superheroes, but Peter had preferred to voice his admiration for Nat’s shiny tools or Bruce’s bubbling test tubes. Iron Man was only another flashy superhero in a long line of superheroes, and Tony was more than content with that.

“We need to strike a deal,” Steve announces. “Pete, if you go to bed, I’ll tell you Iron Man stories. How ‘bout that?” He grins at Tony’s blank, shocked face. “And if you’re really good, your Dad might show you Iron Man’s helmet tomorrow.”

Peter turns his frown at Steve, one arm lowering. “Today.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve insists. It’s far too late to go down to the lab, nor do either of them have any strength to wrangle Peter away from the bots.

Sighing in defeat, Peter lowers his other arm. When Steve comes even closer to lift him in the air, he makes no more attempts to run away again. “Story. I’on man.”

“Yes, lots of stories,” Steve says, swaying his son gently as he walks toward his husband. “My favorite is when Iron Man met Captain America.”

“Cap?” Peter asks, eyes wide.

“Not as great as Iron Man, but a close second.”

Tony stands to his feet shakily, weary from the day and still stung with shock. Raising himself slightly on his toes, he pecks a thank you kiss on Steve’s cheek. Most days, Tony could carry heavy machinery with ease. Tonight, he was too tired to carry even Peter.

He trails after them blankly, watching quietly as their son gasped at all the right places to Steve’s very, very toned down version of how Tony had saved New York. It had ended with a sleepy Peter at last tucked into bed and a declaration from their son that ‘Dad is best hero’, the little voice ringing in Tony’s head endlessly, giving him no rest despite his tiredness.

“When did – when did he start asking about Iron Man?” Tony prods Steve accusingly, giving up any pretence of sleep.

“He saw you saving that bank on TV a few days ago, wanted to be like you.”

Tony rolls over onto his back. The blue light of the arc reactor spills into the bedroom, his thin shirt doing little to shield it. It paints Steve’s eyes an even brighter color, and it feels too much like staring into the sun – the fondness in them too blazing and scorching even after all these years.

“He should want to be better,” he confesses his worry. He had grown up worshipping Howard, and then Cap, and then had followed Stane’s footsteps. As pleased as he is that his son – his own son! – thought he was a hero, he doesn’t want Peter looking up to the wrong people.

Steve shifts closer, pressing a long, heavy kiss against Tony’s shoulder. “There’s no one better than you.” Another kiss. Then, “although, I would prefer it if he grew up to fold his socks and drink less coffee.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Tony grumbles. It couldn’t be that simple. Nothing ever was.

One more kiss lands on him, this time on his neck. “Only because you’re the best.”

God, why did Steve have to be earnest all the time?

Fighting against the tightness of his throat, Tony smiles into Steve’s lit up face. He lets the fondness in it sink deeper than his fears, lets the truth of Steve’s faith wash away his doubts for the moment.

“Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere, dear,” he pretends to grumble.

Steve takes his hand, squeezing it tight and steady. “I’m married to you. I don’t need to be anywhere else.”

------------------------

The third time it happens, Tony is in the hospital bed.

Too slow to prevent it, Steve had watched – numb – as an explosion threw Iron Man back into a building, its columns crumbling over Tony. Digging him out of the ash and rubble had been a horror, a limbo of icy fear and choking dread and desperate prayers.

We shouldn’t have taken the mission, Steve selfishly thinks, holding Peter’s drowsy form close to his chest, rocking them both to calm himself more than to calm his son. They were retired. They shouldn’t have to come on emergency missions.

And yet, and yet.

They wouldn’t forgive themselves if they didn’t.

And Steve wouldn’t forgive himself if Tony didn’t make it out of this one.

“Pa?” Peter whispers, small hands reaching up to Steve’s cheek. “No cry.”

“I’m not crying, darling,” Steve lies. He swallows hard, pushing back against the pressure building in his throat, in his chest. Peter leans his head against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve gratefully buries his nose in Peter’s short tufts of hair. “You just rest now. When you wake up, your Dad’s gonna be better.”

“Dad wake up?”

“Yes,” he whispers firmly. The alternative is unthinkable. Glancing up, he sees Tony’s too pale, too still body hooked up to IVs and monitors that beep a constant, almost comforting rhythm. He settles into the plastic hospital chair, adjusting Peter on his lap. “Yes. Everything’s alright.”

Nothing is alright. But Peter doesn’t have to know that.

One hand wrapped tightly around his son, Steve cradles his free hand around Tony’s cold wrist, measuring the skittering pulse there and rubbing some warmth back into the skin.

Come back, Steve wants to beg. I can’t do this without you.

“Wanna play.”

Peter’s mumble sends another sharp pang of guilt through him.

It’s a miracle that they even let Peter inside the hospital room – though he knows it was less of a miracle, more of a Natasha forcing her way through. They hadn’t been able to calm the little boy down without either of his fathers in the room, and Peter was a mess by the time she had gotten him into Steve’s arms.

Regardless, Steve doesn’t think the staff would take too kindly to playing around. Nor does he have any strength left to move, drained from the battle and sick with worry.

“We have to be quiet, Pumpkin.” He isn’t the parent that Peter needs right now. Tony was always better than him at this, and he scrambles to remember Tony’s nicknames and tricks to calm their son. “Your Dad needs to heal.”

“I’on Man save Dad?”

God, Steve feels wretchedly hollow, I wish.

This was one more thing in a long line of his failures today. He hadn’t been good enough to save his own husband, and now he was making their son upset.

“Iron Man can’t, Peter.”

Peter doesn’t seem to accept that.

He wiggles in Steve’s arms until he’s seated facing the bed, and he lifts an arm in a now-familiar pose. Palm out, directed towards Tony’s bandaged chest, Peter orders in a shrill voice, “save Dad!”

Steve has to – he has to stay strong.

This isn’t his mother lying in bed, frail and struggling for breath. This was Tony, who had proven time and time again that no matter what the odds were, he would make it work. This was their son, who depended on Steve while Tony couldn’t be there.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he lets go of Tony’s hand to turn Peter back to his chest, cupping their son’s cheek to distract him. “The doctors are doing their best. They’ll save Dad, okay?”

Peter sniffs. Eyes darting up to Steve’s, he moves his hand towards Steve’s own cheeks, batting at them lightly. “No cry.”

“No,” Steve tries to agree. “No crying.” His voice breaks and he pulls Peter to his chest so the little boy won’t have to see his grief. “I love you so much.” He should have said that more to Tony, should have –

“’ove you, Papa.”

The small voice spreads against Steve’s heart, ringing so truthful and soft that it breaks him and soothes him all at once.

“What if I tell you a story instead?” Steve asks, hoping that his son won’t be able to hear the tremble in his voice. “Your Dad might be able to hear.”

But Peter was also Tony’s son, smarter than any three-year-old had any right to be. He burrows his head into Steve’s clothes, small hands crumpling the shirt in their tight grip.

“Dad wake up?” Peter plaintively asks again.

I don’t know.

Steve rubs his back, drawing circles upon circles until Peter’s grip loosens, trying hard not to think of the arc reactor flickering dark. Nobody knows whether Tony will ever wake again, or if he can hear them. He hopes that Tony can, that at least the darkness Tony hates so much won’t be too lonely with the company of their voices, but he knows it’s wishful thinking.

He’ll wake up, Steve wants to promise once more, and yet the words now stick in his throat. He remembers the empty promises about his own mother, the bitterness he had felt when they fell through.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” he tells their son instead, because he can’t afford to give up.

“Okay,” Peter nods against him. “Iron Man story?”

“The best of them.”

At least, in stories, Steve can promise a happy ending.

------------------------

It’s a rule they established early on in their relationship as teammates and friends: Tony accompanies Steve on a morning jog once a week, every Sunday. Steve agrees to go at a less ungodly hour of the day, giving Tony ample time to drink his coffee, as long as Tony gets the sun and exercise he needs.

These days, they also take turns carrying Peter in his carrier, bringing him along to the park.

“You sure you don’t want to trade?” Steve offers. Ever since the hospital, Peter had only grown more attached to Tony, but Steve worried for Tony’s recovering shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Tony waves his concern off. “The nanotech carrier’s holding up most of the weight.”

“Dad,” Peter agrees, hand darting up to swat at Tony’s goatee. He was seated facing front, the nanobots strapping him to Tony’s shoulder in the world’s most expensive – and, in Tony’s opinion, most stylish – baby carrier.

“See?” he grins at his husband. “Our son is also very fine.”

“Alright – ”

“Bird!”

Steve laughs. “Yes, Peter, those are pigeons.”

“A different species from your Uncles Sam and Clint, but birds nonetheless,” Tony teaches their son seriously.

“No. Bird!” Peter points to the sky, and –

Well, Tony has one moment of hysteria, he’s not wrong.

“Is that?” Steve stares, phone already in hand and the Avengers alert sent out.

The looming man with Vulture-like metal wings hovers above the ground, the glinting green eyes of his mask fixed on the three of them.

Around them, innocent families scream as they run for cover, and Steve urgently pulls them behind a clump of trees.

“Yeah,” Tony barely manages to not curse in his son’s ears. The nanobots spread out to form an armor around him and their son. “Steve, you need to go. Take Peter.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“We have no time. You have no armor.”

“Nat’s three minutes out. The man hasn’t made an attack, Peter is safe in the armor. I’m not leaving you.”

Tony looks down at the carrier-turned-armor. Indeed, Peter seems to be highly entertained by the red and gold metal now covering him. “Maybe the Chicken Little’s just early for Halloween?”

“Iron Man!” Peter waves his arms around as Steve tries his best to smother his laugh.

“I don’t think so – ”

A loud whirring cuts Steve off, the sound of metal grating against itself sharp and piercing, and Tony commands the HUD to cut all audio to Peter, sparing their son from the sounds of what will likely be a fight.

“Tony Stark!” the Vulture’s voice ripples over them. One metal wing slices clean through the tree behind them.

Instinctively, Tony curls himself around Peter and Steve, shielding them both with his own body. As durable as the superserum was, the new armor was even stronger.

“I have no business with your family, Tony Stark,” the Vulture calls again, and the readings of the HUD register the wind coming from the wings. They calculate the span, pin point the weak hinges, scans the base technology powering it. “Hand over yourself, and we’ll spare your family.”

The numbers spiral up, a new dot appearing on the display. Trajectories locked, avoiding the scattered civilians who have yet to flee the park, and –

Gotcha, Tony grins.

“Yeah, no can do,” he says, squinting into the sky. “Promised my son I’d be there for his birthday party next year. Try rescheduling a meeting with my assistant.”

Beside him, Steve sends him a warning glare. The Vulture raises a sort of gun, the red dot on the screen moves closer –

Tony fires his repulsors –

Natasha throws Steve’s shield towards them –

The Vulture shoots.

“Boom!” Peter yells.

Their son has his palms out, copying Tony perfectly. Small gauntlets show off the little lights that make do as fake repulsors, and the Vulture falls, tumbling towards the ground, jagged wings catching on tree limbs. Shield raised, Steve aims it at the juncture where the wings meet the back, the HUD recording the perfect path it takes: velocity and force match with the man’s fall so that the wings break without causing too much damage.

The shield bounces back, slamming into the magnets on Steve’s arm, and he holds it aloft, standing between Tony and the downed man.

“That was hot,” Tony lifts up his face plate. “Oh, I forgot to tell you birdman! I’m not free for abduction tonight either. I have a hot date.”

“Tony.”

“I’m sweetheart to you, darling.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve sighs fondly, “let Natasha and Clint take over.”

He watches as Natasha apprehends the man, Clint dutifully stripping all the tech for Tony to pick apart with Bruce later. Part of him wants to argue that the man ruined what was supposed to be a nice post-recovery walk with his family, but he supposes there are more important things to do now.

“Alright.”

Tony follows Steve away from the threat before he commands the armor to unravel, retreating back into the carrier to reveal their flushed and excited son. “Dad!” he waves his hand around. “I’m Iron Man!”

“You were quite the hero,” Tony indulges him. Distantly, he remembers a time when Jarvis had snapped pictures of himself hoisting a makeshift shield, how he pretended to be fighting shadow demons and how warm it had felt when Jarvis had clapped for him. “You and your Pops kept me safe.”

“I did?”

Steve presses closer to them both. With one hand keeping the shield ready for any other attacks, he loops his free arm around Tony’s waist, pressing a quick kiss over their son’s head before gifting another kiss on Tony’s cheek.

“Yeah, you did,” he agrees with Tony, “you were very brave today.”

One day, Peter would have to learn about the guilt and doubt and fear that came with courage, but today, Tony lets his son believe that he can save the world, can change it and protect it.

Because if there’s anything that their son has done to Tony’s world, it’s to change it for the better.

“That means ice cream,” Tony announces, letting the fear wash away.

“Iron Man ice cream?”

Steve laughs. “Yes, Stark Raving Hazelnuts, three servings.”

Tony quiets him with a kiss.

------------------------

When Halloween eventually rolls around, it’s no big leap to guess who Peter wants to be.

“Straighten your back,” Steve tells him. “Move your feet apart and you’ll be steadier. Don’t lock your elbows or your hand will hurt from the repulsor blast.”

There’s little chance that Peter will fully understand what Steve means, but their son stands proud in front of the mirror, grin so wide that Steve can’t help smiling too. Tony had pretended to enlist Peter’s help in making the costume armor. The little boy had taken easily to the tools that surrounded them, small hands eager to speed along the process.

In true Tony Stark fashion, he had let Peter ‘help’ for a week despite the costume being completed in under a day, and Tony had also made another costume for Peter’s new-found preschool friend. Steve hopes their son will be able to remember this Halloween.

“Perfect,” he says when Peter imitates a repulsor blast into the mirror.

“How do I look?” Tony interrupts them.

From the mirror, Steve’s smile grows larger as he spots Tony’s state-of-the-art costume. He’s dressed up as Rhodey, the standard red and gold armor switched up for a more toned down black and silver.

“Dad!” Peter runs over to him.

“Every Iron Man needs a War Machine,” Tony bends down to hug him. “Now, where’s your Cap?”

“MJ is coming.”

“Great, why don’t we meet her in the lobby? We can show the whole building they’re safe with their new Iron Man.”

“Candy?”

“Not quite yet.”

Steve had chosen an easier costume. Arm covered with a thin layer of silver nanobots and mascara surrounding his eyes – helpfully applied with Peter’s help – Steve had only needed to find a wig to complete the costume.

“I do not look like that,” Bucky had argued. Helpfully, Peter had turned the mascara brush on his Uncle Bucky, smearing black lines over his forehead until the argument was resolved in their favor.

Tony takes one look at Steve and shakes his head ruefully. “I’m not kissing you until you take that wig off.”

“I’ll have to find myself a Sam then.”

They step into the elevator as Tony sticks his tongue out at his husband, their son far too excited to notice his parents’ antics. The lobby itself is full of children, even this early into the evening. Stark Tower was famous for opening itself to children on Halloween, hosting free exhibitions with candy given out to everyone.

Every year, Tony made it a point to ensure one of the candies were Steve’s favorite from the ‘40s – his husband didn’t need to know that he bought the company to keep it in production – and he watches as Steve makes a beeline to it.

“You spot your Cap yet, Pumpkin?” Tony asks Peter. Standing on his toes, Peter shakes his head. “Okay, then why don’t you go meet some other kids? Call JARVIS if you need me.”

Peter’s face lights up. “Really, Dad?”

“Just be careful.”

Their son doesn’t need to be told twice. Peter weaves his way past the crowd of children to see the Avengers exhibit. On his way, he grabs as much candy as his small gauntleted hands can fit, giving them out to the other children staring up at the large cutout of Iron Man.

“We’re raising a good one,” Steve says around his own mouthful of candy.

Tony leans on his shoulder, happy for the disguises that keep them unrecognizable for the moment. They’ll need to let the reporters take some pictures, but for now, he’s content to watch his son be a hero.

“Yeah. Thankfully, he’s not as troublesome as you.”

“No, he’s as troublesome as you.”

Grinning, Tony steals a candy from Steve. “I take that as a compliment.”

------------------------

+1.

“Did you really think I’d forget?”

Peter stares up at the man, confused. He thinks he would remember it if he ever met a man with metal wings, but by the paleness of his Dad’s face, the flying man wasn’t quite a stranger.

“I gave you a choice once, Stark. You for your family,” the man continues.

