#Dietary Adjustments

[monalisha1328]

"Mars in the 6th house empowers individuals in their work and health pursuits, enhancing motivation and effectiveness. However, this placement can also introduce challenges such as workplace conflicts and stress. Remedies include fostering teamwork, establishing work-life balance, and incorporating stress-relief techniques to navigate obstacles and promote overall well-being."

Visit now : Mars in 6th House: Power, Challenges, and Remedies

[murdockhawkeye]

would it be a big leap to think that maybe the full moon, didn't actually grant them 'new powers' (not talking about s1e1/s2e1), but instead.. just turned them on?

like what if cleo and the others already had siren abilities, they just didn’t know? what if rikki/emma were able to cool down/heat up their bodies at will?

did they ever actually. check if they were able to do those things or?

[derpinathebrave]

I mean, yeah sex is pretty intimate but have you ever had someone bake for you? That shits on another level

[andromedasummer]

me 🤝 the person at the cafe counter 🤝 the person behind me = auditory processing disorder

[tiktokparrot]

Parrot Diarrhea: Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment

Learn all about parrot diarrhea—its causes, symptoms, and treatment options. Discover how to help your parrot recover quickly and stay healthy. Read more now!

[gofitnesspro]

Demystifying PCOD and PCOS: Spotting the Variances

PCOD (Polycystic Ovary Disease) and PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) are related conditions, but they have some differences: Definition: PCOD: Primarily refers to the presence of multiple cysts in the ovaries along with irregular menstrual cycles and elevated androgen levels. It may or may not present with symptoms like acne, hirsutism (excessive hair growth), and weight gain. PCOS: Involves a…

[healthmonastery]

Natural Home Remedies for Migraine Relief

Migraines are more than just headaches; they can be debilitating, affecting your daily life and productivity. While medications are available to help manage the pain, many people seek natural alternatives to avoid potential side effects. In this blog post, we’ll explore some effective home remedies for migraine relief, helping you find comfort and alleviate your migraine symptoms. Home Remedies…

[wellhealthhub]

Gluten Allergy Symptoms Adults: Unveiling the Hidden Culprit

Explore a comprehensive guide to understand and manage gluten allergy symptoms in adults. From digestive discomfort to neurological challenges, learn how to identify and address these symptoms effectively. Introduction: Unmasking Gluten Allergy Symptoms In a world where dietary concerns are increasingly at the forefront of health discussions, the spotlight shines brightly on gluten – a protein…

[albedov]

i hate myself for making myself sad- /lh - spoilers for 2.5

jiaoqiu stared down at the dish in discontent, disgust even. for the first time ever he started poking at the meal with his chopsticks, he never played with his food but you both were well aware he was simply trying to stall, to build up the idea that it wasn't any different to his usual meals and fool himself to a painful change.

ever since his discharge from the healers, they paid you a personal visit with a list of "Doctor's Post-Charge Advice" and a "Treatment Plan". you had taken on the responsibility of helping jiaoqiu take care of himself out of the pure fact that he was your lover and you wanted to help if even a little.

although the one you think he would have the hardest time adjusting to was the simple advice to "avoid spicy foods at all costs".

he had been put on strict diets restrictions to avoid having his wounds inflamed, so it was temporary change but quite the major one. jiaoqiu ate spicy foods because that was all he could taste, all he could feel. now, in spite of everything, he didn't even have that anymore.

"jiao-ge please, you have to eat something" you watched as his face scrunched in disgust at the idea - you knew a part of him was childish or even defiant and so you had taken the liberty of making his meals but he refused to let you do so alone, resigning you to the role of a chaperone. so you both knew the meal wasn't as spicy as usual.

jiaoqiu knew he was being silly. that it was only temporary but he couldn't help it. but he also knew you were sat right beside him, his tail was yet again curled around your leg, a habit he picked up recently. and you wouldn't let him go without eating. so with some difficulty, he had his first bite.

a part of him became even more deflated by the lack of taste. his face visibly dropped and it pained you to know that there was nothing you could do.

"say, if you eat your meals until the dietary restrictions are lifted, when they are we can go buy the spiciest ingredients known and have a proper meal ok?"

it was a difficult change but he'd do it for you.

tbh i love spicy food so i probably would suffer the same-

[pickingupmymercedes]

She's here and she's not only ours - Lewis Hamilton

Series: She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you / She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she won't be the only one / She's here and he won't let her give up / She's here and so is he / She's here and so are we - (they can all be read as one-shots)

pairing: Dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Navigating the journey from being a couple to becoming a family is often likened to entering a whole new world—one filled with unpredictable challenges and profound joys. The radiant 7-month-old girl had effortlessly woven herself into the fabric of your lives, captivating not only you and Lewis but everyone who crossed her path. Yet, adjusting to new routines, shifting priorities, managing emotional and physical changes, and, most crucially, cultivating a deep bond with your child were aspects of parenthood that no book, class, or well-meaning advice had adequately prepared you for.

And so, the real test of parenthood often lay in learning to prioritize.

“Oh my God, she’s growing up so quickly!” Susie exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she entered the living area of your apartment, making a beeline for the giggling toddler seated in her bumbo seat on the kitchen island.

“Please, don’t remind me. Time is flying by too fast already,” you replied, your smile widening as you watched your baby recognize Susie and reach out to be scooped up.

“I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced… I just... I had to know why,” Susie said, her expression curious and concerned.

You had expected people to comment and be surprised, but you hadn’t anticipated the attention coming so soon, even before you and Lewis had a chance to share your news.

“So, I take it everyone at Mercedes already knows?”

“More like everyone on the paddock, probably,” Susie confirmed.

“Do you remember her first few days? When she struggled to gain weight and every day felt like a battle?”

The first inkling that something was amiss came mere hours after you had returned home with your newborn daughter. Her incessant cries and insatiable hunger, even after an hour of breastfeeding, had raised red flags.

You had been warned that the initial days would be challenging—that you were now solely responsible for nourishing a tiny human. So, you soldiered on, suppressing your growing panic and tears, dreading the 40-minute feeding intervals where you’d bite your tongue and cheeks to keep from crying.

You tried every trick in the book—increasing your water intake, warm and cold compresses, dietary changes, pumping between feeds, consulting lactation specialists, and even consuming magic lactation cookies. Yet, your milk supply remained stubbornly low.

The sense of failure weighed heavily on you; your primary role was to nurture your baby, something you had done successfully during pregnancy. Instead of relishing the joys of new motherhood, you felt like a failure, a lesser mother to your daughter and a villain to your husband's fairytale of having kids.

Lewis was acutely aware of your distress and tried to be supportive. Despite knowing, as doctors and specialists had advised, that you needed to supplement with formula for both your daughter’s and your own well-being, he refrained from pressuring you. Every night he would feel as though you were punching him in the face when you went out of his sight to cry, or how his chest would tighten when he carried your screaming daughter in his arms, knowing she needed more, from him and from you. Still, he didn’t have in him to lecture you, yet again, on how that little girl needed more, not when you were giving your life and sanity away for her.

It wasn’t until the day before her second week checkup that you broke down. You knew the scale wasn’t going to give her much more grams than she had the past week, way less than she deserved and the added burden that he would be going for his first race of the season in a couple days had you reaching your breaking point.

Seeing Lewis on the sofa, looking worried and worn-out, you collapsed in front of him, letting your tears flow freely. He held you, comforting you with gentle whispers, and you both agreed that transitioning to formula was for the best. Despite the months of hearing about the benefits of breastfeeding, you had come to understand that sometimes the most challenging part of parenthood was knowing when to stand your ground and make the best choice for your family.

“We don’t want his job to feel like a burden every weekend,” you said.

“So, the Hamiltons will be a staple in the paddocks?” Susie asked, her approving smile revealing her pride.

“Life doesn’t always go as planned, does it?” You shrugged

“The media is going to love that smile,” Susie cooed, her attention directed at the toothy grin of your daughter.

“Yeah… She won’t be only ours, but Lewis needs her as much as she needs him. I guess it’s a small price to pay,” you replied, smiling at your yawning daughter in Susie’s lap, her little hands rubbing her eyes—a clear sign that her naptime was due.