“Yeah, my schedule’s still fully booked,” his Dad shouts, all the while making weird gestures at Peter that Peter doesn’t understand.

Maybe things would make more sense if Pops were here. But Pops was off buying ice cream for them, leaving them to be rudely interrupted alone at the park. Fortunately, Peter’s had almost a decade of training to wait for instructions – it had started when he was five, and it was drilled into his head how to not panic.

Less fortunately, the flying man seemed to be losing his patience.

“You’re not getting that choice anymore, Stark.”

All at once, Peter notices three things. First, the flying man is pointing a weapon at him. Second, his Dad is holding the glowing nanotech compartment in his hands. Third, his Dad is trying to tell him something, and he struggles to read his Dad’s lips, because surely his Dad had no reason to say sorry to him.

The only warning Peter gets is this:

His Dad’s voice, loud and forceful.

“JARVIS, now!”

Something hits his shoulder –

And suddenly there’s metal spreading across his chest –

The sound of a weapon firing –

Peter falls, the force of the weapon pushing him back, but the suit’s repulsors kick in, sending him into flight instead of towards the ground. Instinctively, he raises his hand up, and the HUD flashes with numbers that he races to understand – how his Dad did it so quickly, he doesn’t know –

“JARVIS – ”

The AI doesn’t need the order.

The repulsors fire, Peter remembering just in time to relax his elbows, letting his arm move with the force from the gauntlets.

He raises them again, watches the red alert on the HUD flash bright as the man regains balance in mid-air and points the weapon to –

Dad.

In quick succession, Peter fires the repulsors again.

Once, twice, thrice.

The man screams something, the scorched weapon falling to the ground, his right wing refusing to straighten out. Below them, his Dad was still sprawled on the grass, and he forces the suit to land, his knees taking the brunt of the impact when he scrambles to his Dad’s side.

His gauntlet retracts itself when he reaches out to find a pulse, fingers pressing down hard when he finds none. His other hand cradles his Dad’s face, trying desperately to coax some life back, and his heart skips a beat when he finds blood, wet and still flowing out.

“J, status report?”

If his voice trembles, he doesn’t care.

“Sir was knocked back by the weapon’s shockwave,” JARVIS dutifully reports. “If you move your hand slightly downwards, you’ll find a heartbeat of fifty four beats per minute.”

Relief mingles with cold fear. Outside the armor, his Dad was as vulnerable as the next person, and yet he’d chosen to give his protection to Peter. The trust of it was overwhelming.

“Hey, J?” Peter says. He has to be brave. In front of him, the flying man was regaining control of his wings. “You called Pops already?”

“Captain Rogers is enroute with his gear, young sir.”

“Perfect.” All he needs to do is delay their attacker while his Dad wakes up. “Show me where to hit to disarm the guy?”

The gauntlets reform, the HUD alight with targets.

“With pleasure, young sir.”

Five minutes later, Peter stands over the unconscious Vulture, keeping a watchful eye as his Dad carefully gets sits up. There’s a small cut on his Dad’s forehead and Peter’s jittery from the adrenaline, but for the most part, when his Pops barrels into the scene with shield held high, they’re unharmed.

“What happened?” Pops demands.

“Our son was quite the hero,” Dad says. “You did good, kiddo. But you’re still not getting a suit of his own.”

“I tried my best not to hurt him,” Peter explains. His head feels light and buzzy, and he doesn’t know if he messed up or not, because it certainly felt like he did.

“Good,” Pops places a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You did exactly as we taught you to, and we’ll handle it from here.”

Peter swallows. “Wasn’t fast enough to stop Dad getting hurt.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Dad dismisses, and when Pops sends a look his way, Dad emphasizes, “this time, it actually is just a scratch.”

Pops squeezes his shoulder gently. “No one’s ever ready for their first fight. And even I wasn’t ready for my hundredth or thousandth fight. But you kept your Dad safe, and you didn’t let your fear or anger take over. You did good.”

“If you say so.”

“A Captain America promise, buddy, signed and sealed by Iron Man.”

Peter feels his lips twitch up reluctantly.

Finally feeling brave enough to flip up the faceplate, he lets Pops check on him.

Cupping Peter’s cheeks through the armor and staring into his eyes in case of a concussion, Pops gives a satisfied nod at the absence of it. Then, Pops does the same to Dad, except he drops his shield in favor of rummaging through his toolbelt.

“Here we are,” his Pops declares triumphantly. He fishes out some alcohol swabs, making quick work of his Dad’s cut before sealing it over with two cheerful Captain America band-aids. The cartoon shields look worlds away from the real one, but Dad smiles anyway.

“Thank you.” Dad gracefully accepts it when Pops kisses the wound over the band-aids.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Pops glares down at their attacker.

Dad shrugs. “Peter had it handled, didn’t you, Pumpkin Pie?”

Pops considers that for a moment before he relents. “Yeah, well, he did have a lot of practice.”

The sight of his parents together sends a pang of home strong enough to comfort him, because if Peter was here and his parents were with each other, smiling and teasing, it meant that things were alright.

Cheeks warm, Peter ducks his head. He remembers a time when he’d run around the Tower fighting imaginary monsters with not-so-imaginary armor. “What do we do with him?” he changes the subject.

Dad and Pops share a secret look – one of those silent conversations they somehow manage to hold, a trick Peter has yet to decipher – then, they turn to him. “Your Aunt Tasha would love to have a reunion with him.”

“And she should get here right about,” Pops pauses for a second, “now.”

Sure enough, the sounds of a motorcycle grow stronger, and between the four of them, it doesn’t take long to clear up the park from any remnants of the fight. Aunt Tasha makes a comment about Peter’s new armor, which Dad waves off.

“Peter isn’t going to be a superhero.”

“Dad – ”

“He’s already a supreme one. If Strange can be the Sorcerer Supreme, we superheroes should have that title too.”

“Okay,” Pops laughs. “But the colors don’t fit him. Red and blue, maybe?”

“I get to keep this suit?” Peter blurts out, incredulous and disbelieving. He’s always wanted a chance to help his parents, but now he realizes more than ever that the job comes with a daunting burden. He hadn’t been prepared to see his Dad lie still on the grass, and he starts to understand why his parents had been adamant on keeping him out of battle.

Because if Peter had a choice, he’d be making sure neither of his parents ever went to fight again.

“No,” Dad shakes his head, “you get a better suit when you turn eighteen.”

“You’re making a suit just for me?”

“A suit of armor around the world, Pete. You’re my world as much as your Pops is.”

Peter glances at the gear Pops was wearing. “Are you telling me Pops has a suit of armor but chooses to keep wearing spandex?”

Pops laughs. Dad’s eyes flick down. “A man has needs and desires, Pete, you’ll learn when you’re older.”

Rolling his own eyes, Peter lets the relief sink deeper. “I’m your son, Dad. I learned what you meant years ago.”

Pops laughs louder. Dad pulls him in for a hug, and the suit finally falls away, nanobots slipping back into their compartment, letting his Dad ruffle his hair properly.

For once, Peter lets him.

He realizes, with a sudden clarity, that he’s gotten it wrong all this time – after being in the suit, he doesn’t think he wants to be Iron Man.

No, he wants to be the man who built the suit from scratch, who stepped into it brave enough to risk his life, selfless enough to protect his family, and strong enough to carry the fear and doubt and vengeful anger that came with all of it.

“Sorry for not warning you about the suit,” Dad says, not letting him go, “there wasn’t enough time to explain.”

“Just don’t scare me like that ever again.”

Dad huffs. “Karma for all the heart attacks you gave me.”

Peter hugs him tighter. “Thank you.”

He’s not sure what he’s thanking his Dad for – maybe for all the battles that his Dad had come home from, or for being the hero Peter needed all along. Maybe it was for the warmth of the hug that let him know he was safe, or for the faith placed in him, or even for all those years that he knew without a doubt that he was his Dad’s world.

Whatever it was, his Dad understood. “Thank me by never telling your Aunt Pepper about this.”

“I think she already knows what happened.”

Sighing, Dad ruffles his hair one more time. “Fine, then talk your Pops out of making me go to the medbay. We can skip that and watch Star Wars.”

Peter smiles up at his Pops, who shrugs, helpless. “Alright. Just this once, Tony.”

Dad cheers.

Aunt Tasha clears her throat, hands on her hips. “You boys done? Or am I going to do all the work here?”

“I’m injured,” Dad grins, unrepentant.

“I’m a minor,” Peter follows suit, “that’s child labor.”

Pops looks torn between laughing again and shaking his head. “I knew you both were trouble.”

Dad doesn’t miss a beat. “You love trouble.”

“Only if it’s you,” Pops agrees.

Peter never wants them to change.

#stevetony #stony #stevetony fic #stony fic #asks #anon #my fics #hope you enjoy this anon :)#because i flailed when i got the prompt #thank you for giving me the perfect excuse

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myheroacademiashorts · 4 years

Note

i think i’m in love w his blog 🥺💞 (1) how about a scenario during UA where bakugou ends up coincidentally wearing a coat that looks almost identical to that of his fem!crush. she’s more nonchalant about it and like “hey! we’re matching!” with this adorable little grin on her face that makes him blush almost imperceptibly, which his friends tease him for mercilessly—

(2) sometimes they end up accidentally swapping coats and although he’d never admit it, seeing her in his slightly larger coat with a sheepish smile on her face is completely worth the embarrassment of his friends. he’d take this to the grave, but he may or may not leave his coat around on purpose from that point on just to see her in his clothes and pretend they were together. and tho she might not admit it, she likes the sweet smell that lingers bcuz she has a not-so-little crush on him too?

Hiya! Thanks for the request... Soooo I sorta needed to split it up. I have ideas for this fic. ;) ... And I also kind strayed from the original request. I’m sorry! /)-(\ Here is part one!

Title: One Size Too Big (Part 1)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Rating: Fluff, sorta angst?

Words: 3,456

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You had never been a fan of the cold, and this was further proven as you were forced to trudge from class to the dorms. You groaned to yourself, shivering despite the jacket and other layers you had on as a particularly strong gust of wind swept by. “Wow, it’s pretty chilly!” Uraraka sounded happy, and you shot her a glare as she stared up at the gloomy sky with a smile, mittened hands cupped together. “I know, and I hate it.” You grumbled, only earning another bell-like laugh from your bubbly friend.

“Oh, it’s not that bad!”

“I can barely feel my fingertips.”

She rolled her eyes at you, tugging one of your cold hands from the pocket of your coat and enveloping it in her own. Somehow, she was warm, and before you could ask her what her secret was, she was dragging you across the frost-covered school grounds, her giggling rising up with every complaint that escaped from your lips. “If we run, we’ll get back faster!” She said, and you weren’t able to argue back due to the heavy chattering of your teeth.

However, she had been right, and a minute later you were standing in front of your dorm building. Uraraka looked unfazed, her smile still glued to her face, while you looked like you had gone through hell; your hair was a mess of tangles, cheeks red from the cold and running, and a slight shiver clinging to your body as you forced your way inside. “Ta-da! That wasn’t so bad, right?” You settled with a playful glare in your friend’s direction, deciding to stay silent.

Uraraka had wanted to study in the library after class, and like the good friend you were, you followed. You hadn’t expected the weather to become worse, and didn’t realize it had done so until the two of you had stepped outside after hours of studying. The rest of your classmates were already inside, most of them in the living room and kitchen where the heater worked the strongest. Even stepping inside you could feel the difference in temperature from outside, and quickly stripped of your jacket before becoming too warm. You let your eyes stray to them, from the few goofing off in the kitchen while making hot chocolate to the group planted in the other room, a video game screaming at them from the television screen. Bakugou was on the couch, arms stretched over the top cushions and a bored expression on his handsome face as he stared at his friends blankly. It was then that you noticed a familiar article of clothing on the blonde boy.

“Hey, we match!”

At the sound of your voice, Bakugou’s attention was immediately on you, not understanding who you were speaking to at first. Then, his eyes drifted from your bright (E/C) gaze and goofy grin down to your extended arms, where an eerily familiar jacket hung from your frame. His brows furrowed for a moment, before letting his eyes dart from his own body back to yours, mouth agape in surprise. “We’re like twins! Or couple-matching!” You continued, laughing slightly at the comparison between you and the hotheaded boy as two identical sweatshirts were on both of you; sliced right down the center, the left black and the right bright orange with an x-eyed happy face decorating the back of it. You even turned around to show it off further, and Bakugou nearly choked on his own air as the realization sat in. Holy crap, they were the same. Yours, of course, was just a bit tighter since your frame was smaller than his own, but that didn’t stop Bakugou from continuously letting his eyes rake over you.

Your other classmates swarmed you before you could add on any further, pulling you towards the kitchen as they begged you to make them your infamous hot cocoa, and with a short laugh you let them drag you. You stripped yourself of the sweatshirt first, setting it aside on a lone chair before getting to work. Bakugou’s attention on you, however, stayed steady even without you noticing, eyes wide and mouth still hanging open slightly. Your teasing replied in his mind, and finally he forced his jaw shut, teeth clenched as he fought the blush rising up his cheeks to no avail. His right-hand man noticed his expression, toothy grin already placed before he could speak. “What’s got you frazzled, bro?” Kiri asked, and Bakugou immediately controlled himself, instead shooting a glare towards his friend. “Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair. I’m not frazzled.” He muttered, and he let his eyes stray back to the kitchen when your familiar laugh rose up. Kiri caught the look.

“Oooh, is Bakugou frazzled?” Mina’s voice floated in as she plopped into the empty space on the other side of Bakugou, a knowing grin on her face as she wiggled her eyebrows. At this point, all of Bakugou’s friends had their attention on him, and he felt his face redden. Not entirely from embarrassment, although part of it was, but also from frustration. “I’M NOT ‘FRAZZLED’, ASSHOLES!” As if to prove his point, he sat upright to yank the cursed sweatshirt up and off of his body, cheeks bright as he avoided their gazes.

A few beats of silence passed, his friends trying to smother their teasing giggles to not anger him further. Instead, Bakugou abruptly stood up, fists clenched as he stared down at his giggling friends coldly. “I’m going to bed.” He muttered, and none of his friends mentioned that it was only 6 o’clock in the evening as he stalked off upstairs. You popped your head from the kitchen, eyes finding the troublesome group in the living room with an innocent smile. “Everything okay?” You asked in a soft voice, missing the mischievous looks that Kaminari and Sero exchanged to one another.

Oh, they were going to have fun with this.

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The next day, you were found scurrying through the kitchen by none other than Kirishima himself.

He heard the clatter of pans first, then your frantic footsteps soon after. He peeked his head out from the bottom of the stairs, looking past the wall to see you scrambling for… well, something. He wasn’t quite sure what. “Hey, you alright?”

You jumped at the unexpected bright voice, but quickly relaxed after spotting the redhead as he emerged closed to you. “Kiri! Jeez, you almost scared the quirk out of me.” You pressed a hand to your heart as you laughed, an easy smile flitting to your lips. “I’m fine, but I forgot my sweater down here and can’t find it. Do you remember if you’ve seen it recently?”

Kiri’s brows rose, a strangely secretive smile on his lips as he recollected the actions of the night before. His friends had filled him in on their plans to shove you and Bakugou together, and he was more than happy to help. It was better than hearing Bakugou pretending to complain about you. “Actually, yeah!” He practically bounced to the couch, where Bakugou’s familiar sweatshirt still sat from the night before, long forgotten by the fiery blonde. He hoped you wouldn’t notice the faint scent of cologne and caramel lingering on the piece of clothing.

“Someone probably moved it, but here you go!” He thrusted it into your hands, and you sighed in relief as you grasped the sweatshirt. It was a bit cool from sitting out, but you didn’t pay attention to it as you instead shuffled it on, wiggling your arms into the sweater with a satisfied noise. The plush inside immediately calmed you, but there was something different about it… Were the sleeves always this long? And the hem? Maybe someone had accidentally stretched it out? And when did it start smelling like caramel?

You turned to grin at Kiri in thanks, picking up your backpack and swinging it over your shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver, Kiri. I was worried I’d have to freeze out there.”

“No problem! Want to head to class together?”

You and Kiri had always gotten along, both of your personalities being particularly bubbly and bright as you chatted during the short walk to class. However, he had broken off as soon as you found yourself standing in front of the 1-A door, mumbling something about an errand to run before turning and high-tailing it down the hallway.

You shoved the door open, grunting slightly at its heavy weight as you slid inside of the familiar classroom. The chatter continued as you sneaked in, Uraraka brightening when she noticed you. “Y/N!” Her melodic voice rang out, beckoning you forward as she stayed perched on top of her desk. “I still can’t forget about that hot chocolate from last night. It was so good!” Uraraka looked as if she were about to drool over the mere imagination of the rich beverage, moving her gaze to instead stare off at the wall mindlessly. You dropped your backpack onto the empty desk beside hers as she continued. “Man, if I could make hot chocolate like you, I’d make it all the time. I’d drink it every day! All year long!”

You laughed at her small obsession, and she seemed to want to continue monologuing before being cut off by the door slamming open. It banged against the wall, and in trudged the little gremlin everyone had become so accustomed to during their time at U.A. He kept his glare on the ground as he entered, muttering some curses under his breath for an unknown reason, before finally lifting his gaze upwards. “What the hell are you looking at-?”

And then Bakugou Katsuki’s eyes landed on you, and he froze.

Almost on instinct, you mimicked his action, eyes wide as you waited for his next move. In the short years you have attended the school with the blonde, he had never just… Stopped. And why was he staring at you so blankly?

Bakugou, however, had way too many things flitting through his mind to even think about doing anything else than just freezing mid-sentence. Holy fuck, is that my sweatshirt? I was wondering where the damned thing went. Why is she wearing it? God, it looks fucking hot on her. The last thought had a faint redness rising to his cheeks, more prominent on his ears as he tried to cover his expression with one hand and biting down on his lip to keep his jaw from dropping. Fuck. FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK. The words were a mantra in his head, constantly repeating until he felt a soft hand wrap around the wrist hiding his embarrassed expression.

“Bakugou? Are you okay?” For a moment, he hated how soft and sweet your voice was. It just wanted to make the hard-headed boy melt to the floor. You were close enough that he could smell you; old and new books, perfume, even the faint scent of your shampoo. And you weren’t loosening your grip on him. Instead, you were tightening it, and tugging at his arm in a weak attempt for him to drop it from his flustered face. Meanwhile, the rest of the class was quiet, shocked at what they were seeing from the infamous, easily-riled pomeranian in front of them. You didn’t even seem to notice, instead leaving his arm to instead press your palm on the exposed skin of his forehead. He couldn’t see your expression, but based on how much he watched you without your knowledge, he could guess that you were frowning.

You were, by the way.

“Your face feels hot! Let’s go to Recovery Girl, maybe you have a fever?” Your voice held a slight edge of panic, not noticeable to most but making Uraraka quirk her brow in curiosity. Of course, she also knew about your not-so-little crush on the guy.

She waved her hand, breaking the awaiting tension that filled the air. “Go ahead and take him, Y/N! I’ll let Aizawa know what happened!” You didn’t look at your friend as you nodded and, grabbing Bakugou’s free arm - he was still covering his face with the other - you dutifully yanked him down the hallway and towards the healing Pro-Hero.

It wasn’t until the two of you had successfully left the immediate area that Aizawa, who had been secretly napping underneath his desk, finally crawled out of his sleeping back with a grumpy expression. He didn’t say anything - just scanned the classroom knowingly - before huffing slightly and returning to the floor, waiting for the final bell to ring before beginning class. Luckily, he still had a handful of minutes left.

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“You can drop your arm now, you know.” You grumbled, after walking in complete silence for a few steps too many. All you could think about was how he was acting like a girl from a damned shojo manga. He stayed quiet, keeping his large palm over his face dutifully, and you reached up to tug at the offending wrist until finally his hand landed at his side.

Then, you stared.

If you thought a quiet Bakugou was rare, nothing could prepare you for a blushing one; flawless skin erupting with a dark blush, ruby eyes lowered, and - was he biting his lip? Even his ears were scarlet. You stuttered for a moment, mind blanking on what you had been prepared to say, and instead stood there gaping like a fish out of water. His gaze shifted towards you, and your heart nearly stopped.

“What are you looking at? Dumbass…” Despite his harsh words, his tone was full of embarrassment, and he quickly shifted his attention elsewhere. You were still clutching to his arm and, as if it had become scalding hot, you dropped it. However, you didn’t move away. Instead, you chose to stand a little closer than you usually would to the hotheaded boy, peering up at him as if he were a quizzical math problem. It seemed to only redden his face more, if that were possible. “H-Hey, cut it out, weirdo!”

He reached an arm up to try pushing you back a few steps, but this only resulted in you stumbling further than anticipated. You could feel yourself lose your footing, and just as a gasp escaped your lips as you tensed your body to meet the hard linoleum floor, the same arm wrapped around your waist and hoisted you upright. The arm was warm, and the pads of his fingers had accidentally found their way to the bare skin peeking at your waist. The scent of caramel became stronger, overpowering all of your senses as you stared up at Bakugou with wide eyes and lips open, a flush rising to your cheeks. Your breathing was a bit labored, gaze searching the red, blank expression presented to you. “Mine.”

You blinked up at him. The hold he had on you tightened, and you felt your mouth go a bit dry. “H-huh?”

“That sweatshirt. It’s mine.”

Oh, the sweatshirt. For a moment there, you had thought… You gulped, pushing your thoughts to the farthest corner in your mind as the blonde released you from his grip. However, you could still feel the imprint of his warmth on your body, as if it had been tattooed onto your skin. Luckily you were able to stand up straight with your face stoic, although the bright red on your cheeks showed your true emotions all too clearly. It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed, either, as Bakugou raised one brow upwards. Then smirked.

“What’re you getting so red for, huh?” He leaned in a bit closer than you would’ve thought he would, vermillion eyes blown wide and glinting mischievously at you. It was a bit cute to see him so cocky yet embarrassed, the blush just as prominent as before. “Got a fever or something?” As if to push it further, he placed his palm on your forehead. At that, you squeaked, causing that damn smirk to only widen further.

With every step he took forward, you took one back… Up until you were pressed against the wall, his hand still attached to your forehead as your cheeks darkened further. His free arm found its way next to you, palm flattened right beside your head, and the other soon followed until you were stuck in a kabedon position. And despite having no where else to go, he only seemed to inch closer.

His lips were hovering mere centimeters away from your own, ruby eyes staring into your own as you waited with bated breath on what was to happen next. There was a surge in the air, as if the two of you had just been zapped by Kaminari, but more tense. There wasn’t really a way to explain it. Was he playing with you? Was this just a joke? Was he going to kiss you like you thought? Like you hoped? The last thought made you suddenly suck in a deep breath as you squeezed your eyes shut.

And then the bell rang.

You nearly groaned at the sound, and opened your bright gaze just in time to see Bakugou move a step away from you; still close, but not as much as before. You stayed quiet, waiting for him to say something, anything. He wouldn’t just act like nothing happened… Right? Because something had happened, right?

Instead, he raked one hand through his spiked hair, the other burying itself in his pocket as he glanced away from you and back down the hallway, where the classroom was. The one you two had escaped from only a few minutes ago, although it felt like much longer. “We should get to class.” His rough voice came out more like a cough, and his eyes stayed away from you as he waited. You pursed your lips. So it looked like he was going to pretend nothing had happened. That just made your blood boil, and you didn’t even remember the reason as to why the two of you were out in the hallway to begin with as you shoved past him and made your way back to class. You didn’t get far, however, before stopping and twisting around, yanking the sweatshirt over your head roughly and throwing it in his direction. Then, you were back to storming down the hallway, hands balled into fists and frustration written all over your face.

Meanwhile, Bakugou stared at your retreating figure, eyes comically wide and a mixture of confusion and regular Bakugou-level anger on his features. “What the fuck was that about?” He mumbled to himself, the sweatshirt gripped in his hands as he frowned. He was just about to ask you on a date right after; not a date-date, of course, but out to that ramen place you wouldn’t stop yapping about with Round Face and Frog Girl. Did he do something wrong? Maybe he shouldn’t have shoved you against the wall so roughly… He saw it in an anime once, and the girl seemed to like it. Maybe he did it wrong? He hummed to himself, brows furrowing. He was a tad bit angry, but he was always angry, to some extent.

When he got back to the classroom, Aizawa had already passed out some worksheets and was dead asleep on the floor, per usual. Bakugou’s gaze first moved to you, and he was able to catch your gaze for only a second before you swiveled your attention elsewhere, your lips pressed into a firm, harsh line as you kept your face blank. From the corner of his eye, he could see Round Face glance at him in confusion. Yeah, me too!, he wanted to yell out, but was smart enough to grit his teeth and plop down in his chair. If he needed to, he’d find your friends later and ask them what the fuck was going on. You didn’t look like you’d be in the mood to talk to him for a while.

“Yo, Bakubro! What’s up with you?” Kirishima had an impish smile, but Bakugou didn’t question it. Instead, he shot his friend a harsh glare, cold enough to make even the bubbly redhead shrink back a bit, grin dropping down a level of its brightness.

“Nothing, Shitty Hair. I’m fucking fantastic.” Bakugou’s voice wasn’t its usual boom, instead barely a murmur, and Kiri almost strained to hear him. Well, that was an unexpected reaction. He glanced at Mina and the rest of the Bakubro group, who all met his gaze almost instantly. They all had a look of worry on their faces as they glanced at their mutual, usually hotheaded friend simultaneously, then towards your stiff figure. Something had definitely gone wrong in the last few minutes.

Crap. They needed to fix this, and fast.

... Is it that obvious that I read shoujo manga? And do i think Bakugou would read it and watch it too for romance advice? Fuck yes.

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theboysfromaustin · 2 years

Text

"Red, I feel like shit."

Anders was splayed out on the bed, feverish, nose running and face red. "Good thing you have the next few days off on vacation," Dermot kissed his nose. "Some vacation - and don't kiss me!" "Look, I'm bound to get anything you've got. So is young Ian." "Speaking of Ians, we gotta cancel plans with the dads." "Alright, I'll call. You stay in bed." Dermot stepped out of the room, phone in hand as he dialed. "Hey, Irish." "Kazuo? I dialed Ian."

"He's sleeping. And sick." "Ah shit, wellllll….either he got Anders sick or Anders got him sick." "Probably Anders did it. Feed him soup, give him a warm washcloth, and you and young Ian will probably get sick." "He's acting like he's dying." "Oh, you shoulda seen him when he broke his arm." "Kaaaaaaz? Gaaaaaav?" "My man needs help, I gotta go. Good luck." "Thanks…" Dermot sighed, pocketing his phone. "Dada!" "Boy's up…."

Dermot entered young Ian's room, the 18-month-old boy sitting on his bed in Bluey pajamas. "Dada!" "Mo mhac!" Dermot picked him up, tossing him in the air and catching him. He squealed with joy as he was caught. "Okay, time to change you!" "No!" "Too bad." The toddler babbled at Dermot as he was changed and dressed, his father hugging him right as he took him out to the kitchen, settling him into his chair.

Anders, lost in a feverish haze, heard them and attempted to get up and join breakfast. He took one step and fell back into bed. Okay. Getting up makes the room spin. I'm sure Dermot will bring breakfast. "Egg!" "You want egg? And toast?" "Tos!" Ian banged his hands on the high chair. "Alright, then," Dermot dropped butter in a frying pan and set to work scrambling eggs and milk in a glass, which he poured into the pan, sticking the toast in the toaster.

"Anders? You alive? Brekkie?" "Yes, please…" "Alright, sweet." The toddler kicked his legs as he waited, hand in mouth, idly sucking on his fingers. Dermot hummed as he cooked, glancing back periodically at his son. He finished, putting eggs and toast on a Blues Clues plate, setting it in front of the boy. "Tankoo!" "You're welcome!"

The redhead turned back to the stove, cracking two eggs into the pan, and two slices of toast into the toaster, watching them cook. "A done!" "Good boy. Hold on, I gotta make your da's brekkie." In response, Ian picked his plate up and dropped it on the tray. The eggs cooked quickly, and Dermot plated them, first grabbing the baby, then the plate, heading for their room. Anders was huddled under the blankets, but sat up unsteadily as they entered.

Dermot handed off the plate, "You okay?" "No." "Your dad's sick, too." "Which one?" "Bio." "Musta got it from him." "Kazuo implied the opposite." "He would," Anders shook slightly as he ate. "You should sleep when you're done, I'll work on cleaning.the house. Ian clung to Dermot, sleeve in his mouth. "Hey, buddy," Anders said softly. "Dada," the boy said around a mouthful of cloth. Anders smiled as sweat beaded on his brow, swaying slightly as he sat there.

"I'll come get your plate in a while, grá." "Alright, hon." Dermot shut the door partway, "Alright, bub, we're gonna let you watch some TV while I tidy up." "Bwuy!" "Bluey? Okay!" He set Ian down as he turned on the TV, and started the streaming service. "Buachaill maith." The toddler babbled happily as the show started, and the redhead began cleaning the kitchen.

He hummed as he worked, keeping an ear out. The show played on, Dermot chuckling to himself at the jokes. He finished, and admired his handiwork. "Foirfe! Ah, lad, you…" He trailed off as he peered over the counter. "Son?" He wasn't in the room. Dermot walked through, glancing back and forth before noticing the root to their room was open wider.

"Ian?"

His voice was quiet as he opened the door. Ian had crawled into bed with his father, Anders' arms around him, the boy gently touching his hair. Yup, we're all gonna get it. "Dada sick." Dermot smiled, "Yeah. We gotta make him feel better." Ian shut his eyes, fingers threaded in his father's hair, "Ni ni." Dermot backed out of the room, but left the door open so he could listen. "Rest wells, lads. Get better, Anders, and Ian…" His eyes misted over.

"You keep growing into a good, kind man."

#oc #original character

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minmotl · 4 years

Text

Chapter 46: Tang Fan Spends His First New Year with Sui Zhou and Ah Dong

Context: Nothing much really happens between Chapter 44 and 46, except that Tang Fan’s teacher disagrees with the Emperor on a particular topic and is sort of demoted/sent away to some faraway province. Tang Fan and Pan Bin are not sure how to advice their teacher on this - on one hand, they know that their teacher is stubborn and has his reasons for his views, but Tang Fan, despite knowing how his teacher is, tries to persuade him to make peace with the Emperor and his teacher gets angry. He tells Sui Zhou of his dilemma, but they also agree there isn’t much that can be done and Tang Fan sends their teacher off with the rest of the students.

This chapter doesn’t have much link to Chapter 45. We begin with the imminent Lunar New Year and how the Tang and Sui family prepare for it. Sui Zhou turns up at the end, and it’s more of Tang Fan and Ah Dong in this, but it was cute and I thought I’d translate it anyway.

Introduction Post | Masterpost

—

Highlights under the cut

Tang Fan cannot remember how long it has been since he got to spend the New Year properly and fully. His parents died early and after his sister married far away, the importance he placed on such a holiday decreased. Being an official all by himself in Jing city, he has spent the holiday in increasingly colder and lonelier fashion. He is already used to staying in his house alone, relaxing as he reads his fiction novels and keeping warm by the fire.

However, even though it is already a habit for him, in reality, when Ah Dong gleefully and very obviously begins to hang up chun lian and eating fruits, the memories that have long been hidden somewhere deep in his mind resurfaces.

Even though Ah Dong is still young, she is after all a young lady and knows how to dress up with her clever hands. She is much more meticulous and can think of a greater number of things, so she’s responsible for everything inside and outside of the house. Aside from putting up chun lian, men like Tang Fan and Sui Zhou will never think of hanging up some red lanterns at the corridors to increase the festive spirit, for example.

Closer to the end of the year, the affairs that Shun Tian Prefecture has to deal with has also gradually lessened, but the Northern Administrative Court on the other hand, is only getting busier. Sui Zhou leaves the house early and returns late every day, so only Tang Fan is able to go home early to help out.

However, he is obviously not the type to excel at housework. He can even lose the cloth he’s using while he’s wiping at things and Ah Dong pushes him outside, looking down on him, “Da-ge, don’t make things even messier than they are. Go and write a pair of chun lian, and don’t forget to write the word for ‘prosperity’. Every house has to have one!”

Tang Fan laughs, “I’ve already written them and stuck them all up. Even my sister isn’t as naggy as you are!”