“Please, let me. She still loves Disney songs, right?” Susie absentmindedly asked, already heading towards your daughter’s room, laying the toddler on her cheast and ready to lull her to sleep with a familiar melody. As you watched, you couldn’t help but marvel at how your daughter had already captured so many hearts at such a young age.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

If you'd like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[flawseer]

Jade Mountain Academy students

#3 - Nightwing chapter

The Jade Mountain Nightwing chapter, also known as "the part where Mightyclaws carries the entire weight of the Quartz winglet's canon characterization by himself". There are a bunch of wacky headcanons that have snuck their way on here. Shout-out to the deliberation on Nightwing powers by my partner @flamebringer0.

Moonwatcher

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Jade

Color - Iridescent black and blue

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Kinkajou (Rainwing), Carnelian (Skywing)

Favorite subject - Literacy

Least fav. subject - did not disclose

Physical characteristics - three prominent silver-colored scales on face (two adjacent to each eye, one in center of forehead); scale clusters of iridescent blue and green along neck, torso, and tail; small stature, round features with well-defined musculature

Other characteristics - socially subdued, quiet, mother reported history of migraines (suggest keeping stock of pain-relieving herbs on hand in medical cave, monitor hydration habits); appears ostracized from fellow Nightwing students (suggest communication seminar)

Bigtail

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Gold

Color - Dark ash

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Pike (Seawing), Flame (Skywing)

Favorite subject - History

Least fav. subject - Science

Physical characteristics - nasal ridge sloped; large stature, uneven distribution of body mass; tail size and length medium to underdeveloped

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition (suggest dietary seminar and monitoring of food intake); caught bringing bottle of cactus wine into classroom (confiscated, reprimanded after incident but monitor future behavior)

Fearless

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Silver

Color - Charcoal black and red

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Sepia (Mudwing)

Favorite subject - History

Least fav. subject - Literacy

Physical characteristics - long dorsal spines; localized reddish accents; stature is noticeably small and thin

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition (suggest dietary seminar and monitoring of food intake); fixation on Nightwing culture (gently encourage diversifying interests)

Mindreader

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Copper

Color - Charcoal black

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Alba (Icewing), Snail (Seawing)

Favorite subject - Cultural Exchange

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - black teardrop scales adjacent to both eyes; size is average, features appear very gaunt

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition (suggest dietary seminar and monitoring of food intake); appears socially open and well-adjusted

Mightyclaws

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Quartz

Color - Shadow gray

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Barracuda (Seawing)

Favorite subject - Art

Least fav. subject - Anatomy

Physical characteristics - light horns, bent; prominent jawline; small stature with uneven distribution of body mass

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition, noticeably stressed during meal times (suggest dietary seminar, monitoring of food intake, and counseling); artistically inclined, has started therapeutic painting to cope with post-traumatic stress (at behest of staff)

[szyvrue]

GREEN EGGS AND HAM, miya osamu.

( 10.6k ) tropes ── meet messy(ish?) to lovers speedrun, baker x chef, mistletoe kisses, scheming friends.

wdym this is over twelve hours late ... happy holidays, @tulip-room! i hope the inflated word count makes up for the late submission. getting to know you through the server has been a gift and i really hope you enjoy the fic <3 this was written for @lale-txt's secret santa, thank you sm for organising this lale x

credits to @/nectardaddy for the divider.

I.

The holidays is, par the course, a time of great stress for you: as the designated Christmas host, December finds itself packed full of activities, lists, organisation, recipe testing—this year is no different. When you really think about it, organising Christmas with friends is no different from organising one with a family that halfway hates each other. Two of your friends are unreliable and RSVP two days after the last possible date; one will have his answer in by the day and have weekly check-ins to see how things are going and readily offer you a list of allergies or foods to avoid; one almost accidentally invites half of his contact list, which stretches longer than it has any right to; two (not naming names) decide to ruin all your plans two weeks before Christmas.

Oh, whatever. You’re naming them. Hinata Shouyou and Miya Atsumu. See, you’ve spent the first two weeks of December planning. You have had everyone RSVP, you underwent the arduous task of finding out dietary requirements (have you ever had to figure out a Christmas meal plan when the invitees have the diets of professional athletes and you consider dessert the core of a Christmas meal?), you’ve already mostly decorated your apartment, you’ve made a comprehensive meal plan. You’ve practically organised everything down to the minute. And what do those two do, in the face of your extensive planning?

They spit in your face, that’s what.

“We’re really sorry,” Hinata says, at least having the sense to look sheepish. “We didn’t mean to double book.”

“It just kinda happened,” Atsumu agrees, looking far less repentant. He just has a criminally guilty face like that. “We know it’s a lot to spring on you so close to the date, but seriously, Samu’s a great chef. He won’t make it hard on you.”

“How do you accidentally overbook on Christmas?” You hiss, half offended and half baffled. “Seriously? You couldn’t have told me this earlier? Why not just invite him along? I can accommodate an extra guest, but a co-host?”

The boys exchange a glance. Atsumu is the one to speak. “Well, we didn’t want ta make one of you feel bad but asking you to, uh, give up your hard work. And you guys’ll get along great! He’s really…”

“Friendly!” Hinata pipes up, nodding aggressively. “He’s a chef, too—did we say that yet?—so he can help you with the food. And he probably won’t mind. And he’s conscientious. And—”

“Stop trying to pitch this guy to me,” you groan. You bury your head in your hands, taking a moment to breathe. Okay, okay. You’re flexible. You’re accommodating. You can handle this. Why can’t you just host Christmas, though? Miya Osamu may be a chef, but as a baker you’re far from a hazard in the kitchen. Anyone that’s had your Christmas pudding practically fights to get you back in there. And what about his Christmas guest list? How much more food do you have to make? How many guests do you have to host? Will he want to take over dinner now? What about—

“We’re really sorry.” Hinata leans over the counter, gripping your hand between his own. “We know this is short notice. I really think you’ll get along with Osamu though, and there shouldn’t be too many adjustments. There’s, like, a two person invite difference. You have really overlapping guest lists.” 

Your lips purse. Hate to admit it, you already know what your response is going to be.

II.

you: hey, is this miya osamu? you: hinata & atsumu gave me your number for christmas you: are you free anytime so we can discuss plans? sent 11:16am

miya osamu (christmas): yeah this is osamu miya osamu (christmas): sorry for the late response i was at work miya osamu (christmas): i can meet during my lunch break tomorrow miya osamu (christmas): or the weekend if you’re unavailable then sent 7:33pm

you: your lunch break sounds good! you: when around would that be? sent 7:45pm

miya osamu (christmas): about 1:30 miya osamu (christmas): onigiri miya miya osamu (christmas): just come up to the register and ask for me sent 7:47pm

you: alright, i’ll see you then sent 7:58pm

miya osamu (christmas): 👍 sent 7:59pm

III.

So. You meet Miya Osamu.

It’s 1:27pm when you venture into Onigiri Miya, which you Google Reviews prior to get a gauge for the place. A 4.9 star aggregate rating (impressive numbers) with what is alleged to be an affordable menu. If you’re taking it at face value, which you are, it looks like the kind of place you’d visit on your own. 

You’re fiddling awkwardly with your bag—which contains a written version of all your plans alongside your usual essentials—when you enter the store, eyes scanning over the crowd as if Miya Osamu himself will pop up with a sign around his neck. He doesn’t, because you’re at his place of work and not an airport.

Settling into line, you peer at the menu and debate whether you should buy something during your meal or just sit there and talk things through with Atsumu’s wayward twin. Or would Atsumu be the wayward twin, given his proclivity to ill-thought ideas? He was the one to suggest you merge Christmas with his unknown brother, and even if you’re the soulmates Atsumu alleges (or the perfect personality match Hinata declared) you doubt you’re both going to magically have the exact same plans. God, what if he’s allergic to, like, flour? That’d wipe out half your menu.

It doesn’t take long to reach the front of the line. “Hello,” you say to the worker behind the counter, lips curving into an awkward smile. “I’m, uh, here for Miya Osamu?” You offer them your name afterwards, just in case they were told to recognise you by it. There’s a moment's pause as the worker disappears towards the kitchen, followed shortly by the appearance of, you guessed it, Miya Osamu.

You’re not sure why you’re surprised to see Atsumu’s face copy-pasted on his identical twin brother, but it still shocks you for a second. Maybe it’s the difference in expression, relaxed and vaguely tired to his eccentric brother’s more proud visage; maybe the silver in place of gold, or the opposite parting, or the fact he’s wearing an apron while working in hospitality. You wouldn’t catch Atsumu dead in customer service.