He ends up leaning against the pillar and watches as Ah Dong busies herself, scrambling about. His heart is all warm, “How about I boil some water for you? Or wipe the pillars? The pillars are so tall and you can’t reach them, I have to end up doing it, no?”

Ah Dong is currently wiping at a chair and once again, she rolls her eyes in detestation, “As long as you don’t end up losing my cloth somehow later, I’ll be thanking the heavens already!”

Tang Fan doesn’t get angry and is instead rather delighted at this.

“Didn’t we end up finding it? Besides, Ah Dong, why do I feel like you’ve become much more hardworking recently? You haven’t been eating as enthusiastically anymore too, are you trying to help me save on provisions and food?”

Ah Dong sticks out her tongue at him, “That’s not it. Sui-dage chided me the other day.”

Alarmed, Tang Fan asks, “What did he say? Why don’t I know about this?”

Ah Dong snickers, “It’s not much really. He said you work very hard at the courts and reminded me not to just think about going out to play and end up neglecting you.”

Tang Fan did not expect Sui Zhou to still remember this. He has obviously taken the incident when Tang Fan sat at the back door, sitting there as the cold winds blew and ended up ill, to heart, and that is why he went to speak to Ah Dong secretly.

He also knows that Ah Dong didn’t stop cooking for him because she was playful, but because during that time he was so busy that he ended up collapsing in bed immediately the moment he got home. Every time Ah Dong cooked, he ended up eating outside and not eating when he came home, and the food was wasted. This happened a few times and Ah Dong didn’t know when he was going to come home for dinner. Hence, she stopped cooking, but now that they’ve moved past those days without any routine, everything has returned to normal.

Hearing Ah Dong say that, Tang Fan feels a little sheepish because Little Ah Dong has turned into a scapegoat for this incident, “I’ll speak to your Sui-dage some other day.”

“You don’t have to!” Ah Dong continues to grin, “I know that Sui-dage treats me as his little sister and that’s why he scolded me. If I was someone who didn’t matter to him, he wouldn’t even bother to say so much! I may be young, but I know who is truly good to me. Like previously, the old lady from the Li family, Ah Chun-jiejie and the rest, everyone who has been good to me, I remember them all!”

Tang Fan teases, “So who’s not good to you?”

Ah Dong shakes her head, “I forgot! I was sold to the Li family as a slave previously, and the sellers were not good to me, but I can’t even remember how they look like now. Da-ge, didn’t you say, we should remember blessings and forget grudges, that way we can be happy everyday!”

“That’s right! Aiyo, as your da-ge I am very happy that you remember every word that I’ve said. Seeing that you’re so heartless, I thought you only think of food everyday,” he laughs.

Rolling her eyes again, Ah Dong says, “Eating is our priority, and everything else is secondary to that, this is also something that you taught me.”

Tang Fan rolls his eyes at the retort, “Since when did I teach you something like this, wouldn’t you be a rice bucket already if I did?”

“Yes, you are!” Ah Dong snorts.

***

The people work hard every year as they busy themselves, all so they can reunite at home and peacefully sit down for a good reunion dinner. If they can have an additional plate of fish and meat on the table, then that is the greatest reward they have earned this year.

In a small three-sectioned house in the north of the city, there is the addition of Ah Dong this year and Tang Fan no longer needs to spend the new year alone.

Although Sui Zhou has moved out, his parents are still around and naturally, he has to go home for reunion dinner as well. He did invite Tang Fan and Ah Dong to accompany him to the dinner, but Tang Fan refused, saying that he and Ah Dong have not spent the new year together yet and this year is their very first year, so as siblings they need to spend time with each other properly.

Since he said that, Sui Zhou of course did not press and headed back to the Sui family home for dinner, while Tang Fan and Ah Dong stayed behind to get through the new year together.

Initially when Tang Fan adopted Ah Dong as his younger sister, he did so at Ah Dong’s behest, because Tang Fan could not bear to see her get sold to another family. She is a fine young lady that was forced to become a slave, and so Tang Fan destroyed her slave contract, returning her freedom to her, then adopting her, so that this young lady could have someone to depend on in the future.

Of course, if Ah Dong’s personality was terrible or if she was unable to get along with him, Tang Fan would have simply returned her slave contract to her, or found another family to settle her in. He never would have let her stay at his side, so at the end of the day, this is still considered affinity between them.

And yet, since having Ah Dong around, Tang Fan really does not need to do anything anymore. Even for their reunion dinner, because he wanted to help cut vegetables but ended up making a whole mess, he was chased out of the kitchen while Ah Dong mocked him for being born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Tang-daren could only stand at the side and help to bring her bowls and ingredients. He is after all a judge, one who has firmly argued with the Western Depot’s chief and managed to hold his own facing him, but today, he is being ordered around by this young little girl. However, his heart is warm, feeling a sense of gleefulness at this.

Once the skies have completely darkened, the ba xian table is already filled with dishes.

***

The two siblings chat happily with each other and after their dinner, they start clearing away the bowls and chopsticks and begin the custom of getting through the night to the new year.

Most people sleep early at night but there are exceptions as well. On the night of new year’s eve, both the old and young in the family have to stay up till midnight. This is a custom that has been passed on from olden times, and it has remained unchanged until today. The night is long, and the children can play with sparklers, while the adults have to think about more activities to pass the time.

There is only Tang Fan and Ah Dong in the house, and it is such a wonderful new year’s eve night, so Tang Fan does not want to read his fiction novels to pass the time either. The both of them end up looking for some games to play.

Forgetting about playing Chinese chess — aside from the fact that Ah Dong is still young and doesn’t understand the game, even if she does, she would have only just grasped the basics. The skill difference between them both is too huge and even if they did play, it wouldn’t be any fun, so Tang Fan finds a vase and some bamboo sticks.

The both of them start to play toss and betting on who can get their more sticks to go into the vase. Five throws a round and whoever wins two out of three rounds is considered the winner. The loser will have to stand at the door and bark like a dog.

Tang Fan still has a childlike heart despite his age, and he excitedly begins to play the game with Ah Dong.

After one round however, he realizes something is amiss and asks, “Why are you so accurate with your throws, were you naturally gifted like this?”

Ah Dong is confused, “What is that? I didn’t eat that!”

Tang Fan says, “I think we can increase your daily studying tasks. What I meant is, were you naturally so good at tossing?”

“Not at all, it’s only after I troubled Sui-dage to teach me martial arts and he passed me a small bow. He asked me to shoot at leaves everyday, and whenever I can hit one I pass.”

“Then have you managed to hit any leaves yet?”

“I did, but out of ten tries I only manage to hit two, and it was because I got lucky,” she says, embarrassed.

“… I feel like I’ve made a mistake the moment I suggested tossing with you.”

Ah Dong’s eyes go wide, “Da-ge, are you trying to get out of this?”

Helplessly, Tang Fan says, “I’m not, but can we have a discussion about this, how about doing away with the bet?”

Ah Dong seems very dim at times, but when it counts, she is still rather crafty and so she replies, “No. Da-ge you said before, as a person we have to make our words count, and a promise is worth a thousand taels of gold!”

Tang Fan pats at her head, huffing in annoyance, “I don’t see you being so smart when you study, but you’re now reciting idioms! These three rounds have not yet ended, it’s difficult to say who will end up the winner or loser!”

His competitive spirit has been ignited, but physical deftness is also something considered a natural gift and is hardly something that can be had just because Tang-daren is trying his best at it now. His struggles are futile, and after the round ends he still loses. Two out of three wins, this is a rule he set, and now he’s paying for it.

Ah Dong laughs out loud, “Da-ge, those that are willing to take a gamble must bear the consequences of losing!”

Tang Fan is not willing to be looked down on by this little girl, and he thinks, there is no one outside right now on the night of new year’s eve, so what if he opens the door and barks twice? Even if other people hear him they would think some other house’s dog is barking, and so he says, “I am naturally willing to bear the consequences of losing. Your da-ge’s words count, since when have I reneged on my words? You must really learn these virtues of mine!”

Ah Dong makes a funny face at him praising himself, and follows quickly behind him to be entertained by Tang Fan making a fool out of himself.

Tang Fan opens the door and outside the door hangs two red lanterns. Their surroundings are illuminated slightly, the very picture of happiness and prosperity.

Steeling his resolve, he immediately barks, “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

Before he barks for the last time, someone appears before him, nearly scaring Tang-daren to death.

Looking closely, Tang Fan realizes that it’s Sui Zhou.

Tang Fan, “…”

Sui Zhou, “…”

Tang-daren feels like he has lost all his face.

He complains first, “Why are you here, not even a single sound of your footsteps!”

Helpless, Sui Zhou responds, “I have always walked without much noise, what are you doing barking at the door?”

Behind them, Ah Dong’s laughter echoes and Tang Fan’s face goes red, “He made a bet and lost!”

Sui Zhou nods and goes ‘oh’, “What were you playing?”

“Tossing,” Tang Fan replies, and then it dawns on him, “What are you doing back so early? Aren’t you staying the night over there?”

The both of them walk inside the house, one in front of the other as Sui Zhou says, “No, I’m not.”

He does not elaborate but with Tang Fan’s intelligence, he knows that surely some conflict has arisen at home and so Sui Zhou decided to come back after dinner. Without asking any more questions, he smiles, “It’s an opportune time for you to be back. It’s only interesting to play chess with three people, if I play with only Ah Dong, I cannot do it because it’s too easy to win!”

Ah Dong sticks out her tongue at him again, “That’s right, that’s why you chose tossing, the most difficult game, and you ended up losing anyway!”

“You!” Tang Fan schools his expression into an angry one and raises his hand, pretending to hit her and the young lady only giggles before running off, “We have to stay up tonight, I’ll go boil some water and make tea for you both!”

Seeing the both of them make such a ruckus, a hint of a smile emerges on Sui Zhou’s face and he thinks, it is good that he came back. Without saying anything, just looking at them like this, he feels happy.

If this is the first interesting new year Tang Fan has experienced since his family was broken, then it is the same for Sui Zhou and Ah Dong. The three of them have different experiences in life, but have gathered together due to fate.

It is said that they have to cultivate ten years worth of fate to be able to experience life on the same boat. For them to have ended up under the same roof together, they must have at least cultivated fifty years worth of fate or more.

The three of them start with chess and with the addition of Sui Zhou, everything becomes slightly more interesting. Everyone is relaxed and Tang Fan does not go in for the kill, so they take their turns to lose and win. Amidst the chatter and laughter, time passes quickly.

Midnight nears and the sound of firecrackers from both near and afar going off becomes more frequent. Firecrackers are lit not only to welcome the new year, but to also do away with the old, so many families will not only light the firecrackers after midnight, but will also light up another round before midnight to symbolize erasing the old and bringing in the new, welcoming a fresh start for everyone.

Tang Fan and the rest of them have also bought firecrackers. Sui Zhou goes out to light some up and Ah Dong lights up sparklers in the courtyard. The loud popping of the firecrackers echo in the alley, the sound ringing in their ears at intervals. Coupled with the vibrant sparklers, the entire courtyard is awash in light temporarily. Ah Dong laughs, shouts and claps, and even though there is only the three of them, the atmosphere created is both jubilant and lively.

Setting down the firecrackers and the sparklers, Ah Dong runs into the kitchen to cook some dumplings.

The dumplings have already been made, filled randomly with white cabbage, minced pork meat and prawns. The white and tender dumplings bobble up and down in the boiling water. She scoops them all up and plates them. Sui Zhou takes a brief glance and is stunned speechless.

There are prettily made, high quality dumplings in the plate, but there are also flawed ones that have been made in odd shapes. Some of the skin on the flawed ones, once put in boiling water, are torn, the filling inside exposed, and it is truly hard to look at.

Tang-daren is truly very thick-skinned as well, as he laughs, “Haha, it must be that the fillings want to see who are the people eating them, and so they could not wait to come out!”

Sui Zhou and Ah Dong turn to stare at him, and even without saying a word, their gazes both say: Shameless!

Tang-daren pretends not to see their looks and picks one up, dipping it in vinegar before putting it in his mouth. He does not forget to praise his own work, “It’s really delicious! You can see how skilled the person who made the dumplings is. You guys should eat too! What are you looking at me for? Come, come!”

Tang Fan has certainly reached a new realm and level of being thick-skinned.

The other two have nothing else to say and all they can do is bury their heads and start eating.

Suddenly, Ah Dong goes ‘aiya’ and spits out a coin from her mouth.

Tang Fan laughs, “You’ve struck fortune! You’ll have good luck in the coming year!”

Ah Dong is rather happy, and buzzing with joy, she wipes the coin clean and places it on the table.

After a while, Sui Zhou also bites on a coin. Tang Fan and Ah Dong repeat the same congratulatory words to him.

After a moment, Tang Fan himself also manages to hit one.

This repeats a few times.

Finally, Ah Dong is mad and disparages, “Da-ge, exactly how many did you put in there?”

There are thirty-odd dumplings in a plate and subtracting the flawed ones from the mix, the three of them have found a total of almost thirteen coins. Putting these coins in the dumplings are typically used to find some sign of good fortune in the coming year, but look at them now, every once in a while they are hurting their teeth on a coin like this.

Tang Fan and Sui Zhou are paying a little more attention, so it is not as bad for them, but Ah Dong almost shattered all her teeth on one and begins to groan and moan pitifully.

The heartless Tang-daren laughs at her misfortune seeing her like this, “I didn’t get to eat that many coins when I was young, so I’ve put more this time in case we don’t get to eat any, who asked you to bite so hard?”

Ah Dong is unwilling to show any sign of weakness and the two of them start fighting again, until Sui Zhou returns from clearing away the bowls and chopsticks. The young lady is finally drowsy. She rubs at her eyes, but the expression on her face shows that she has never been more content in her life.

“Da-ge, do you think we can still spend new year like this again in the years after this?” Ah Dong lies against Tang Fan as she sits, waiting determinedly for midnight to befall them.

“What do you think, Guang Chuan?” Tang Fan caresses at her head, looking up to ask Sui Zhou, who has just walked through the door.

“Mnn,” Sui-baihu agrees, his answer short but affirmative.

===

Notes:

*春联 chun lian

Lunar new year couplets! Often written on red paper during the new year and comes in pairs. The words written usually have to do with fortune, prosperity, luck and riches and are written either in typical black ink or in gold ink nowadays, since gold ink was made available.

*八仙桌 ba xian zhuo

Considered a traditional Chinese furniture, it is a square table that sits two people on each side, totalling eight people just like the eight (ba) deities (xian), which is why the table has been named as such.

*守夜 shou ye

We still practise this today - it is said that the later younger members of the family stay up, the more fortune they are accumulating for the elders of the family (for example, for their longevity and good health). A lot of people stay up until the wee hours of the morning playing mahjong and what not on the eve of Lunar New Year. Of course, this is not really strict, and most people do go to bed after midnight.

*天赋异禀 vs 天赋异饼 tian fu yi bing

Both four-character words are pronounced as tian fu yi bing, with the first being the more commonly written phrase, meaning someone who is naturally and generously gifted with skills etc. The last character 禀 bing was misheard and misinterpreted by Ah Dong, who thought the 饼 bing was referring to the character than meant ‘pastry’ or ‘biscuit’, and that is why Ah Dong thinks that Tang Fan is asking if she ate some kind of pastry when he asks if she has always been gifted with tossing accuracy in the game.

*丢脸 diu lian

In Chinese culture, being embarrassed or humiliated is described as losing face. There is nothing more important than having and keeping face for the Chinese XD

*脸皮厚 lian pi hou

Thick-skinned, to describe someone without any shame.

#the sleuth of ming dynasty #tsomd #成化十四年 #tsomd novel #fanzhou #sui zhou #tang fan #translations #okay i'm trying to update more frequently #since i have kind of gone on giffing hiatus #and fic hiatus for now #let's hope this continues

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itsafanficthing · 4 years

Text

The Paper Boy - Chapter 8

A Chapter much sooner than anyone (including myself) was expecting. Hope you enjoy :)

A03 is here

“I think I’ve changed my mind about the bike,” Claire said breathlessly as Jamie parked the dirt bike back in the shed.

“Oh?” Jamie asked as he pulled the roller door shut.

Claire nodded excitedly and Jamie snorted with laughter.

He had done a few extra laps around the farm, increasing the speed from their first trip. They would have been back to the main house much sooner, but Jamie loved the feeling of Claire holding him tightly and her squeals as they rounded corners or bumped over the small mounds of the farm.

Her cheeks were pink and flushed and she had tied her wild curls away from her face. Claire’s eyes were still puffy from crying, but she looked lighter than she did before. Jamie handed her the various plants from the feed bag and she happily made her way back to the kitchen for a jar for the plants.

Jamie watched her walk away from him, feeling his heart thump irregularly in his chest. He had been trying to convince himself that he wasn’t in love with her, that he didn’t know what love really was, but watching her walk away from him, a slight skip in her step, Jamie didn’t think he could deny it anymore. He didn’t know if it was love, but it sure was something.

Perhaps it was lust, the way that his body reacted to her- and boy did it react to her. But there was something else about how Claire made him feel. Something deeper. Like she really saw him and Jamie hadn’t really felt seen by anyone since his mother had died, except for Murtagh. Even then, this was entirely different to how Jamie felt about Murtagh.

“Are you coming?” Claire called from the doorway before heading inside and Jamie shook his head briefly, realising that he hadn’t moved from watching her walk away. Hopefully she didn’t notice that.

Jenny had long since finished making jam in the kitchen and was sitting in the living room reading when Claire and Jamie returned. She happily fetched Claire an empty jar for her various plants before giving Jamie a knowing look and returning to her original position on the couch with her book.

“Did ye have a good time?” Jenny asked Claire, though Jamie felt it was more aimed at him. He hated the way his cheeks blushed and Jenny grinned at him before looking back to Claire.

“Absolutely. We went on the bike,” Claire explained as she sat opposite Jenny.

“Aye, I heard ye squealing yer way around the paddock,” Jenny teased and Claire’s face turned pink.

“That was me,” Jamie said as he leant against the doorframe. “Claire was holdin’ onto me so tight, I could barely breathe.”

Jenny rolled her eyes before engaging Claire in a conversation about something or other. Jamie wasn’t really paying attention. He was currently trying to figure out where he should sit.

Next to Jenny… he never sat next to Jenny if he could help it. Besides, she was reading and maybe she didn’t want him to sit next to her.

Next to Claire, well, there was definitely space on the couch, but she was on the two seater and Jenny was on the three. There was more room with Jenny, but again… he never sat next to her if he could help it. Maybe Claire wanted him to sit next to her, although he didn’t know what they were going to do next. Maybe he should turn on the television and watch a movie? Or perhaps a board game? Did Claire like board games? Jamie was a fair hand at chess, and he and his Da played almost every night, but perhaps Claire didn’t like chess. His dilemma of where to sit and what to do was interrupted (thankfully) by the phone ringing. Using it as a good excuse to stall his decision, he went to answer it.

“Lad, ye and Jen need to get to the Doctor’s as quick as ye can,” Murtagh’s voice spoke roughly through the phone.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked, his stomach dropping somewhere to his feet.

“Ye Da’s hurt himself at McNully’s farm. It’s no’ bad, but ye’ll need to go pick him up.”

“Da?” Jamie repeated stupidly as his mind hurried to catch up. “He’s alright?”

“Aye, just get there as soon as ye can,” Murtagh said gruffly before ending the call abruptly.

“Jen!” Jamie called through the house, trying to get his sisters attention. “Da’s been hurt, we have to go pick him up from the Doctor, Murtagh just rang.” Jamie heard the scrambling of two people before Claire and Jenny joined him in the hallway, both looking slightly panicked.

“Is he alright?” Jenny asked, picking up her handbag and searching for her car keys.

“Aye, Murtagh said it was’na bad, just that we need to go pick him up.”

“Right. Where are my feckin’ keys?” Jenny said hurriedly as she tipped the bag upside down in her search for them.

“On the kitchen counter,” Jamie replied, opening the front door for Claire. Her face was pale and she looked like she was about to be sick. “Claire, are ye ok?” Jamie asked in concern when she didn’t move.

“Your father… he’s… is he….” She stuttered and her eyes welled with water. Jamie could have kicked himself. She’d just spent the afternoon telling him about losing her parents and then Murtagh calls them with something about his Da with little to no explanation, only that he was hurt.

“Aye, he’ll be fine. Probably just sprained an ankle and canna drive himself home.” When Claire didn’t look at all appeased by his response, Jamie continued. “Truly, he will be alright. It’s farming. People get hurt all the time.”

“I should go… I should get home… I-”

“I found them,” Jenny interrupted as she rounded the corner holding her keys triumphantly in her hand. “Come on, Claire. We’ll drop ye home on the way.”

Jenny strode past them without a backward glance, while Claire and Jamie stood somewhat awkwardly in the hallway together.

“He’ll be fine, trust me,” Jamie said, holding his hand out to her. Just like the first day of school, everything always seemed to be easier when they were touching. Claire nodded stiffly before taking Jamie’s hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Dinna forget yer weeds,” Jamie reminded before they walked out the door and Claire huffed out a ghost of a laugh.

“They’re not weeds.”

Brian Fraser had indeed done something to his ankle- he’d broken it. Jumping off McNully’s tractor and into a rabbit hole, his foot had landed awkwardly and then his body followed.

“I’m alright,” Brian groaned as Jenny positioned him on the couch, propping his ankle up by almost every pillow and cushion they owned. “Stop yer fussin’.”

“Aye, weel, if ye looked down before ye jumped, ye might no’ be in this position, so ye can just let me fuss,” Jenny grumbled back as she handed him a cup of tea.

“No chance ye could add a little bit of flavour?” Brian asked hopefully, eyeing the whiskey on the cart nearby.

“No,” Jenny answered shortly before she left the room, grumbling something about men and their uselessness.

“Are ye alright, Da?” Jamie asked as he watched his sister go, the consequent sound of banging of pots and pans being handled a little rougher than necessary in the kitchen following her. Whenever Jenny was annoyed, angry, or needed a bit of peace from the men of the house - she baked. This was clearly one of those times.

“Aye, I’m fine. Should have known about the rabbit hole. McNully’s farm is full of the blasted creatures. I got his tractor workin’ though,” Brian replied before taking a tentative sip of the tea Jenny had made him. “No chance ye could add some flavour here, son?” He asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

“If ye think I’ll cross Jen for ye when she’s in a mood, ye have another thing comin’,” Jamie shook his head as his father rolled his eyes at him.

“Yer mother would have given me whiskey,” Brian sighed dramatically as Jamie snorted with laughter.

“She would have given ye a scaplin’ for getting yerself hurt,” Jamie disagreed as Brian smiled happily.

“Aye, yer right.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, Brian sipping his “flavourless” tea and Jamie wondering how to tell his father what was on his mind without either dying of embarrassment or chickening out half way through.

“What are ye thinkin’ about?” Brian asked, seeing the worried look on his son's forehead. “Ye look like yer fit to burst.”

“It’s nothin, Da,” Jamie shrugged awkwardly. They’d always had quite a good relationship. They were both stubborn as mules and when they each got their danders up, well, explosive was a bit of an understatement. Add into that Jenny and sometimes it was lucky that their house was still standing. Jamie supposed that he was quite like his father in a lot of ways. He always wanted to be just like him when he was growing up, following him around the farm, watching him work. They’d always spoken relatively easily with each other, Jamie felt like he could go to his father if he needed advice or a second opinion- that was until Jamie’s mother had died. A wall went up around Brian and he was less approachable than before. He tried, Jamie knew that he tried to be the same man that he was before, but losing someone- losing a piece of your heart was a hard place to come back from. It was why Jamie would prefer to confide in Murtagh. He was separate from most situations but understood Jamie in a way that his father used to.

“I was thinkin’ of getting a phone,” Jamie said quickly and Brian’s eyes flashed over to his son.

“What for?”

“Playin’ games and lookin’ at naked ladies,” Jamie replied sarcastically. “I’m 16 now, I think it’s time that I had somethin’ like that. All the lads at school have one, and with me doin’ the paper route and school, I think it would help.”

“Aye, and who’ll be payin’ for this phone of yers?” Brian asked as he eyed his son suspiciously.

“I would,” Jamie answered.

“And this does’na have anythin’ to do with the new lass in town?” Brian asked as his mouth twitched in the beginning of a grin.

“It has to do with the fact that I’m growin’ up and it will be a lot easier to keep track of me, if ye can call me.”

“Aye,” Brian agreed, smiling at his son now. “Sounds like a braw idea.”

Jamie sat back on the couch happily. He would need to ask Jenny to drive him into the larger town to actually purchase said phone, but it was one more step toward his independence. Now he just needed to talk to his Da about the thing he was the most nervous about, though he had a suspicion that he already knew.

“That Claire lass seems nice,” Brian continued on, snapping Jamie out of his thoughts. “Her Uncle’s a wee odd, but seems like a good bloke.”

“Aye, she is, they are, both of them - nice, I mean,” Jamie answered. His fingers found a loose thread on the shirt that he was wearing and he started to fiddle with it.

“Jen said that Claire was around earlier,” Brian tried again. He wasn’t looking at Jamie, rather he was staring at the wall, as if he had suddenly seen the most interesting thing and was addressing that, rather than Jamie.

“Aye, took her around to see the horses, and a wee bit of the farm.”

Brian grunted in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything further. He left the space open for Jamie to tell him what was on his mind, Jamie just needed to swallow the lump in his throat first.

“Did… ah… did Lamb tell ye about her parents?” Jamie asked quietly.

“Aye,” Brian murmured in response. “Awful thing to happen.”

Jamie nodded, “Claire… she only told me about them today. I did’na ken before.”

“The lass has been through a lot. I’m glad yer makin’ her feel welcome. It must be hard movin’ to a new place after somethin’ like that. Lord knows what would happen if the ol’ hens in town would say if they found out.”

“I dinna plan on tellin’ anyone else, Da,” Jamie replied defensively.

“I did’na say ye would.” Brian shook his head thoughtfully. “I just want ye to… well… ye ken what it’s like to lose a parent, and a brother. Word travels quick in town and ye remember what it was like to have people in the street tell ye how sorry they are.”

Jamie nodded uncomfortably at the memory; weeks of people approaching him on the street, the old women trying to hug him, the men clapping him firmly on the back. It was awkward and uncomfortable. Everyone knew Ellen Fraser and Jamie wondered if it would be different for Claire because nobody had met her parents. Still he remembered the pity in everyone’s eyes as they watched him go about his life and it used to drive him mad. He didn’t want that for Claire. Speaking of Claire… he didn’t know how to approach the subject with his Da. Though in all honesty, Brian Fraser seemed far too eager to keep bringing her up. Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as Jamie was making it out to be. He was wrong.

“Da,” Jamie began nervously. “About Claire… well about Mam.”

Brian hummed in acknowledgement.

“Ye always told me and Jen and that as soon as ye saw Mam, ye kent that ye wanted to marry her…” Jamie twisted and pulled at the thread of his t-shirt. He couldn’t look at his father right now, but he could feel his face flaming bright red. “How did ye ken?”

Brian hummed again, but it was a happy sound, like he was remembering the first time he saw Ellen McKenzie. He seemed to get lost in the memory for a moment before he shook himself slightly and answered Jamie’s question.

“Honestly son, I dinna ken. I saw her and it was like… everything made sense. Asides, yer mother was a fine lass, so every lad that saw her thought that she was beautiful. It wasn’t just love at first sight though, as much as I tell ye both that. It was when she spoke, the first time I heard her voice, it was like… I canna explain it to ye, Jamie. It was like everything clicked. I told Murtagh that I would marry her one day and Murtagh did’na believe me. Every lad thought that when they saw yer Ma. Murtagh included. But I kent it. From the moment she opened her mouth and called me out for staring at her, to the first date when she kissed me goodnight. I kent that I would marry her.”

That didn’t answer Jamie in the slightest and he huffed in frustration which made Brian chuckle.

“I truly canna explain it to ye, lad. I just kent that she was the lass I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

“But did ye… a’fore Ma, did ye date anyone else?”

“Aye, a few lasses, and they were fine, thought for a while that I might marry Loita McKenzie-”

“Loita McKenzie?” Jamie interrupted. “Laoghaire’s mother?”

“Aye, we dated throughout highschool,” Brian chuckled at the memory as he shook his head.

“So what was… how did ye…. What was different between her and Ma?” Jamie pressed. His father had just admitted for the first time that he had loved someone other than his Mother. Brian Fraser had always made it seem like it was Ellen and no one else.

“I loved yer Ma, I did’na love Loita,” Brian said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Jamie thought he might very well hit his father.

“But ye said ye thought that ye were going to marry her,” Jamie argued.

“Aye, but I did’na ken what love truly was until yer mother.”

“That… I… what does any of that mean,” Jamie said in exasperation. It was like talking to the Riddler from the Batman movies Jamie used to watch as a young lad and he was getting annoyed. He just wanted a straight answer.

“The other lasses I dated, not that there were many mind ye, they… I liked them sure enough, was attracted to them, kissed ‘em and… ye ken.”

Jamie felt his face heat up with embarrassment as his father continued.

“But there was somethin’ missin’. I asked myself if I could see myself growin’ old with any of them and the answer was always ‘no’. When I first met yer mother and she cursed me out for starin’, when we went on our first date and she blushed when I pulled out her chair for her, I saw it all. I saw all of our lives in a second. I saw us married, with bairns, I saw us fightin’ and makin’ up. I could see every second of our lives, I could see every moment of my life, what was comin’ and she was there for every second of it.”

Jamie was silent for a moment, trying to figure out how this related to how he felt about Claire. The absolute truth of it was, and as terrifying as it was, when Jamie looked at Claire, he could see the same thing. He may be only young, but his life was mapped out for him. He grew up on a farm and would more than likely take it over from his father. When Jamie tried to imagine what the future would look like for him, Claire stood right there with him, a flourishing vegetable garden beside the both of them.

When he thought about university, the option to go to Edinburgh, study literature like he’d always thought of, there was Claire. Right by his side, wearing scrubs - she would study medicine, of course she would.

When he tried to think of his wedding day, he knew he'd be standing at the front of a church, wearing his father’s kilt and a new jacket. The woman that walked toward him had a wild head of brown curls that would simply not be tamed and she would be blushing something fierce while clutching the arm of her Uncle. It was Claire. It would always be Claire.

But he was only 16. He wasn’t meant to feel things that were this deep yet. He wasn’t supposed to be able to picture his future. Hell, he was sure that other lads his age weren’t thinking about their weddings.

“Ye were 18 when ye met Ma, aye?” Jamie asked carefully.

“Aye, just turned it.”

“Didn’t… weren’t ye… ye were pretty young,” Jamie said bluntly.

“Aye, but that’s the beauty of the Fraser stubbornness, ye ken,” Brian laughed. “When we ken what we want, we dinna let anythin’ stop us.”

Jamie smiled as he shook his head.

“But nah, yer Granny and Grandda, on both sides, were’na keen on the idea of us being wed so young. But that did’na stop us. We kent what we wanted and couldn’t really see the point in puttin’ it off.”

Jamie bit his lip as he tried to decide how much he wanted to tell his father about how he felt about Claire. They were still just friends after all. Sure he might be feeling something for her, but he had no idea if she felt anything for him, beyond their friendship. He wasn’t willing to risk the friendship that they had built because he couldn’t get his feelings for her in order.

“Gettin’ old is a blessin’ and curse sometimes, lad,” Brian Fraser said through a yawn. “Ye meet the love of yer life and ye get plenty of good years wi’ her. Ye raise yer bairns and ye love them wi’ all yer heart. Ye think that yer heart canna get any fuller, and the vision ye had when ye were just a lad is all comin’ true. But then ye lose her, and ye dinna ken how ye’ll ever be alright again. Ye grow old wi’out her and sometimes, wakin’ up… well, it’s hard to do. But I tell ye Jamie, I wouldn’t have traded anythin’ in the world for the life I got to live with yer Ma, no matter how brief.”

Jamie swallowed thickly and was about to reply when a soft snore escaped his father’s lips as he fell asleep on the couch.

While he felt like he knew his father a little better than he did before, he was still nowhere near closer to understanding the depth of feelings he had for one Sassenach that had turned his life on its head.

By the time Jamie arrived at Claire’s house on Monday morning to walk to school with her, he was in the possession of a brand new Iphone, and there was only one number that he really cared about getting. He knew that he was more than likely going to get a ribbing from the lads at school about finally getting a phone. They’d all received theirs from their parents when they’d turned 13, something about their parents wanting to keep and eye on them. Brian and Ellen had talked about it of course, but it was just that Jamie was so trustworthy. He always was home when he said he would be, they knew all of his friends' parents, having grown up with most of them themselves and there wasn’t anyone in town that wouldn’t lend Jamie their phone if he’d asked for it. They just didn’t see the point of it, and Jamie couldn’t either.