He says your name, as if confirming that you are who you say you are. When you dip your head in a nod, he offers you a hand. “Nice to meet you. Tsumu doesn’t shut up about you.”

You try to think up a smart response. Something like ha, as if he’s much better when it comes to you or I’ve heard plenty about the enigmatic twin brother myself, but both feel flat. And false. You take his hand, shake it briefly, and quickly return your hand to the strap of your bag.

A pause. “Well, d’ya wanna sit inside?”

“Ah, sure.” You offer him a smile. “I’ll follow your lead?”

“Yeah.” He ignores your awkwardness, rolling his shoulders as if he’s physically letting your cumbrous attempts at responding to him slide off his back like water to a babbling brook. “You getting yourself anything? On the house, for the inconvenience.”

“If you don’t mind.” You rattle off a request for a snack, before being quietly led to one of the booths near the back of the shop. Miya Osamu (is just Osamu okay?) sits first and you follow, the chair scraping as you sit. You wince. “So, uh.”

“I’m really sorry for Atsumu,” he starts out of the gate, which is better than you were expecting—he does share a bloodline with Atsumu, after all. “I wasn’t exactly ecstatic hearing the news either, even if we’ve got a few weeks to sort things out.”

‘A few weeks’, you mouth. You’ve got two. Less than that, really. Twelve days. Your Christmas cake has been in the cupboard since August, feeding off of your fortnightly soaking in brandy. You’ve probably been planning for Christmas since the moment the day ticked over to November 1st. “Right. I was wondering—since we’re merging Christmas, how many more guests do we need to accommodate…?”

“Well, uh, I’m not sure who you have coming ‘round—”

“Oh, I wrote out a list.” You shuffle around in your bag for a second, pulling out the stapled collection of paper. “Sorry, I printed out a copy of everything so you’d be able to read through it. Or bring it home, if you needed to. I don’t know how long your break runs.”

“I can take a minute.” He says off-handedly, taking the paper from you with wide eyes. As he reads it over, you take an opportunity to bite into your food. “Huh. Sakusa must love you.” He glimpses over it. “You’ve even got dietary restrictions? You're an angel.”

You swallow your mouthful. It really is delicious. Atsumu wasn’t underselling his prowess. “I’m a baker,” you offer, “and also preparing the meals. Or, well, was? I figured it was important.”

He hums. “Looks like we’ve got kinda similar lists. You’re just missing Suna, Aran—friends from high school—and Ma.”

“Ma,” you say surreptitiously, “your Mom? Oh my.”

Osamu glances at you before snorting. “I don’t know what horror stories Tsumu’s been telling you, but she’s great. He’s just dramatic, he practically worships the ground she walks on on. Not that she doesn’t deserve it.”

“That’s part of what’s intimidating about it,” you groan. “Still, three more people isn’t bad. I was expecting a lot more.”

“You’ve got more people than I do to begin with. Yer inviting Tsumu’s whole team? Rowdy bunch, aren’t they?”

You shrug. “I only moved here a few months ago, so when Hinata took me in I wasn’t exactly resistant. I figured it was only polite, and half of them declined to visit family instead.”

He nods. “The shop should be able to hold eleven. Should I clear a section of the fridge for your stuff or do you want to bring it in on the day?”

“I was hoping we could still do it at my place,” you say tentatively, “I’ve got the apartment set up for Christmas, and you know the atmosphere half makes the holiday.”

“Onigiri Miya has an industrial kitchen,” he replies, “and a proper oven for cooking the ham—”

“The ham?” You stare. “I mean, if we want something, we could just grab some from the deli—”

“The deli? What deli serves Christmas ham?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s gonna be a roast?

“Not gonna be a roast?” Osamu stares at you, slack-jawed. “Whatdya just say to me?”

“Do you usually have roasts for Christmas?” You ask. 

He blinks at you. Blinks again. His lips twitch downwards, and oh God, this stranger with Atsumu’s face genuinely looks troubled. It barely takes him a second to flip through your paper, eyes landing on the menu with the dawning horror of a man being served his third divorce. “You’re kidding me. This is a snack platter.”

“Not really,” you defend, “I mean, we’ll be opening gifts, and socialising is important—dinner usually lasts a few hours on Christmas, we can’t have everyone filling up within twenty minutes. Besides, what about dessert? Everyone knows dessert is the main meal—”

“The main meal?” He squawks. “What rock have you been living under? Filled up in twenty minutes? Opening gifts with the food? You have to be joking. You’ll be sending guests home with an empty stomach!”

“It’s not like I’m going to put out a charcuterie board and call it a day! It’s just about smaller portions so people can sample more food and snack for longer.” You take another bite of your onigiri. It’s so good, which just makes it worse when Miya Osamu is so wrong.

“Christmas is the one time of year you’re able to gorge yourself sick during dinner and you’re subjecting your guests to deli ham and pastries?”

“Are you even reading the menu?” You ask, exasperated. “What would you do then? A roast ham, where everyone will be stuffed three slices in? A rotisserie chicken on the side? Because that doesn’t offer many choices. Forget an unfulfilled meal, that’d be boring.”

He gapes at you. “Look, a couple snacks as a pre-dinner meal while the ham is cooking is all fine and dandy, but as the whole meal? ‘Sides, presents are during snack time. You’ve got everything backwards.”

“What about dessert then? I mean, what’s the point of a Christmas cake—which I started in August, mind you—when no one’s got room for it? What about the custard? The pudding? The treats?”

“The dessert is complementary to a good dinner. Of course the desserts gonna feel like a showstopper if all people have had up till that point is crackers and dip—”

“Crackers and dip? Seriously?”

“Look, I said I’m all for snacks while dinner is still cooking, but this is just—”

Things don’t go well.

IV.

“Hey,” Atsumu says the next time you see each other, “how’d you and ‘Samu get on? Do I need to start planning a wedding?”

“A wedding?” You scoff. “Please. You could pair that man with a soggy napkin and the napkin wouldn’t last 30 minutes before considering complete dissolution.”

“Oh.” He looks at you for a second. “You know, most people think I’m the annoying twin.”

“They’ve clearly never met the idiot that calls itself your brother.”

“...Right.” Atsumu doesn’t look as happy as he normally would be when someone calls him the favourite twin—which really is a monumental occurrence—but rather like he’d just tripped on his laces and face planted into the sidewalk. “So, you’re not friends yet?”

“Oh, no, we’re perfectly friendly.” You say bitterly. “Absolutely wonderful. You know, he doesn’t think dessert makes a Christmas dinner? He has the idiotic idea in his head that the ham makes the meal! Can you believe that? Everyone knows the Christmas pudding makes or breaks the holiday, you’d think a chef would have more respect for—”

“Oh,” Atsumu says weakly, “right.”

V.

You take some time to cool off. This is indubitably a good idea. Within an hour, you come to a relatively simple resolution: it’s not that big of a deal. Well, it is, but even then you were overreacting. A bit exaggerative, maybe. You’re not really that angry, even if the both of you were bitchier than you had any right to be.

Maybe he’s right about the roast? Just because it’s not normal for you, doesn’t mean it’s not normal for anyone else. He is a chef. He could’ve been nicer on the desserts, though—what did your apple pie do to deserve that kind of vitriol?

You text Atsumu an apology for the rant. You were in the wrong for that, even if you’re not quite ready to apologise to his brother for acting out. You’ll sleep on it. Maybe the morning will come with the proper words and fully extinguished anger.

As you find out the next morning, you don’t have to send the first message.

miya osamu (christmas): hey miya osamu (christmas): i’m sorry abt how our talk went miya osamu (christmas): we clearly have different ideas of a christmas meal & i shouldntve blown up at you like that sent 6:13am

you: hi sorry, i just woke up you: honestly, you weren’t the only person overreacting. i’m really sorry about how poorly i acted you: i honestly don’t mind your roast idea you: i’m really sorry you: i’m honestly really embarrassed about how i acted sent 8:39am

miya osamu (christmas): dw miya osamu (christmas): i wasn’t exactly an angel miya osamu (christmas): ill be honest i still don’t get the want for smaller servings over a hearty meal miya osamu (christmas): but its not gonna kill me to try something new sent 1:31pm

you: actually i was thinking you: since you’re a chef, you probably have a better idea of what’d make a good christmas dinner you: so if you really want to go the roast route, i’m not going to complain you: i will admit that i really would prefer to have christmas at my place though! sent 1:35pm

miya osamu (christmas): i can work around that miya osamu (christmas): only issue is i’d have to transfer meal prep/food throughout the week sent 1:37pm

you: i’m okay with that you: should i send you my address? i was thinking maybe we could meet in person and work out a menu that works for both of us you: and you can take a look at my kitchen to see if it’ll be an okay substitute to your industrial kitchen sent 1:42pm

miya osamu (christmas): sounds good miya osamu (christmas): when are you free? sent 1:43pm

VI.

The second Osamu sees Atsumu coming, he struggles to suppress a groan. He loves Atsumu, he does, but there’s only one thing the guy will want to talk about right now: Christmas. Osamu’s more than happy to be hosting it—their Ma’s been in charge since they were born all the way up to Osamu opening Onigiri Miya, and he’s happy to take over the holiday and let her just enjoy the holiday. That being said, a last minute co-host wasn’t in the cards. At all. 

He’s heard your name enough to feel like you should be best buds, given how much Atsumu refuses to shut up about you. He’s never been subtle in his foray into matchmaking, but this? This takes the cake. It doesn’t matter how much c’mon Samu, you’ll love them! or ya know, this friend of mine loves this too or I should invite them ‘round sometime, dontcha think? Atsumu tries to ply him with, there’s no world in which this would happen and you’d both be fine with it. If you’ve heard half as much about him as he has you (which he’s pretty sure you haven’t, given the dumpster fire that was your first meeting) then you’d be just as aware that Christmas planning would probably get a bit messy at first. 

Barring the major issue of you valuing dessert over dinner (which, whatever, but who doesn’t have Christmas ham? He’d been half convinced you were joking at first) while he’s always put weight on the dinner—what can he say? With Christmas came free hams from his Ma’s work, and that was a once a year experience. It’s just how things are. However, Atsumu apparently expects the both of you to magically gain the ability to read minds and communicate perfectly and innately understand each other upon your first meeting. Idiot.

You were gorgeous, though. That was almost the worst part; he'd seen you, and he'd gone oh, that's why Tsumu's so desperate to set us up. You smiled, a shy, cracked smile, and for a second it was all he could think about. Then, of course, he started arguing like an idiot and things blew up out of control.

“‘Samu!” Atsumu cheers, rounding the table he’s scrubbing down to slap him on the shoulder, arm snaking across them. “Whatcha up to? Free for a chat?”

He snorts, eyes lingering on the door. “Where’s your henchman?”

“Shouyou’s busy,” Atsumu declares shamelessly. “I was just wondering… everything alright with Christmas?”

“Things are fine,” he says blandly, “don’t worry, yer getting a gift.”

He squeezes Osamu’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I meant planning Christmas. You’re getting on with—?”

“Yeah. Just had a couple misunderstandings. We’re ironing them out.”

“No fights? You’re all good?”

So he’s already interrogated you. Colour Osamu unsurprised. “Yep. Things are fine.”

“You sure?”

“Did they tell you otherwise?”

“Nah,” Atsumu says too quickly to actually be honest, “just worried for the less charismatic twin. I get why you might be having trouble.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Osamu replies. “Now stop nagging. Your food will be fine, your Christmas will be fine, your friend isn’t going to maul me to death. Everything's sorted.”

VII.

Okay, you were overdramatic. You’re not that angry that he doesn’t understand the sanctity of a proper Christmas cake, because, funny enough, different people celebrate Christmas differently. It’s Christmas, he was a little frustrated, you’re a little frustrated; you can offer the both of you the benefit of the doubt.

So when Miya Osamu shows up at your apartment three minutes into your allotted meeting time, lunchbox in one hand and a crumpled pile of paper in the other, you merely offer him an ever so slightly tense smile and let him in.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” you offer, “how have you been?”

“Pretty good. Work’s been busy—always is, ‘round the holidays—and Tsumu’s been annoying as usual.”

“He’s been pestering you too?” You pause, glancing around the apartment. “Sorry, do you want to sit or do you want to look at the kitchen first?”

“We can sit.” He offers you a smile, eyes crinkling at the edges; you can’t help but notice it’s a trait unique to him. You can’t even begin to imagine his brother with crows feet. “I, uh, made some lunch. As an apology.”

“You didn’t have to,” you start, eyes flickering towards the lunchbox tucked underneath his arm. “But, um, thanks. That’s sweet of you.”

“Least I could do.” Osamu looks around for a second, as if waiting for your lead. You both hover there, unsure how to act following the dumpster fire that was your first conversation. “Your apartment looks nice. I like the tree.”

“Thanks.” You take a seat, motioning him over towards your couch. “Well, how are you?” You wince. “Sorry. I already asked that.”

He huffs a laugh. “It’s fine. I’ve been good. You?”

“As good as I can be.” You take a deep breath. “So. Christmas dinner.”

“Right. I took a page out of your book.” He gestures with the paper in his hand, pages denting from his tight grasp. “They all come with recipes so we can figure out what we’ll need to get. Just thought I’d run a possible menu by you? I know you said you wanted snacks.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly. “We can just serve my idea as snacks, I hadn’t bought everything yet. Besides, it’s being held at my place, isn’t it? I can’t complain. Considering everything that happened last time we talked, I kind of assumed you’d want to take over dinner.”

“If that’s fine by you.” He offers you the paper, then the lunchbox. “I just made some onigiri. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, onigiri is good.” You place the paper in your lap, reaching over to unlatch the lunchbox and peer inside. “Oh, it’s the one I had last time! It was really good. I didn’t get to say.”

“Can’t blame ya. Tensions were a little high.” 

You slide a glance his way. “You’re only half to blame for that.”

“Still half, ain’t I?”

“I suppose.” Your lips twitch as you reach over to grab one. “This looks delicious, thank you.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. At the same time, his lips curl up proudly like an aloof cat begging for attention; too proud to admit he’s pleased, not proud enough to not show it. Wildly endearing. “I make it every day.”

You hum around your first bite of onigiri and Osamu follows suit, grabbing one for himself. “I, uh, don’t have most of the stuff for this. And I don’t know if I have room in my fridge for a five kilo ham on top of everything else.”

“The ham needs to go out a couple days early to start defrosting too,” he warns. “How big is your fridge? I’ll need to see what I’m working with.”

“You’re going to be playing a bit of tetris with it,” you reply. “I’m making a lot of dessert that you’ll be contending with. Since you’re now on dinner duty, I was thinking of expanding the dessert menu a bit and just sending people home with leftovers.” 

“I’m fine with that.” He takes a bite, chews, swallows. “We might need to shorten our snack list since it’s no longer meant to be a full meal. I was thinking we keep the mix of savoury and sweet, just lessen portions and maybe cut out the cheeseboard.”

“Thank god,” you mutter, “I felt like I had to put it out since it’s such a staple, but I’m lactose intolerant and a cheeseboard never gets finished. What was I supposed to do with all that leftover cheese? It’s so expensive nowadays too. Yeesh.”

Osamu snorts. “And around the holidays too? Things have doubled in cost.”

“It’s ridiculous. You’ll never believe how much I saw the local grocery store selling butter for the other day. It’s daylight robbery.” You flip past the menu to individual recipes, quickly skimming the ingredients list. “I have a pretty stacked spice cabinet, so you won’t need to buy much. Ms. Sato—my next door neighbour—has a herb garden too, and she’s always happy to spare fresh herbs. You can get the rosemary from there.”

“Nice. How far is your local fresh veggie store?”

“About an 18 minute drive,” you admit, “and it’ll be swamped as Christmas gets closer.”

“Still better than some withering supermarket produce three days away from moulding.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re clearly going to a better supermarket then.”

You shake your head slightly. You’re really not.

To say things go better this time around is a vast understatement; with your individual printed menus (it turns out Osamu never got an opportunity to read your original dessert menu, given his outrage at dinner—all for the better in the end, considering you’d since expanded it) you compare what you’ll need, discuss who’s paying (Osamu insists he pays for ingredients if he’s using your kitchen, even if upon inspection he admits it's a little less well-equipped than he’d like), the dietary requirements of his additional guests, Sakusa’s preferred hygiene practices (fine—honestly just industry-standard requirements, you’ve never understood why people act like he’s the world's greatest germaphobe when he simply strictly adheres to proper hygiene practices and the healthy and safety standard), and an appropriate time to hold the meal (given the guests are coming over at 4 and snacks will be out, you settle for 7 so there’s still enough time for pre-meal socialisation).