Anything that the lads wanted to tell him, surely couldn’t be so important that it couldn’t wait until the following day at school. They called him ‘mental’, showed him the games they played on their phones, the pictures they could look up online without their parents' knowledge, but still Jamie couldn’t see the point. Until, that was, Claire had asked him if he had a phone and for the first time, he was disappointed that he didn’t.

Now the weight of it was in his pocket and he couldn’t wait to show her, to program her number into it and begin texting her things that couldn’t wait until the following day at school and that needed to be shared in that very moment.

“Jamie,” Lamb answered the door brightly, a healthy five o’clock shadow growing on his face. “And how are you this fine morning?”

“Well, thank ye, sir,” Jamie answered as he dropped his bag by the front door and made his way to the kitchen to wait for Claire.

“You don’t need to call me sir,” Lamb reminded him. “It makes me feel old.”

“Aye, sorry.” Jamie smiled as he sat at the small kitchen table. He was expecting Lamb to wander off in the house, like he did on the other mornings that Jamie was early and had to wait for Claire. After the first morning that Jamie had picked Claire up for school (had it really only been a week ago?), Lamb had let Jamie direct himself to the kitchen and then went about whatever he was doing before Jamie arrived. Usually making a coffee or a tea, reading the news on his laptop, on Thursday he heard Lamb singing to himself in the lounge room. This morning Lamb followed Jamie into the kitchen and sat opposite, his hands clasped in front of him, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face.

“So,” he said carefully, scratching at the new stubble on his cheek. “Claire told me about Saturday.”

Jamie nodded and swallowed heavily, it felt like he was about to have “the talk” with Claire’s Uncle, which was something Jamie was entirely unprepared for at 7.30 in the morning.

“Is your father well?” Lamb asked in concern and Jamie felt a flush of relief flood through him.

“Oh, aye. He broke his ankle and will’na be walking wi’out crutches for the next six weeks, but aye, he’s fine.”

“Good, good. Claire was very worried on Saturday night,” Lamb said absentmindedly.

“It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to a Fraser on a farm,” Jamie assured Lamb. “I canna count the times he’s broken a finger or a toe over somethin’ silly. I’ve had my fair share of bumps and bruises myself. Part of livin’ on a farm.”

“She also said that you went to see your horses,” Lamb continued as if he hadn’t really heard Jamie’s response.

“Aye, we did,” Jamie answered cautiously.

“That’s good. Her father wanted her to ride, but she screamed her head off the entire time. She did love the animals from a distance, but as soon as Henry put her on top of one she completely lost it. A fair set of lungs on her, Claire has.” Lamb smiled at the memory and Jamie swallowed heavily again. If Claire told him about the horses, would she have told him about her-

“You know about her parents then?” Lamb asked, not waiting for a response before continuing. “How she lost them both in one night? Yes? She’s been through a terrible amount of grief in such a short amount of time. The move out here… she’s getting better, she’s beginning to look like herself again and I… Jamie,” Lamb’s eyes focused clearly on Jamie’s face now. Jamie tried to look back seriously but there was something unnerving about how intensely Lamb was looking at him. “I will not see her get her heart broken, do you understand me? I will not see her go through that… through the pain and grief like she has, again. She trusts you, she likes you and I can see that you bring out good things in her. From what I’ve seen you’re… well you seem alright to me. Do not make me question my judgement.”

Jamie nodded earnestly. “I wouldn’t… I would never do anything to hurt her.” He tried to shrug his shoulders nonchalantly, “She’s my friend.”

Lamb huffed a chuckle at that and shook his head. “I suppose so. Good talk!” he said, suddenly jumping to his feet and making Jamie start at the sudden movement. Lamb busied himself with the kettle while Jamie heard Claire’s heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“One week and I’ve nailed it. Da… Da... Da... Daaaa,” Claire sang as she rounded the corner. “I can do the tie by myself,” she announced, spreading her arms wide for Jamie and Lamb to see. It was a little uneven and the tail was too long but Jamie was so happy to her smiling brightly at him that it didn’t really matter in the end.

“Looks perfect!” Lamb declared as the kettle started to boil. “Best in all the land.”

“I know,” Claire agreed sarcastically. “I should take it up as a career. Professional Tie-Tie-er. I hear it’s a competitive field.”

“As have I, they only take the best my dear. The Best! Are you sure you’re up for it?” Lamb continued.

“When you have my raw talent,” Claire said, “it would be rude if I didn’t.”

“Hear, hear,” Lamb echod as he started to make a cup of tea.

“Ready to go?” Claire asked addressing Jamie who was smiling widely at the pair of them. It was moments like these that had Jamie falling more and more in… something with Claire. Her casual sarcastic humour, the way she spoke with her Uncle, the way her eyes seemed to sparkle when she was joking around. It reminded him of how his mother would laugh with his father and Jamie felt a not-totally-unpleasant heaviness in his stomach at the thought. He really did have very strong feelings for Claire.

“I have some news,” Jamie said as they walked to school together.

“Oh?” Claire asked as she shifted the bag straps on her shoulders.

“Aye. Ye asked me on Saturday... ye said that ye would have called me but ye did’na have my phone number,” Jamie reminded her as Claire nodded along in understanding. “Well, that was perhaps because as of yesterday, I did’na have a phone,” he continued.

“You didn’t have a phone? At all?” Claire asked in surprise.

“We have a landline at home, but no, I did’na.”

To Jamie’s surprise Claire started to laugh before she realised that Jamie was not laughing with her and pursed her lips to stop herself. “Sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. I’m just surprised. I mean… how?”

“I just did’na see the need for it,” Jamie shrugged uncomfortably.

“But you do now?” Claire asked as she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Aye,” he answered gruffly, far too embarrassed by the direction the conversation was taking.

“Let’s see it then,” Claire smiled, stopping and holding out her hand.

“What?”

“Let’s see this brand-spanking-new phone of yours. You’re going to need at least one number in it that isn’t your family, after all,” she said practically while Jamie pulled the phone out of his pocket. “No case,” she tutted as Jamie handed her the phone. “You’ll need a case, these break easily.”

“I dinna ken. I’ve never had one before,” Jamie answered as she clicked the screen to life.

“I have, and you’ll need a case. No passcode either. You should put a passcode on it. Stop people from getting into it when you don’t want them too. Seeing all your stuff.” She continued to critique all the things that he hadn’t done as she typed around on the screen. “No photos either.”

“I only got it yesterday,” Jamie defended himself as Claire held up the phone to face them.

“Come on, let’s take one.”

“Take one what?”

“A photo, obviously,” Claire answered in exasperation. “Come on.”

Jamie ducked down slightly, though she held the phone high in the air, angled down toward them. He’d seen a few of the girls at school take photos the same way. He jumped in surprise as he felt Claire’s curls tickle the side of his face as she moved closer to be in the photo with him with a slight huff. He heard the shutter go off, but he was looking at Claire, at how close she was, at the small crinkles at the sides of her eyes when she smiled.

“Look at the camera, you dork,” Claire laughed as she snapped another one.

“Aye sorry,” Jamie mumbled before smiling at the camera and hearing the shutter go off once again.

“Much better,” Claire said as she handed him back the phone and they continued on their way to school. “Now you have my number and some photos. You’re on your way to being a phone aficionado in no time.”

“Aye,” Jamie grinned, “Do you think there’s a career in that?”

“Oh definitely. You can join me in my Tie-tie-ing business. We’ll be millionaires before we even graduate,” Claire agreed happily as they approached the school gates.

“I canna wait,” Jamie said as he followed her into the school grounds.

“What’s this, what’s this, what’s this?” Rupert announced loud enough for people three kilometers away to hear. “Who’s phone you holdin’ there?” He asked pointing accusingly at the phone Jamie was about to pocket.

“It’s mine,” Jamie answered gruffly trying to stuff the phone into the pocket of his trousers.

“You!” Angus joined in, “You have a phone? Since when?”

“Since Sunday,” Jamie answered defensively. Claire wasn’t paying attention to them, having spotted Geillis and Mary was making her way over to greet them.

“What happened to “I don’t need one” and “what’s the point”?” Angus asked, with a terrible impersonation of Jamie. Rupert looked between Jamie and Claire, Claire and Jamie before he looked back, grinning widely.

“Lay off, it’s no’ a big deal,” Jamie grimaced as Rupert wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Aye, ‘tis,” Angus disagreed, completely unaware of the unspoken conversation that was happening between Rupert and Jamie. “Yer finally becomin’ a man. We’re all sae proud.” He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye and Jamie punched him in the shoulder.

“Well, give it here then,” Rupert laughed, holding out his hand expectantly. “Ye’ll be wanting yer best friends phone number in there.”

“I thought was yer best friend,” Angus said momentarily distracted as Jamie handed over his phone with a sigh.

“Aye, second best,” Rupert mumbled before clicking around on the screen. “Ye dinna have a passcode. Ye should have a passcode.”

“Aye, so I’ve been told,” Jamie said under his breath as Rupert passed the phone to Angus.

The phone went around the circle, each of his friends programming their number and giving Jamie a good ribbing for finally joining the current century. He thought that it was done and people would stop giving him shit for it, about to get his phone back from Mary when a female hand intercepted him.

“Is this yours, Jamie?” Laoghaire’s voice asked from his shoulder, making him flinch in surprise.

“Aye,” Jamie could feel himself blushing and he didn’t know why. He certainly wasn’t embarrassed, but he could feel Claire’s eyes on him and he just wanted her to look away for some reason.

“I did’na ken ye had a phone,” she said in surprise as she looked at it. “Ye’ll be wantin’ my number then?”

She phrased it like a question, Jamie was sure it was meant to be a question, but he wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to say no, because after all, it didn’t much sound like a question.

He shrugged in response, he supposed it was the safest answer and she almost squealed in delight as she programmed her number. She then rang her own phone explaining that then they would both have each other's numbers. Jamie nodded along dumbly, wondering if his phone alerted her if he deleted her number. The bell rang for the start of school and Laoghaire gave him back his phone, saying something about how he should have more photos and he pocketed it as he and Claire made their way to homeroom together.

“I didn’t realise that you having a phone would be the gossip of the school,” Claire smiled as they sat next to each other.

“Aye, I put it off for so long, the lads were bound to give me shite for it when I finally got one.”

“Not just the lads,” Claire said so quietly Jamie wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear her.

“Good morning all,” Mrs Fox said loudly as she called the class to attention. “Welcome to yer second week back, I trust the first went well.”

As she went through the roll call, Jamie could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket with new message notifications and he couldn’t fathom who would be texting him. His Da and sister both knew that he was at school and wouldn’t message him unless it was an emergency, and everyone else who had his number was currently sitting in the classroom with him. He couldn’t imagine anything had happened in the fifteen minutes since they had taken their seats was so urgent that they would need to text him. He looked covertly around the room. Angus and Rupert were both close to nodding off already. Claire was sitting next to him doodling on a piece of paper. Mary and Geillis were both giggling over something in Geillis’ diary. Louise was staring out the window, clearly not paying attention to anything that Mrs Fox was saying.

“And even though it’s only the second week, the Social Committee have already got their plans in place for the first dance of the year. A welcome back, as it were.”

Jamie noticed all the girls in the class sit up and pay a little more attention to Mrs Fox and he thought that he probably should as well.

“Ye all ken the rules, and I expect ye to be well behaved.” Her eyes narrowed at Rupert and Angus and she continued, “The dance is in two Saturday’s time. It should give you more than enough time to find a suitable outfit, and what does that mean? Weel, let me explain.”

Jamie let his mind drift off again as Mrs Fox explained what should and shouldn’t be worn at a school dance. He’d attended a few dances over the years. His first had been mortifyingly awkward and he didn’t move from the side of the school hall for 90 percent of the night. It was also when his father decided that having the “talk” was necessary so that added a whole other part of it. As he’d gotten older he’d lost more of his inhibitions and as long as he was with his friends, the dances could be more fun.

He’d taken Geillis once, as a date. They were friends though, nothing more, and it was one of the more fun dances that he’d been too. Geillis was hilarious and she was definitely the best person to ask at the time.

Jamie looked at Claire from the corner of his eye, she was still doodling on the side of her page, but she did look like she was paying more attention to what Mrs Fox was saying than before. Should Jamie ask her? Would that be appropriate?

Every cell of Jamie’s body wanted to ask her out, but he didn’t know if that was the right thing to do. He was still trying to figure out what he felt for her beyond friendship…. And the things that she did to his body whilst being painfully oblivious. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask her to the dance, maybe it would confuse him even more. But god, did he want to. He wanted to dance with her. To a slow song. They could make it their song. They could share a romantic song together and then they would play it at their wedding, for their first dance. Jamie stopped whatever the hell that train of thought was right in its tracks, and brought himself back into the room.

They were friends, and Claire was still very new to the school, it was only her second week. Of course he should ask her, even if it was just as friends. They could be there for each other, and Jamie could let his imagination run away with him some other time.

The bell rang suddenly and Jamie wondered how in the hell homeroom was over already. The girls immediately congregated by their bags and began gossiping about the dance and what they would wear. Jamie shouldered his bag, preparing to walk Claire to her first class when he was slapped on the back by Rupert.

“Got anyone in mind that yer goin’ to take?” He asked conspiratorially, directing Jamie away from Claire.

“Maybe,” Jamie shrugged casually as Rupert burst into laughter. “Maybe ye should ask Geillis,” Jamie suggested which seemed to shut Rupert up immediately.

“Aye,” he mumbled in embarrassment.

“Thought you’d left without me!” Claire’s breathless voice from behind Rupert and Jamie made them spring apart quickly, as if they had just been caught doing something that they shouldn’t.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jamie said, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“It’s that your legs are so bloody long, one step for you is about fourteen for me.”

“Sorry, Sassenach.” Jamie slowed slightly as he smiled at her. “So… the dance,” he tried to bring up casually. “Ye think ye might go?”

“I don’t see why not. It seems to be the only thing that all the girls are going to talk about for the next two weeks,” Claire answered nonchalantly with a shrug of her shoulders. “Can’t say I’ve been to many dances before though, do you all do the… what’s it called, the Highland Fling?”

“Och, aye, ye canna go to a school dance wi’out first learnin’ the Highland Fling. Ye’d be laughed out of school,” Jamie said, strengthening his accent and making her smile.

“I might rethink my decision to go if that’s the case. I’ve never “Highland Flung” anything in my life.”

Jamie chuckled as he shook his head. “Nah, it’s pretty normal. The guys stand on one side of the hall, the lasses on the other. At some point one o’ the teachers start dancin’ and then because they look so ridiculous, everyone else joins in eventually.”

They arrived at their first class and began to take out their books, and Jamie felt his phone vibrate in his pocket once more.

“Christ almighty- I’ve only had this thing fer less than day and already it’s going to vibrate my leg off,” he said as he pulled it out to check who had been incessantly messaging him. Claire smiled as she carried her books inside the classroom and Jamie unlocked his phone.

8 new messages - Laoghaire McKenzie with a love heart emoji in the middle of her two names. Jamie rolled his eyes before they ran over the numerous messages.

- Hi Jamie! -

- It’s Laoghaire -

- But of course you already know that! -

- So glad you finally got a phone. -

- Now we can talk whenever we want! -

- Homeroom is boring -

- What are you doing at lunch? -

Jamie swallowed heavily at the latest message.

- A School Dance! I can’t wait! -

#The Paper Boy #Chapter 8 #Outlander #Outlander Fanfiction #Jamie x Claire #Highschool AU #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Outlander Fanfic #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter eight #Highschool

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ericsonclan · 3 years

Text

Here Comes The Sun

Summary: Minnie tries to make sure everything is okay for Renata and the baby before remembering that she has a special surprise.

Word Count: 2127

Read on AO3:

It was a quiet morning. The birds were happily chirping outside and the sky was a pale blue. The sun shone up high in the sky as its rays peeked through the window into Minnie and Renata’s bedroom. The light grew warm on Minnie’s face who mumbled something before pulling Renata closer to her. Renata hummed happily and lifted up Minnie’s hand, giving soft kiss after soft kiss before melting back into her wife’s warm embrace. Minnie’s heart fluttered happily at the morning affection and she snuck a kiss on Renata’s neck, causing her wife to laugh lightly.