When he finally surveys your kitchen, there’s a few issues. It’s smaller than he’d like, given you’ll be simultaneously working on a meal to feed eight voracious athletes (turns out his two friends from high school also went into professional volleyball), a chef, you, his mother, and Bokuto’s “best bud” Akaashi. Your dutch oven is a bit too small, which you deal with by him simply asking if he can bring his own over to keep in your house during the holidays, and your oven is going to be cramped, which is a side effect of working in a regular kitchen as opposed to Onigiri Miya. There’s a couple other issues—he does take one look at the inside of your fridge and freezer and grimace at the limited space—but it turns out that when you can properly sit down and talk, things don’t feel that dire. Who’d have thought?

By the time your kitchen investigation is winding down, the hours have trickled over and your shared meal settles warmly in your stomach. There’s a lingering smile on your face, and the ever-present knot in your chest has loosened into something closer to relief. Now that you’ve got all the major details sorted out and you actually know how things are going to work, the idea of co-hosting Christmas doesn’t feel as stressful.

You follow him to the door, leaning against the doorframe as you bid your farewells.

“Do you know when you’ll want to start dropping things off?” You ask. You’ve both well-established the meal prep that goes into your specific meal. Osamu, given the nature of his ingredients, is going to be cooking a lot more day-of; you’re lucky enough to get away with a lot more meal prep.

“I was thinking I’d start dropping things off maybe nine days before Christmas?” Osamu grimaces. “If I start early, I won’t have to juggle everything while catering to the full Christmas crowd at work.”

You hum in sympathy. You’d mentioned your own work as a baker at a crêperie and to say you hadn’t been experiencing the Christmas activity would be a big, plain, fat lie. It’s been hell on your back. “Alright. Just text me before you want to visit so I have some warning, M- Os- sorry, what should I call you?”

Osamu huffs, amused. “Just call me Osamu. Ya gotta deal with my oaf of a brother too, no need to get all formal. It’ll only get confusing. I’ll come around seven thirty on the 16th?”

“Perfect.” You smile up at him. “I’m really sorry again about how our first meeting went. I’m glad we sorted it out so quickly.”

“Didn’t I say it’s fine?” He asks blandly. “Water under the boat. We were both dicks.”

“Still.”

“Still,” he repeats, lips twitching upwards. “I’ll see ya around. It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, Osamu. Drive home safe!”

VIII.

you: would you mind taste testing something for me when you drop by to stack the fridge? you: i’m working on some christmas cookies and i need a second opinion on taste and how the icings looking sent 6:57pm

miya osamu (christmas): sure thing miya osamu (christmas): want me to bring leftovers from the shop? sent 7:01pm

you: a man after my heart you: yes please!! sent 7:03pm

miya osamu (christmas): be there in 15 sent 7:03pm

IX.

“Osamu!” You offer the man at your door a smile. “Come on in. The kitchens a mess right now and I still need to do the dishes, but I’ve been working on some desserts—”

“You told me,” he replies, “smells delicious. Sugar cookies?”

“Yeah, but I’ve also got some mini pumpkin pies cooking. I was thinking of serving it as a snack, but I don’t know if it’ll work well with everything else we’re serving.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He follows you to the kitchen, quickly unloading his two full tubs of stuff onto the kitchen counter. “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought my own mixer. Yer KitchenAid looks a little outdated, and I figured a newer model might be nicer until Christmas is over.”

“You’re an angel,” you reply brightly. “Do you need help stacking the fridge, or are you happy doing it yourself?”

“I’ll try a hand at it myself.”

“Holler if you need a hand.” You’re quick to return to your own preparations, practicing for Christmas. With the sugar cookies done (if Osamu approves of them, that is) you’ve also pre-made a few batches to keep chilled until Christmas comes. One thing done, only a hundred others to go. “Try a few cookies while you’re working.”

“Will do. Hey, was your work okay?”

“Same as always,” you say, “we can’t all own our own place. Boss is a jerk, the menu’s alright. What else is new?”

“Sounds boring.” A grunt, likely Osamu trying to fit a 5kg ham in a fridge that can barely hold five kilos of food to begin with. “And I’m making onigiri all day.”

“Maybe, but it’s all pain au chocolat and fruit tarts and those awful cinnamon swirls. Not to mention, the crepes suck.”

“Your fault for working at a crêperie. I didn’t even know those were real.”

“It’s all pseudo-French. I don’t think a real French person has ever stepped foot inside the establishment.”

Osamu whistles. “Sucks to be you.”

“Oh, Shut up,” you say waspishly. Your pie weights are collected back in the bag you store them in, the filling is done, and you’re just waiting for the crust to fully cool before filling them. Stuck with nothing immediate to do, you return to cleaning up. Osamu is busy maneuvering his huge dutch oven into your cabinet as you admire the stand mixer that will be yours for the next nine days, all attachments beside it. It possesses way more than your measly dough hook, beater, and a whisk that’s definitely seen better days. “Get to it, taste tester. Stop messing around.”

“Messing around? Do you have any idea how much this oven weighs?”

“That brother of yours wouldn’t have any issue,” you say teasingly. 

“That brother of mine is a professional athlete. ‘Sides, he’d spend the entire time whining about having to do it.” Not something you’ve ever personally experienced, but you’ll take his word for it. Osamu, having finally placed his dutch oven, reaches over to your plate of cookies. You’ve done your best to make them Christmas themed when you don’t own proper Christmas cookie cutters—this really is the season of over consumerism—which largely means using circular cookie cutters and decorating them like baubles, but you think they’ve turned out pretty nice anyway. He picks one up, examines it, and grins. “Not sure why you were worried about the icing, it looks good. I like this one.” He turns it your way, jingling it a bit like a bell will start ringing. You bite back a smile.

“The lines aren’t too shaky?”

“Nah. Looks perfect.” Your mouth pulls into something pleased. You turn your head away to hide it, knowing even as you do it that you’re largely unsuccessful. In the interim of your bashfulness, Osamu takes a bite. “Mm, it tastes good too. Not too sweet.”

“Yeah?”

He grins, blinking slowly at you. “Yeah. Got no reason to lie, do I?”

“Alright, alright, don’t flatter me too much.” You laugh, flattered anyway. Geez.

Osamu merely hums, turning back to stacking the fridge. “Not like it’s hard. You’re a good baker.”

“Can tell from a couple of sugar cookies, can you?”

“Yeah, I can. I’m looking forward to the pumpkin pies.” He grabs a couple trays, slotting them where he can. Your fridge is already looking pretty full with everything in it, but he finds a way to make room. 

X.

“So,” Hinata starts hesitantly between mouthfuls of food. You’re at the local park, perched together on a bench as you eat your individual lunches. “How are you and Osamu getting along? Atsumu said you were,” he pauses, “having difficulties.”

“I may have overexaggerated,” you admit, “he’s actually really lovely to work with. He’s a really good chef and, after the initial bump, we don’t really have any issues. I think we were both just stressed about Christmas going perfectly that first time.”

Hinata brightens, his face flowering like the sun. “I knew you two would work it out! Atsumu was scared it was doomed.”

“Well, I did tell him Osamu couldn’t charm a wet paper towel or something. I was a bit aggressive.”

“He said,” Hinata replies gravely, “but I thought you’d talk it out. Kageyama—my setter from high school—and I had a really crappy first meeting too, and we were able to talk it out then. I don’t see why you wouldn’t have been able to now. You’re way more mature now than I was at fifteen.”

You cover your snort with a cough. You have heard stories about Hinata’s exuberance as a teenager, occasionally to his own detriment. It’s not as much of a comfort as he’s probably thinking, considering he might just be the world’s most charismatic individual. “Yeah, we apologised and everythings sorted out. Neither of us hold it against each other, I think. Osamu’s honestly really charming.”

He looks at you warmly. “You’ve both got a lot in common. It’s why Atsumu’s been so adamant about setting you up.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to learn some subtlety,” you grumble, “and don’t think I don’t know your hand in this, Mr. Co-conspirator.”

“I can see his vision.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s on this vision board he’s cultivating? You know, he asked me if he needs to start planning the wedding last time we talked.”

“He’s not that excited! I think. He really wants you to marry into the family though, and obviously their mum’s off limits.”

“You don’t know that. I love women.”

“She’s 53.”

“I like older women too.” You pause. “You know how old their mum is?”

“Yeah, she’s been inviting me to her birthday for the past couple of years.” Hinata takes a long, loud sip of his drink. “And you get along way better with Osamu.”

“You just know everyone on god’s green earth, don’t you.” You look over at the park, watching two kids kick a ball between the pair of them. “By the way, I wanted to ask. Do you know what Osamu would like for Christmas?”

XI.

That Saturday, Osamu arrives in the morning. He tells you it’s because he asked someone else to open the shop for him, leaving him free for the morning; either way, you make the both of you breakfast. He eats your homemade bread like it’s michelin star cuisine, and you swear you’ve never taken so many compliments in your life. You receive more in that hour than you have in the entirety of your existence, you’re pretty sure—a lifetime of deprivation being filled in fifty-seven measly minutes. It means a lot, even if you’re too proud to admit it.

You both end up in the same place you have every day he’s come over that week: the kitchen, Osamu mixing together ingredients for the roast glaze while you make a lemon meringue pie. You lend him an apron, which means that on top of his—admittedly very attractive, despite its simplicity—usual outfit is a pink apron with a classic ‘Kiss the Chef’ embroidered on the front. A gift from Atsumu for your birthday, which Osamu is quick to inform you was exactly what he got from Atsumu for Christmas last year. Hearts and all. 

You knock against his hip as you walk past, peering into the fridge (already looking pretty full, which does not bode well for the remaining build up to Christmas) in search of some more pastry you’d pre-prepared for recipe testing. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of thing would your mum like for Christmas?”

“You’re getting her a gift?” Osamu raises his head, turning a near 180-degrees to look at you.

“I’m getting everyone a gift, Osamu.” You busy your hands with scrubbing your kitchen counter free of stray flour. “Now, what does she want? And while we’re at it, what about your other two guests?”

“Get them something cheap.” He says simply. “You don’t know them, they don’t know you. No one needs to shell out for a stranger. I’m pretty sure Suna’s buying you wine and Aran’s got chocolate.”

Okay, simple gifts. That’ll be easy. Simple. Convenient. It won’t hurt your pockets much more than this holiday already is. “And your mum? Hinata recommended a massage wand, but I wanted a second opinion.”

Osamu snorts. “That scrub has no concept of a price range when it comes to gifts.”

“Tell me about it,” you lament. Hinata’s really good at budgeting, up until birthday gifts get involved. You’re not surprised Christmas is much the same. “I’m just worried a massage wand is too much since they run pretty expensive, but I don’t want to just get her wine and chocolate and call it a day. It’s what half the party will be doing.”

He hums. “Ma’s not that materialistic. She likes stuff she can use.”

“Well I’m not going to get her a set of pans, am I?”

He huffs, a soft sound that drags out into the air and lingers in the kitchen. “Not like that. I mean craft items, or something like honey from a farmers market or an artisan soap or some bath bombs. Shouyou’s on the right wavelength with the massage wand.”

“Okay, okay,” you leave the kitchen briefly to grab a notebook so you can scribble that down. “Chocolate, wine, artisanal goods. I’ll go out and grab them tomorrow. Then it’s just waiting on your gift.”

“Waiting on mine?” He asks, immediately curious. “You’re getting it shipped?”

“Nope.” 

“Then how’re ya waiting on it? Still coming up with ideas?”

You roll your eyes. “None of your business, is it?”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Your heart skips a beat at the endearment. Sweetheart. You. Sweetheart. “Give me a hint about mine, and I’ll tell you something about yours?”

“You’re so conniving,” you say fondly. “Fine. I’m waiting on it because—and you can’t get mad at me for this—I’m trying to thrift it.”

“Thrift it?” His brows furrow. “What is it, a sweater?”

“No,” you huff. “Look, I know it’s got a bad rap, but I like thrifting gifts. There’s always some hidden gems, and you can find some really good high-quality or vintage stuff at affordable prices. It forces me to think out of the box sometimes too. They can make for really good gifts.”

He raises his hands in a sign of surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging you. My Ma did the same thing growing up.”

“Then you’d know it’s not just sweaters.”

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”

“Oh my god.” You take a moment, fight back a smile, and continue. This man—you wish you’d met him sooner. “Anyway, I have an idea, but it’s a bit on the pricey side. I was hoping I could get something good quality thrifted, but if I don’t see anything over the next couple of days I’m falling back onto plan B.”

“Which is?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“C’mon now! Yer just stringing me along.”

You turn to him, peering at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”

His expression cracks. “Yer such a brat,” he tells you, even as his mouth splits into a grin. “You think you’re so smart, dontcha?”

“Well, since you said so,” you say brightly, “it’d be rude of me to refute a compliment, yeah?”

“Whatever,” he says warmly, “you’re a big fan of thrifting?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “As I said, you can find some nice vintage pieces. It’s where I got my favourite jacket, and I’ve been hoping to find a good sweater there for forever. I know cashmere is a far away dream, I just want something that’ll last, y’know? Clothes fray so fast nowadays.”

“Hm.” It’s all he says. A low hum of acknowledgement, a soft curl of huh, a- you don’t even know how to explain it. He opens his mouth to speak, and the pair of you are interrupted by the blaring of your timer.

“Oh, shit!” You squeeze his arm, shuffling past his figure as you hurry over to the oven. “God, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. Lemon meringue is so finicky—”

“Don’t sweat it, I’m sure it’ll taste great.” Osamu peers over your shoulder as you lay it on the counter, pressed close to your back. “How long until I can try it?”

“You’ve got a black hole for a stomach there,” you tell him, “five hours minimum.” You pause. “Hey, wait, what about my gift? We had a deal.”

His expression twists into a grin. “None of your business, is it?”

XII.

miya osamu (christmas): its really hurting my heart to have to make greek salad for christmas dinner sent 1:32pm

you: your fault for catering for a bunch of athletes! you: here’s to hoping they don’t turn their nose up at dessert sent 1:35pm

miya osamu (christmas): theyd be idiots to miya osamu (christmas): besides whatever they don’t eat ma and i are taking home lmao sent 1:36pm

you: a little presumptuous of you to assume you’ll be taking all the dessert you: maybe i want to distribute it among my coworkers sent 1:37pm

miya osamu (christmas): you dont miya osamu (christmas): you hate all of them miya osamu (christmas): minus the one girl sent 1:38pm

you: stop listening to me when i talk sent 1:38pm

miya osamu (christmas): hard ask sent 1:39pm you reacted to this message with ‘👎’

XIII.

“Ya know,” Atsumu starts, which never bodes well for the collective intelligence of anyone in the room. “Considering the two of you are hosting and all, do you think you should have matching Christmas sweaters? As a show of unity.”

“Whaddya take me for? A muppet?” Osamu snorts. “Didja even try with that one? That’s your flimsiest excuse yet.”

“Hey! It’s a genuine question.” Atsumu nods to himself. “You should get them a gift. They’d love a matching Christmas sweater.”

“Sure,” he says blandly. “You done now?”

“Wait, really? You’ll do it?”

“No.” Osamu turns back to what he was doing, which is making dinner for the both of you to eat when he comes over in an hour with more food to put away. “I’m getting ‘em something else.”

“Wait, really?” Atsumu repeats, even more shocked, which he has no right to be when he was just suggesting matching Christmas sweaters. “You’re actually getting them something?”

“Close yer mouth, you’ll catch flies.” 

“I didn’t realise you were actually getting along! Shouyou made it seem like you’re best buds, but you know how he is!”

“Shouyou’s clearly got his head screwed on a bit tighter then.”

“Oi, fuck off.” Atsumu groans. “They talked about you like you were, I don’t know, the devil or something. They said you couldn’t convince a soggy napkin to marry you without it wanting to off itself in thirty.”

Osamu snorts. He can’t find it in himself to be offended; that’s pretty funny. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“And now you’ve learnt humility?” Atsumu’s head jerks, horrified. “What have they done to you?”

Osamu ignores him. Atsumu isn’t wrong, even if he’d rather drop dead than admit it. He does like you, a lot more than he probably should given you’ve barely known each other for two weeks. You’re cute (really, crazily cute), funny, conscientious; he’s had more fun sorting out Christmas with you than he’d ever imagined, even with Atsumu hyping you up to be the second coming of Christ himself. You’ve grown closer than he’d thought possible. If he’s being honest with himself (which he is), he’s kind of dreading the end of your plans come Christmas. 