“That tickles,” Renata sleepily mumbled.

“Sorry,” Minnie whispered and nuzzled her face near Renata’s neck. Minnie’s fingers intertwined with Renata’s and she began to gently brush her thumb against her wife’s hand. The two snuggled in pure bliss, never wanting the moment to end when suddenly life had different plans. The alarm clocked began to buzz again and again. Minnie groaned and slipped her hands free from cuddle time to turn it off. The redhead looked over to the clock to see it was nine thirty. She really had slept in. Usually she would’ve gotten up around six. Minnie glanced back at her wife. Cuddles really were a powerful thing. Renata shifted around before sitting up and smiling at her wife with a sleepy expression. “Good morning,”

“Good morning,” Minnie kissed Renata’s lips then pulled back and leaned down and kissed the small bump of Renata’s belly. “Good morning to you too,”

Renata smiled warmly at the sight. Every day Minnie followed the same routine and each time it filled Renata’s heart with such happiness. Renata was about to speak up when she heard paws whack against the bedroom door, causing it to open. The sound of a small bell rang brightly. Esperanza quickly hopped up onto the bed. The dalmatian wagged her tail happily and slowly moved forward. She must've heard them waking up.

“Hey there, Espy!” Renata gave the dalmatian tons of head scratches causing the dog’s tail to begin to wag wildly. Esperanza tried to lick Renata’s face which made her laugh brightly. “So, Min, wanna get up or cuddle some more?”

Minnie glanced over at the open door. It would probably be a good idea to start the day but she also really just wanted to stay in bed and cuddle with Renata. Before she had even replied Renata was going under the covers again and had grabbed Minnie’s arms. Gently she wrapped them around herself.

“Cuddles it is,” Renata snuggled deeper into the bed. Minnie immediately returned her attention to the cuddles and moved closer to her wife. She savored the peace and tranquility of the moment. Taking a deep breath, Minnie was overwhelmed by the comforting smell of cinnamon. Esperanza quickly curled up on top of their legs and rested peacefully. The couple fell deeper and deeper into cuddle time. That was until Renata’s stomach began to growl.

“Shit, I should make breakfast!” Minnie untangled her arms and hopped out of bed. The abrupt movement made Esperanza’s head shoot up and look around worriedly. “No, stay there, Esperanza. Keep Ren company.” Minnie instructed and the dalmatian listened, moving closer to Renata and resting her head on Renata’s arm. Minnie’s feet whacked against the floor as she jogged into the kitchen. She had to make sure Renata ate enough especially now that she was pregnant. The redhead moved to the fridge and pulled out the eggs, jam and butter then searched for the bread.

“Do you think Minipie is being a bit frantic?” Renata asked her dalmatian who looked up at Renata with big eyes. A small crash from the kitchen made their heads turn to the door.

“It’s fine! Don’t worry about it! A pan just fell!” Minnie’s voice called out and soon the sound of the stove turning on could be heard.

Minnie whisked together the eggs and tossed in some pepper and salt before pouring the contents into a pan. The eggs sizzled in the pan and began to cook while the inside of the toaster glowed a light red as it toasted the bread. Minnie worked to get out the plates and the hot sauce then turned her attention back to the eggs. After a few minutes the eggs were ready, the toast was finished and covered in butter and jam and the plates were piled with food. Minnie grabbed the plate and strolled back into the bedroom. “Ta-da! Breakfast in bed!” Minnie smiled brightly at her wife.

Renata’s eyes shone with happiness and she sat back up again. Esperanza moved over and plopped down beside Renata’s legs, ready to give the biggest puppy dog eyes to get food.

“Yay! I have the best wife!” Renata leaned over and kissed Minnie’s cheek which made her blush softly. “Oh, and you brought me hot sauce too!”

“Only a little bit. I read somewhere that hot sauce can trigger an early pregnancy,”

“Boo, hot sauce is what I crave though. That and your lips,” Renata smiled flirtatiously and captured Minnie’s lips in a warm, tender kiss. Minnie’s eyes grew large before she returned the kiss then gave another and another. The two soon pulled away though as Esperanza was trying to sneakily grab Renata’s food.

“Espy, no! That's for me and the baby. You can have this though,” Renata tossed over a bit of the scrambled egg. The dalmatian happily took the food then returned to resting on Renata’s feet. Soon the couple began to eat and talk happily about this and that when a realization struck Minnie.

“Oh, shit. I forgot the drinks,”

“I can go grab them,” Renata offered and moved to push back the sheets.

“No, you should rest, don’t wanna overwork yourself!” Minnie jumped out of the bed and ran off to grab the drinks. “I’ll be back in a second,”

“Min-” Renata’s voice sounded a little worried.

“It's okay, Ren. I-” Minnie was cut off when her head hit the door and she fell backwards onto her ass.

“I was going to warn you that the door was closed,” Renata leaned over to check on her wife. “Are you okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Minnie rubbed her forehead then got up and opened the door. The redhead strode into the kitchen and began to search the fridge for some orange juice. After successfully finding it she poured two glasses and ventured back to the bedroom. Having safely returned, Minnie sat beside her wife and the two began to happily talk once more. Breakfast was soon consumed and Minnie ran off to do the dishes. She was just about to start them when she heard the jingle of the bell on Esperanza’s collar.

“Espy and I are here to help out,” Renata beamed and walked forward, pushing up the sleeves of her pajama top.

“Ren, it's fine. I can do the dishes,” Minnie smiled back at her love. “You should-”

“Don’t say rest. I’ll be resting plenty today, especially since it's the weekend which means endless cuddle time. So just accept my help.” Renata placed her hands on her hips and tried to look intimidating. Minnie laughed and gave a nod.

“Okay, I’ll wash and you dry but please be careful where you step because-”

“Because sometimes water gets on the floor and it's slippery. Don’t worry, Min, I’ll be careful. And besides, I’ve got you and Esperanza so I’ll be safe,”

Minnie hesitantly nodded and the pair started on the dishes. After a minute Minnie began to hum a little tune; soon Renata joined in. The couple hummed together while doing the dishes and before they knew it they were done. Minnie washed her hands then gave Esperanza some much deserved affection and head pats.

“Okay, back to cuddles!” Renata placed away the damp dish towel before her eyes widened in surprise when Minnie picked her up her arms. “Min,”

“Just to make sure you don’t tire yourself out,” Minnie carefully navigated her way back to the room. Renata took the opportunity to pepper her love’s face with kisses which made Minnie’s face turn as red as her hair. Minnie gently placed Renata down onto the bed when she suddenly remembered something. “Oh, wait here!” Minnie disappeared out of the room. Renata looked confused but listened and waited with Esperanza who laid her head on Renata’s knee.

Minnie walked throughout the house and looked for her guitar. She had totally forgotten that she had been practicing a new song to sing as a surprise for the baby. The doctors had said that around this time was when the baby could begin to hear sounds. Minnie wanted to make sure that her child got to hear countless songs, starting with this one. After a minute of searching Minnie’s eyes landed on the black acoustic guitar. Grabbing it, Minnie tossed the strap over her shoulder and made her way back to the room.

Renata’s smile grew when she saw Minnie return with the guitar. “Ooo, are you going to play a song?” she asked as Minnie took a spot on the bed beside her and propped up the guitar.

“Yeah, it's actually a song I learned to sing to our baby,” Minnie scratched the back of her head and smiled then worked to tune the guitar.

Renata felt her heart warm at Minnie’s statement. She had learned a song for their child. Minnie tried a few notes and gave a short smile when she was happy with the sound. Clearing her throat, she moved her fingers to the right position on the guitar strings. Her fingers plucked the strings, creating a warm, happy tune. Minnie played the bright notes for a few seconds before she began to sing.

“Here comes the sun do, do, do

Here comes the sun

And I say it's all right.”

Minnie played some more notes and smiled at Renata then looked down at her belly.

“Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun do, do, do

Here comes the sun

And I say it's all right.”

Minnie plucked a few more notes, her fingers moving to the different positions as she strummed her guitar. She had a soft, loving expression on her face as she continued to sing.

“Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces

Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun do, do, do

Here comes the sun

And I say it's all right.”

Minnie smiled and looked at her love once more who mirrored her expression. The warm, bright notes continued to fill the room as the redhead continued to the last section of the song.

“Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear

Here comes the sun do, do, do

Here comes the sun

And I say it's all right.”

Minnie strummed a few more notes and took a deep breath as she sung the last few lyrics.

“Here comes the sun do, do, do

Here comes the sun

And I say it's all right.”

She plucked the last note and the joyful tune rang in the air for a moment before fading away. Renata smiled brightly and began to clap. “That was beautiful, Minnie! I know they loved it too,” Renata placed a hand on her belly.

“I wanted to do something special, show them how much I love them,” Minnie smiled softly. “I never thought I’d get a life like this, filled with so much joy and brightness. And now we get to bring a new brightness into this world. A little sundrop,” Minnie took Renata’s hands and gently kissed them. “I guess all of this is to say is I’m so happy to have you in my life and can’t wait to meet our child face to face.”

Minnie’s words made Renata smile softly and she moved forward, kissing her love passionately. After a moment the two pulled away and Minnie readjusted the strap on her shoulder and moved her guitar. “I’m going to learn so many songs to play for them. Our kid is going to grow up listening to music every day!” Minnie began to pluck a few more notes for another song she had been practicing and was surprised when Renata kissed her cheek.

“I love you, Minnie.”

“I love you too, Ren,” Minnie smiled then placed a hand on her belly. “And I love you too.”

The couple shared a smile and soon Minnie decided to play the song again. The music filled the room with warmth and joy as they sat together and looked forward to their bright future.

#twdg #twdg minnie #twdg renata #twdg esperanza #twdg minata #fanfic #ericson's diner au

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elaboratedbee · 4 years

Text

Bigby x Reader

A/N: this is my first imagine, so let me know what you guys think and if there’s anything you guys want me to write! :)

Prompt: “What’s with the box?”

Summary: You introduce Bigby to the wonders of vinyl, and he hates it (or so he says)

Rating: Mature-ish! There’s implied sexy times but nothing actually innapropriate in this one! :)

Ship: Bigby x Reader (unspecified gender)

Word count: 2,168

A Little Quiet

“Ta-da!” You proclaim proudly, placing down a box onto Bigby’s desk. You were careful to avoid moving or covering any of the case files and scattered paperwork that littered the surface. To the casual observer, it would look like a mess of papers with no rhyme or reason, but Bigby was funny like that. His apartment was disorganised and unclean to put it lightly, but when it came to his cases, everything was just how he liked it. It all made sense to him.

At first, Bigby acknowledged you with nothing but a grunt, his brows furrowed as he continued to stare at the case file in front of him as if he thought that if he glared at it hard enough then it would start to make sense. “The whole ‘big bad wolf staring into your soul thing’ works better if whatever you’re intimidating can talk, you know that, right?” You teased him, waiting for him to finally turn his attention to you and your announcement.

This broke through to him, and he looked up at you with tired eyes. He was always so tired, especially when he was in the middle of any kind of case. This time it was a string of B&Es that he just couldn’t seem to pin anyone for. His immediate and most obvious suspect Jack had been quickly ruled out due to his presence at the Lucky Pawn being accounted for at the time of almost every single event, so it hadn’t been the simple open and shut that you thought the wolf may have been hoping for, and with the pattern continuing, you could feel the Sheriff’s frustration mounting over the last few weeks. As much as he would pretend otherwise, you knew that the opinion of the Fables affected Bigby much more than he cared to admit, and the growing unrest amongst the citizens of the town only festered his frustration. Their eyes would be on Bigby, and Bigby’s eyes would be tired. That was the way it always seemed to be. “What’s with the box?” He inquired, even a shortage of sleep not enough to kill his curiosity.

“It’s a record player,” you reveal, removing the box to properly show off the contraption.

Bigby looks confused for a moment, his nose scrunching ever so slightly as he formulated his response. “Why would you want one of those?” He asks eventually, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Bigby!”

“What?” He leans back in his chair and makes a vague gesture with his hands, “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to come home every day and then be surrounded by more noise.”

For such a powerful beast, Bigby really was a creature of habit. Before the two of you met, you supposed he spent all of his evenings in silence, accompanied by whiskey and cigarettes as he worked the night away. With the job that he had, which seemed to mainly involve yelling at, or getting yelled at by, other Fables on a daily basis, you could see why the man would appreciate a little quiet when he was finally alone.

But this was different, music was something that you wanted to share with him. It was another one of the many differences that set you apart, that often prompted other Fables to give the two of you funny stares or to whisper among themselves about just how exactly the two of you managed to make it work. Bigby was comfortable in silence, used to it. You, on the other hand, thrived in chaos and colour and noise. You love music and the sprawling city below your window that was never really quiet, never truly asleep.

“You’ll see,” you promised him determinedly, before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. It was a simple gesture, but it drew the tension that he didn’t even realise he was holding out of his shoulders, and he melted into your affections. “Come to bed,” you appeal to him quietly while you have his attention, straddling his lap with one leg either side of him.

“I can’t,” he refuses, but his voice is strained as you run one of your hands through his hair, and begin to place slow and deliberate kisses over his jaw.

“Come to bed, Bigby,” you repeat, your voice more firm the second time, and he wordlessly agrees, his body melting into yours in his submission. He rests a head on your shoulder and sighs.

“Okay.”

Effortlessly, despite his lack of sleep, he stands up and carries you with him and you wrap your legs around his waist. He places you down onto the bed and you try to tone down your smile, internally celebrating your victory. Looking all too happy with your success would only drive him back to his desk, so instead, you sit up and tug him closer by his tie. He allows you to slip the knot undone and pull it away from his body and undo his wrinkled shirt buttons one by one, sliding it off his broad shoulders. It’s an intimate act, but not a sexual one as you undress him and you follow your actions with kisses, gentle and certain.

When he finally falls into bed next to you, pulling you close into his arms, you think to yourself that this is worth it. It doesn’t always go like this, where Bigby concedes so beautifully and with so little coercion. It’s more often a hell of a lot more difficult. And there are nights when it’s an impossible task, where you push too hard and he snaps at you. But on the nights that you lay together, breathing together, being together, you would make the trade a million times over.

The next morning, you implement your plan. Fabletown seems content to hold off its daily disasters for a few sweet hours, so you slip out of bed early and start making breakfast for the both of you. Accompanied by the lilting tone of Frank Sinatra, you waltz about the cramped kitchen as much as possible as you mix ingredients and avidly look over frying pans. Before long, the smell of bacon lures the wolf out of your bedroom and he stops in the doorway of the kitchen, regarding you in silence for a long moment before he speaks.

“I don’t deserve you,” Bigby says, watching you lay down bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes and a steaming pot of coffee. It’s a sentiment that he shares a little too often for your taste.

“You deserve better,” you argue as he makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his headrest on your shoulder.

He growls uncomfortably at your response and you laugh, “Now you know how stupid you sound when you say that.” You point out and the two of you sit down to eat. The vinyl player spins on unobtrusively as Bigby enjoys your offering with a smile on his face, a rare and beautiful sight for such an early hour. Still, he eats quickly and stands, dropping a kiss to your forehead and grimacing.

“I have to go,” he states.

“I know.”

With one last to kiss to your lips, he turns around to leave, before he stops and turns to face you once more. “You know, the only thing that could have made this breakfast better would have been if you turned that damn thing off.” He gives you a sly grin and disappears out of the door before you can come up with a rebuttal.

That bastard.

For the next couple of weeks, the record player becomes almost a form of competition between the two of you. You turn it on whenever you’re at his apartment, bringing different records over with all kinds of genres (some of which Bigby despises a lot more than others) and trying to coax him into singing or humming the lines along with you, or giving you a twirl. In return, he attempts to take the needle off whenever you look away for too long and even resorted to putting a large scratch in the absolutely deafening heavy rock record you had bought over.

“Oops,” had been his deadpan response when you showed him the very suspiciously fingernail looking scratch on the disc.

Occasionally, you think you have him. One night, he arrives home delightfully early and calls you to share the good news. As soon as you’re finished with your work, you go straight to his place. Arriving home before the dead of the night puts Bigby in a comparatively joyous state compared to his usual broodiness, and you put on a record as soon as you enter. It’s almost force of habit by now. He lets out a totally overdramatic groan of disapproval at your action, but you ignore him completely and take him in your arms.