“You’re so full of shit,” he says instead, “I’ve always been like this.”

XIV.

It’s finally Christmas. This, of course, comes with a whirlwind of activity; you spend Christmas eve deep cleaning your house with Osamu as a willing assistant, spend Christmas day rearranging decorations and doing the last of your baking and trying really, really hard not to panic.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Osamu assures you, elbow deep into his dinner prep while you buzz around the apartment, looking for the slightest imperfection in need of fixing. “Your baking tastes great, the apartment looks nice, everyone’s coming to have a good time, and you’ve still got half an hour to get ready in case something does go wrong.”

You nod in agreement even as you rearrange the bouquet on the dining table. “The ham’s already in the oven, right?”

“You helped me put it in half an hour ago,” he replies, “stop worrying. C’mere, don’tcha have a custard to make for the eggnog?”

“Right!” You zip into the kitchen, readjusting your apron as you approach your now stuffed fridge. Getting anything new in it has been a challenge, what with the way you’ve both had to rearrange it three times to make everything fit. You grab the milk carton, dropping it at the nearest counter and reaching over to squeeze Osamu’s shoulder in thanks as you walk past. Everything else is all but ready; the house is arranged, gifts are stacked under the tree, the ham’s already cooking and every single one of your desserts (minus the custard) is tucked carefully in the fridge. Snacks are already laid out on the dining table, the bathroom has been scrubbed until it was sparkling, everyone knows your address, you’re almost completely dressed; there’s little to do but fiddle. And make custard. Osamu passes you the egg carton, and you smile at him in thanks.

You guys work in silence before your own nerves get the better of you. “I’m really sorry about all this. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about everything right now. It’s planned down to the minute, I really shouldn’t be so stressed about this.”

“I don’t mind. Happens to the best of us.” Osamu pauses, taking a break to wipe olive oil off his hands before leaning his hip against the counter. “I’m pretty nervous too.”

“You’re good at looking otherwise.”

He shrugs. “There’s a lot to be nervous about. Ma’s joining us, and I always want to make it a good holiday for her. Work’s been busy, holiday planning’s been busy. I’m doing a more western-style Christmas dinner. I’m worried about where you and I will stand when Christmas is over and I’m worried Ma’s gonna feel awkward being over 20 years older than everyone else. I know she’s struck up that weird friendship with Shouyou, but still.”

“Well, Sakusa does have a weird affinity with middle aged women,” you offer, “and if anything, he’ll be desperate for embarrassing stories about Atsumu. You know how those boys like tormenting each other. I’ve tasted your cooking too, and it’s never been anything less than spectacular—you should know, given how much I enjoy it. And, uh, I hope we can continue meeting up regularly afterwards. At the very least, you’ll need to visit to transport half of your cooking utensils home.”

“Doesn’t stop me from worrying though, does it?” He cracks a smile. “I dunno. I’ve grown attached to this kitchen. Might take a page out of Tsumu’s book and start haunting your apartment.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you say softly. “I mean, the circumstances weren’t amazing, but I’ve liked getting to know you. I hope we can stay close.” You hover on that for a moment, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to just gush, but I hope we can stay close isn’t all you want to say, either. The words linger there, sweet on the tip of your tongue, lost only to your inability to verbalise the feeling coalescing in your chest. “You’re, uh, a dear.”

Osamu reaches over, grasping your hand in his own; his palm is warm, soft from the oil he was just handling, a bit bigger than your own. “I’m a dear? What are you, my grandma?” He asks teasingly.

“You know what I mean.”

His lips twitch upwards. “Yeah. I do.” He squeezes your hand, thumb rubbing soft circles into your knuckles. His mouth opens, like he too has something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it. Like you, he too cops out. “Keep texting, ‘kay? This has been fun.”

“Of course.” You grin, lips peeled over your teeth, your joy on full display. “What else are we supposed to do with our lunch breaks?”

His gaze flickers. “I have some ideas.”

It sinks into you then; oh. He’s flirting. Probably. Most likely? That’s, like, the most overused phrase in the book. I have some ideas. He doesn’t just want to talk. He has some ideas. You turn your hand in his grasp until your palms face each other, carefully lacing your fingers together. You keep eye contact. He follows your lead dutifully, shuffling ever so slightly closer, and you gather that soft hope in your chest as you respond. “Some ideas, huh? Wanna share with the class?”

It hovers in the air between you. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth, soft and slightly parted; his flickers to yours. The anticipation, that moment before an inevitability, yawns. You both know what’s going to happen, your free hand moving to his bicep as his rests on your waist. You bite your lip to contain a smile. 

“You just gonna stare at me all day?” He asks, voice ushered into a low murmur. 

“Well, you were the one that had some ideas,” you reply, voice just as low. “I don’t want to get the wrong idea, do I?”

“I have a feeling you know what it is.” His hand, a brand on your waist, slides until it rests on the small of your back; he pulls you in until you’re pressed together, a scant thread of air the only thing separating you. You tilt your head up, still making eye contact, and he hums slowly. “You’ve got such a beautiful smile. It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

Your features bloom, a happiness inexperienced unfurling in your chest; you’re sure now, absolutely certain, that there’s not a single person in human history to have experienced the same joy that you do in this moment. It’s not possible, that there’s this kind of giddiness in you that billions before you have been able to experience. Or maybe it is, and it’s your turn to experience it. Either way, you open your mouth to reply.

This, of course, means it’s the perfect time for the doorbell to ring.

Osamu’s head swings forward until your foreheads are touching, a deep groan escaping his lips. A similar sound of disappointment escapes you. “Whoever that is, I’m gonna kill them.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” you say, even as a part of you wants to ignore them. “Those are our guests we’re talking about. Who’s gonna eat all that ham if you kill them at the door?”

“It’s your Christmas cake I’m worried about.” And he steps away, rolling his shoulders in noticeable disappointment. “You started it in August, can’t let all that hard work go to waste.”

The doorbell rings again. Your eye twitches, even as you heft a full-body sigh. “I’ll get it.”

When you open the door, Atsumu’s cruel, malignant face is the one to greet you, a huge bag hefted under his arm. “Took you long enough! Did I interrupt something?”

“You’re obnoxious,” you tell him, stepping out of the way. Hinata follows behind him, arms stacked with about six bags full to the brim. “Gifts under the tree.”

“What’ve you got there, Shouyou?” Osamu asks, moving to grab some of the bags. Atsumu bats his hands away.

“Nah, uh, uh, Samu.” He grins. “Nice apron. Got it for you last Christmas, didn’t I?”

“No, that was my birthday gift.”

He grimaces. Osamu, in contrast, grins. “Nice of you to get us matching aprons. Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat performance.”

“You’re such a dick.” Atsumu claps him on the back. “Geez, get freshened up. You’re gonna welcome your guests looking like that?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“Good thing you’ve got me to set you right.” Atsumu nods to himself, rummaging through his huge bag before tossing Osamu a headband with foamed, sequined deer horns on top. “There you go. Get changed and put this on—the wardrobe is half the holiday!”

“Now you’re just making shit up.” Still, remarkably good at annoying each other, Atsumu manages to usher Osamu into the bathroom. The second Osamu’s gone, he turns to you with a wide grin.

“We bought alcohol.”

Instinctively, your eyes snap to the weight Hinata is carrying in horror. Hinata, either not noticing or not caring for the way you recoil, smiles. “The place looks good! Sorry for coming so early.”

“It’s alright,” you say, even though it really, really isn’t. “Did you seriously bring six bags of alcohol? How much did that even cost?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Atsumu pats your shoulder consoling. “We’re gonna need it. You might want some liquid courage for this.”

“For what?” You ask, eyes darting over to Hinata, who’s suddenly very dutifully unpacking the contents of an entire liquor store onto your counter. “Okay, wait, don’t do that. Put it in the pantry.”

Atsumu sighs out your name. “You don’t need to play coy with us. We know the truth.”

“...Right.” You turn away, retreating back to the kitchen and your unfinished custard. “Well, you have fun with that. You’re not getting drunk until after dessert.”

“Now that’s just not fa—” the doorbell cuts Atsumu off this time. Serves him right.

XV.