Pulling him close to you, you begin to sway lightly to the sound of Paul Anka’s rendition of Put Your Head On My Shoulder. Bigby stiffens, shaking his head a little as you wind your arms around his shoulders. “I can’t dance,” he grumbles.

“Neither can I,” you confide, “not a fucking clue,” which pulls a small smile out of him. The two of you turn about the cramped living room with a complete lack of grace and even rhythm at times, occasionally standing on one another and muttering hurried apologies. Eventually, Bigby starts to loosen up slightly, holding you closer to him and allowing you to pull him around the room. By the end of the song, he’s even bold enough to invite you to twirl and you do so as a finishing flourish.

The music fades, but neither of you pulls away for a long moment, staying entwined in the centre of the living space. “I like having you close. Right here, right in front of me where nothing else can interfere. Mine.” Bigby doesn’t meet your eyes as he confesses his inner thoughts, his voice deep and his words slow. He emphasises his point by tightening his grip on your waist and pressing a hard kiss to your lips. It’s not often the wolf lets slip how he feels, especially when its a somewhat primal and basal thought, but you love it.

You cup his rough jaw with one hand and kiss him back, bodies pressed close and reassure him.

“Yours.”

It’s only after a long moment that you pull away from the kiss and Bigby murmurs more lowly in your ear, “I can think of another way I get just as close to you, without that damn machine.” He presses himself closer to you and smiles suggestively, but it’s warm love in his eyes before burning desire and you grin. You know that you’re winning.

It’s another week before you catch him, taking him by surprise as you turn up at his place. He swings the door open with a frown already fixed into his face, sure it was going to be some Fable asking for one favour or another. The frown clears when he sees you standing on his doorstep and his eyes brighten. Without hesitating, he pulls you inside and closes the door before promptly pushing you up against it. His actions are urgent and forceful, but he waits for you to kiss him first before he allows himself to place a hand either side of your head and devour your mouth.

His teeth, quickly sharpening, bite at your lower lip before his tongue soothes the sting away. Your own hands are soon twisted in his hair, his curls soft between your fingers as you tug on them, trying to pull him impossibly closer. When he finally allows you a moment, you grin at him. “Bad day?”

“Bad day,” he confirms, “about to get a lot better.”

Finally able to think straight now that Bigby’s mouth wasn’t on yours, you register the sound of music floating through the apartment. An expression of pure, unadulterated joy appears on your face and the Sheriff baulks, realising his mistake as it dawns upon your face.

“You’re listening to music!” It’s almost an accusation as you cry out victoriously and Bigby hangs his head.

“Alright, alright. I put it on when I got home. It’s kinda like a cigarette,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand shamefully, “it’s a noise that blocks out the other shit.” You notice that the usually overflowing ashtrays have depleted somewhat, an additional bonus that you had not expected.

“It grows on you, right?” You punch his shoulder lightly and he rolls his eyes and nods.

“I guess you could say that.”

As he pulls you in for another kiss, more concerned with getting both of you out of any clothes that will prevent him from turning his day around, he keeps to himself that it wasn’t that he liked the music, and it wasn’t that he preferred it to his cigarettes.

It just reminded him of you.

#the wolf among us #twau #the wolf among us imagine #twauimagine #bigbyxreader #bigby x reader #bigby wolf #the wolf among us fic #maybe he is soft #imagine #bigby wolf x reader #bigbywolfxreader #Bigby Wolf X Reader #bigby wolf imagine

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tiisshu · 4 years

Text

I know I said tomorrow, but like... I finished early and I’m too impatient not to share immediately!

Sick!Jaskier with an Observant and Worried!Geralt.

This sneezy sickfic is for a trade with @bless-king (I realllllly hope you like it, i’m not sure what the original prompt was now but ... TA-DA!)

It's before Dawn when Geralt awakens to the silent darkness of their humble camp, silent that is, save for the soft snores drifting up from the Bard to his left. Usually sleep is when Jaskier is blessedly quiet, so the fact that Geralt can pick up on the noise causes him pause.

There is also the fact that in the night, the bard has shuffled in his bedroll enough to be practically pressed to the Witcher's side. This normally would have garnered no more than an eye roll and something akin to fond exasperation. However, despite the lack of a fire, Jaskier seemed to be pumping out more heat than usual. In fact, Geralt's side closest to the sleeping man felt almost... Clammy.

"Hmmm...", he hummed to himself.

There was something else…

Geralt sat puzzled for a few moments trying to identify something in the dark. Not by sight, but by scent. It was a curious thing he thought, usually Jaskier wore whatever cologne was in season and under that the bard had a sort of fresh crisp scent like the forest after a rain.

Now however, long after the cologne had worn off, Jaskier's natural scent seemed to have picked up a cloying bittersweet edge.

He wasn't sure what it could be but He didn't ruminate on it long knowing they would have little time to spare this morning before they broke camp and already Geralt had dallied too long.

With a stretch he began to pack up his bedroll and then went to gently tend to Roach who eagerly accepted the few pats the Witcher extended while his focus subconsciously returned to the sleeping Bard.

. . .

It wasn't until some time later as the sun began to creep above the horizon and breakfast was well on it's way that Geralt regarded the young bard again, brows furrowed, it was true that Jaskier often complained of their early mornings but he never managed to fail to appear at the fireside blearily awaiting his portion come this time.

Once he'd removed the pan from the fire and had divided their meal, Geralt rose with a sigh.

All at once, as he approached Jaskier, Geralt was overcome by an icy-hot prickling sensation between his shoulder blades- an anxiety he associated more with the hunt than a simple task of waking his companion.

With a squeeze of a shoulder and his name uttered low in that familiar growl Jaskier was roused groggily from sleep.

Geralt noted the way the bard blinked and looked about him a moment as if he had forgotten where it was he had gone to sleep.

Jaskier gave a little cough and rubbed at his eyes before turning those sky blues upward to his friend.

"Nng, Mornin'… already..?", Jaskier asked slowly, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes as he talked around a yawn.

A minute crease formed high on the bridge of the Bard's nose a moment before he reached up to rub the back of a knuckle beneath it.

With a scrunch of his features though, Jaskier dropped his hand having reconciled himself to the process, and tilted his head back just as his mouth dropped open to snatch a quick breath before-

Hih!- Hng'iixsshu! Heh!… Hih!.. INGXXH'TSUU! Which he smothered in the rough fabric of his blanket, raising his head a moment after looking like the double had rattled something loose leaving him sniffly and pink faced.

Geralt felt that white-hot prickle creep further up his spine but even when he knew he should broach the subject the words simply wouldn't come out.

Finally, he managed to spit out "Breakfast" in what he hoped wasn't as sharp as it sounded.

Jaskier startled at the suddenness of his voice almost like he had managed to fall back to sleep in the meantime.

He groggily smiled up at the Witcher and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

" Suh-..Sorry, didn't mean to sleep so late", he apologized as he stiffly extracted himself from his bedroll with a sniff and began to pack up.

Geralt hummed and returned to his seat by the fire, taking up his plate, he waited until he caught Jaskier's eye again to look pointedly at the other spot near the fire with the waiting plate.

Jaskier huffed a laugh, stifling the cough that tried to follow and dropped his blanket and took the seat opposite Geralt at the fire and began to pick at his food.

This too did not go unnoticed.

. . .

Breakfast was light and it was quiet between the pair save for the occasional sniffle that Jaskier was trying to be discreet about as they ate and soon they were busy breaking camp, Geralt arranging things in Roach's saddlebags with care as Jaskier went to the stream to wash his face.

Geralt was just getting settled in Roach's saddle when Jaskier reappeared at her other side shivering.

He looked incredibly chilled and yet smiled brightly when he caught the Witcher's eyes on him.

"A-ah..Alright there, Geralt?", Jaskier asked through chattering teeth.

Geralt had heard more than saw the way the bard was shivering and trying unsuccessfully to hide the distinct sound of sniffling.

He rolled his eyes skyward and wondered yet again what he had done exactly to warrant the Bard's company on this particular hunt and why Jaskier couldn't simply be satisfied with the details he was given later.

He'd be warmer in any case and Geralt would have one less thing to worry about.

Though in Geralt's opinion, Jaskier would have been better off if he were anyone other than Jaskier.

For one, he thought the younger man had done a piss-poor job of drying off after splashing around in the river and he rummaged around in one of the saddlebags until he found a clean square of fabric- which he tossed directly into the bard's face without warning.

"Dry off properly", he rumbled.

Jaskier squawked at the sudden assault, "G..Geralt! What the hell-?".

"You're shivering".

Jaskier furrowed a brow up at him but the Witcher saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth and the way his nostrils flared from whatever tickle the bard seemed to have but surprisingly had yet to mention.

" Why Geralt, is-s that concern I see on that sto.. -hih…s-stoic mug of yours?". Jaskier followed the question with a seesawing of his breath that lead to another sneeze which the bard strangled into submission with a pinch of his nose last second.

Hih-Huh'Esxxt!

Geralt said nothing and spurred Roach into a trot leaving Jaskier scrambling to swing his lute up on his back and get into place beside them on the trail.

"Alrighd, alrighd- I didn'd mean anything by id. Gods you're moody this mornig", Jaskier commented stuffily as he used the handkerchief to wick the moisture off his face and neck.

"Pidy that", he commented with a muted sniff as he pocketed the fold of cloth. "Feld nice and cool".

. . .

That afternoon they stopped by a river to refill their water skins and allow Roach a few moments to graze.

Geralt was busy with the task while Jaskier set his lute down by their gear and went to lean against the trunk of a tree in the shade.

After a time Geralt capped the water skins and secured them in a saddlebag giving Roach a good scratch behind the ear.

He took a moment to speak softly to his mare before he noticed that Jaskier had in fact fallen asleep where he lay.

The Witcher tilted his head to the side a degree, golden eyes darkening as he furrowed his brow.

He wasn't sure what it was that struck him so, but he couldn't remember Jaskier napping before… surely he had gotten enough sleep?

He thought back to how the bard had turned in early the night before, almost right after supper, and frowned.

Geralt's frown deepened as he approached the bard; Jaskier had looked like he had merely fallen asleep with his arms crossed but as Geralt got closer he could see that the younger man was in fact shivering slightly and was holding himself for warmth.

Geralt tilted his head back and raised his eyes to the tree's branches where dark leaves sat motionless.

No breeze, and yet…?

Geralt grabbed one of their blankets and draped it over his companion and then took a seat.

It bothered him deeply that they were stagnant in their travels but that seemed to be fighting for the spot of top priority with the sinking feeling that the bard was coming down with something.

Something he could even smell multiplying in the young man's system. It was unnerving to say the least as Geralt realized he wasn't well versed in caretaking when it came to illness. Field dressings and wounds were so common place that he almost would have preferred Jaskier was injured instead.

With an awkward rub to the back of his neck, Geralt considered how he might approach the bard in regards to his obvious decline.

The Witcher was not particularly loquacious and he was very aware of that. He heaved a sigh when he realized Jaskier would probably misconstrue the Witcher's intentions and become upset- afraid he was being left behind.

The bard in question snuffled in his sleep just then, as if he could tell what the Witcher had been thinking, and tossed his head with a grimace.

His nose was running slightly in his sleep and he had a sort of sadness to his features even in his sleep that Geralt had to look away at first.

Nightmare, Geralt reasoned, tentatively reaching forward to smooth the worry away from the younger man's forehead when he'd composed himself, the dry heat his palm was met with wasn't surprising but it certainly was no comfort to the Witcher.

He'd have to keep an eye on the fever and they were currently at least a couple days ride to the nearest healer… Geralt knew what needed to be done and they were not far from the river which was a small comfort so he rose quietly stepping away from the sleeping man to stow his weapons and remove his chest piece.

After he was unburdened he grabbed his smaller alchemy bag and tucked a rag into his belt and began to head toward the river when he paused, casting back a final worried glance.

He would only be a few minutes, enough time to gather a few water-loving herbs that had antipyretic properties if the bard could stomach it but the idea of Jaskier waking to no one left a sour taste in his mouth.

"I'll be right back…", he says, more for his own benefit.

. . .

Geralt was rapidly becoming frustrated.

It didn't take long for him to identify recent footprints in the mud along the banks of the river. Someone had been through there a few days prior. Been there and had harvested every herb of use in the immediate area.

Geralt closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he let out a growl of frustration, tossing the mangled refuse of whoever the careless Alchemist had been.

He tried to reign in his anger, which he knew was poorly disguised worry.

There were still options yet, but this was the most likely to provide sufficient relief. Geralt, who often suffered fevers from various injuries over the years felt another pang of sympathy.

He remembered the bone aches and weakness, a sense of having no balance and the growing desire for the universe to swallow him up so it would end.

Luckily, his Witcher's constitution made the process short lived.

Jaskier wouldn't be so lucky. And speaking of…

Geralt trudged up the small embankment toward their camp but stopped suddenly when a slight breeze brought a sharp scent of fear mixed with that cloying bittersweet smell he had detected from Jaskier earlier.

He swore and broke into a run, he arrived a few moments later at their camp where the Bard lay tangled in his blanket, wide fearful eyes brimming over with tears as he shuddered from a full body chill.

He instinctively recoiled from Geralt's encroaching form and stared at him recognizably.

"Jaskier…", The Witcher breathed, careful to slow his movements. He lowered himself to his knees to reduce his natural looming stature.

He tried to remind himself that it was the fever but the sting of fresh hurt licked at the edge of his composure.

The bard hadn't taken his eyes off him, hadn't spoken, but Geralt detected the first few wavers of his breath beginning to hitch before Jaskier's eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to a punishing sneezing fit.

Geralt shook his head almost fond as he registered the slight look of dismay cross his friend's features when he went to cover and found his limbs still fully entangled.

Hih-uh.. Ahh'Sssshhiew! Hhh! ...heh..hih'Tshiew! *snf* hih'…Hae'esshiew! Hishhah!.. Hng-Nngxxt! HnngSSHIEW! Nghh..Hih...heh...

As Jaskier was left hitching, Geralt had closed the distance and knelt next to the bard and had begun to mop his face up with the rag he still had while he spoke in a hushed voice he hoped translated as soothing to the fevered man struggling to recover from the strenuous effort of his affect sinuses.

"It's alright, you're alright. Here- just… let me…", he tried as he untangled the blanket, he also took the opportunity to place one curious hand at the base of Jaskier's neck.

He grimaced and began to move faster, skilled hands extricating the blanket from the bard's white-knuckled grip.

"You're too hot!", he said by way of explaining, the silence that followed instead of one of Jaskier's jokes made him feel almost ill himself.

Jaskier whined, snuffled wetly before turning his head too fluidly for Geralt's liking but the recognition - though only brief- in the bard's eyes was enough hope to spur on his careful ministrations.

With one of his patent hums, Geralt maneuvered them to where Jaskier was positioned between his legs with his back leaned against his chest while the Witcher used the rag wet from one of their water skins to cool down as much of Jaskier that was exposed in hopes that it would help.

"G…Geralt?".

"There you are", Geralt rumbled softly.

He felt when Jaskier finally relaxed against him, his body seemed to bleed the tension as easily as it had coiled itself into such a panicked state earlier and Geralt heaved a sigh of relief.

"I couldn't fix it, but I'll get you through".

Jaskier sniffled and leaned his head back to look up at Geralt, his eyes were tired but much clearer.

"I'mb sorry…".

Geralt actually startled at that, but knew deep down that this was the reason Jaskier had not bothered to mention his discomfort.

True to form, Geralt had no words. How does one respond to something so… wrong?

His head was still reeling from the sound of his friend's voice. It seemed he was so distracted by the various symptoms he was sensing that he hadn't noticed the major tip-off.

These few words where the first he'd heard from the normally chatty bard since that morning when he had awoken him. It was enough to leave him feeling fevered himself.

Finally, He simply placed one large reassuring hand on Jaskier's shoulder and gave a squeeze. Jaskier, after a moment, raised one shaking hand to give it a squeeze back before he settled into a restful sleep.

#The W/itcher sickfics #Sneezing kink #sneezefic #sick!Jaskier #Caring!Geralt #Sickfic trade #Bless-King #Feverish #fever #sneezing #snzblr #snz community #The W/itcher

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