The party is in full swing by the time gifts are being opened. Your snacks are well received, given they’re all but devoured by the time dinner comes around. Dinner is a smash hit, and dessert is demolished even with 80% of the guest list comprising of professional athletes. Osamu’s ham is a particular favourite (you have to admit, there really is merit to a Christmas roast) and your Christmas cake another, four months of cultivating gone in fifteen minutes. By the time everyone is winding down, Atsumu’s excessive load of alcohol has been brought out even though most of the party is sipping on the homemade eggnog—Atsumu’s brandy an additional ingredient—and gifts, which at that point had spilled out from under the tree to halfway across the lounge, are finally brought out.

“You were right,” you mutter to Osamu, who’s sat so close beside you that your shoulders brush with every movement, which is something Atsumu had been gleeful to point out. Constantly. “The roast was the better idea. I can’t believe I was so anti-ham.”

“Looking a little cosy there,” Atsumu says knowingly for the third time this evening, before Osamu gets the chance to respond. Aran, one of Osamu’s guests and sitting criss-cross-applesauce beside Atsumu, groans loudly. “Got something to share?”

“They were complimenting my ham,” Osamu replies blandly. “Why? You wanna take turns, maybe compliment the salad?”

Hinata perks up from where he was opening a volleyball shaped soap. You’re not sure who bought him it. “It was really good, Osamu. Are you sure I’m allowed to take some home?”

“Go ahead, Shouyou. You think I can eat that and everything else in the next few days?”

Tuning out the conversation, you pull out your next gift. It’s from Osamu, funny enough; you bite your lip, ready to make a comment, only to find him already looking at you. “Go on, open it. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Rolling your eyes, you begin meticulously unwrapping it. It’s square, which you find out is because he put it in a nondescript cardboard box before wrapping it. A gasp escapes you as you peer inside and Atsumu (ever the mood killer) squawks when you pull it out to properly look at it. “You called me a muppet for suggesting a sweater!”

“You’re a fucking liar, Tsumu.” Osamu immediately shoots back. 

You grin, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you run a hand along the inside. It’s soft, with a slightly well-worn look to it; you almost feel like kicking your feet, recalling your conversation from several days ago. No wonder he refused to give you a hint—he’d only just decided what to get you, that sneak. You don’t even know how he found this.

Well, you kind of do. You nudge his shoulder, grinning giddily. “Open your gift from me. Right now.”

“Impatient, arentcha?”

“I’m serious.” You beam up at him. “Open it, Osamu.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, pulling it towards you and quickly tearing through the paper. There’s a moment's pause as he stares at his gift. Osamu’s lips twitch upwards, peeling back over his teeth. He glances at his gift, back up to you, back down to his gift again. “You told me you weren’t getting me a sweater.”

“I lied.” 

“You’re kidding,” Atsumu groans, “Osamu rags on me about suggesting matching sweaters, and the two of ya do it anyway?”

“They’re not matching,” you argue. “And it’s cute. You were just meddling.”

“It’d’ve had the same result if you’d followed my lead anyway!”

“Yeah, except if we had it your way they’d be ugly, scratchy, and unwearable.” Osamu argues. “This is classy.”

“When have you ever cared about class—?”

XVI.

You knew Atsumu and Hinata were up to something. It was pretty obvious—everyone and their mother could tell. Unfortunately for you, knowing they’re going to do something doesn’t mean you knew what it was. You find out because the co-conspirators divide and conquer and Hinata, for all his fumbling, remains incomprehensibly charismatic. 

It only really clicks when you almost slam into Osamu as Atsumu nearly shoves him into a wall before sprinting off like his life depends on it. It probably does. Giggling like a schoolgirl, all he says as he zips off is, “Thank me later!’

You yelp as Osamu nearly sends the both of you tumbling to the floor. “What the hell? Why did he do that?”

Osamu groans. “Something about ‘helping out the less fortunate.’ He thinks I’m too scared to make a move on you.”

That shocks a laugh out of you. “He has such little faith.”

It’s proven doubly true when something hits your shoulder. Osamu swipes it before it hits the ground, displaying it to you with an open palm. Plastic mistletoe, with a piece of tape dangling sadly off the edges. “You’re kidding.” 

“That scheming pig,” Osamu says with something akin to wonder, “I’m gonna kill him.”

“He couldn’t even splurge? This looks like a stick with leaves.” You pick it up, feeling along the synthetic edge of one leaf. It really is a sad thing. You show it off to Osamu, a snicker accompanying your next words, “Looks like he really thought you needed the help.”

“Well,” Osamu muses, “since he’s so kindly went through the effort, it wouldn’t hurt to finish what we started earlier, would it?” 

“Oh? You’re giving him the satisfaction?”

“Between you and me, I think I’ll be the one better off for this.” Both hands move to cup your cheeks, and you let the mistletoe fall to the ground as your own hands move to his hips. “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

You bite at the inside of your cheek, desperately fighting a smile. “No complaints here.”

He hums softly, one hand dropping to the curve of your neck. He leans in then, breath ghosting over your mouth, and kisses you. It’s a delicate thing, barely a brush of your lips before you press into it. His lips taste vaguely of cinnamon, pressing into a smile as your noses nearly collide. You grin hopelessly as well, and it’s not much of a kiss at all; you’re two idiots grinning into each other’s mouths, breathing the same air and clinging to each other and hovering awkward in the doorway to the bathroom. It’s kind of perfect.

Osamu pulls away first. “I’m going to do that again,” he tells you, matter of fact. “And if you let me, I’m gonna take you out for dinner this weekend.”

“Yeah?” You ask, features giddy with a full-body happiness; your heart beats like a drum, your fingers twitch with a physical manifestation of your affection, and you rock on your feet, leaning into him once again. “I can make myself available.”

His face softens. “Yeah.” Then he’s leaning in again, hands warm against your skin, thumb rubbing circles into your cheekbones. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’re stuck with me now. Hope ya don’t mind.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you say, leaning up and into him.

[sleepingdeath-light]

cat boy s/o hcs ; laios touden

requested by ; shadowsalone / pj simp anon (08/07/24)

fandom(s) ; dungeon meshi

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; laios touden

outline ; “dungeon meshi eh...?

General dating hcs and smut for Laios and perhaps a catboy!reader? 👀”

note ; first time writing for laios so this may be rather shaky in terms of his characterisation

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

being a person with nonhuman traits and dating laios touden is basically asking to have your biology and body language intensely studied and meticulously noted down — he’s mindful enough to not make a complete ass of himself and trample over your personal boundaries of course (you are his boyfriend and he does care about and respect you, after all), but sometimes he can’t help himself but bombard you with questions or just stare curiously at any visible feline features you have during the quieter moments of your journey

he has a whole separate notebook dedicated to the little things he finds out about you (dietary preferences and restrictions, body language tells, physical differences between you and a standard tallman like him, etc., etc.) — there are also some more personal notes in there too that are both flattering and adorable, but it’s mostly him making notes about your species while using you as his primary source of research

he thinks all of your non-human traits are absolutely adorable (even the ones that aren’t traditionally ‘cute’, like sharp teeth, cat-like eyes, and claws) and he is by no means afraid of letting you and anyone else in earshot know that

if your cat-like biology also impacts your diet then he and senshi will make sure that every meal you all eat as a group is completely safe for you to consume — it may take them a bit longer to gather and double check the available ingredients to make sure that you can actually ingest them without any side effects (there isn’t as much research done into what monsters are edible for felines as there is for other humanoids, much to his frustration), but it’s more than worth it in his eyes if it means getting to see your eyes light up as you enjoy his cooking and praise him for his efforts

if you’re comfortable with physical touch then you’ll rarely go more than a few hours without laios pulling you into his arms and holding you close: stroking your tail, playing with your hair, scratching behind your ears, squeezing the palms of your hands and watching in awe as your claws extend and retract in response, etc. — and this isn’t just something he does because he wants to cuddle with his boyfriend after a long day of fighting and eating monsters (physical touch may not be his main love language but he’s not completely opposed to it either), he also does it because being affectionate with you also happens to have the effect of completely calming him down and making him feel at ease and safe (yet another potential quirk of your feline side that he enjoys), which is something he hasn’t really felt since setting off on this journey to save his sister

and if you happen to purr like a cat? oh he won’t ever get enough of hearing that sound — and he will 100% try and test out the idea of that sound promoting healing in other creatures (it’s a good thing you love him, huh?)

90% of the time he’s able to keep his head on straight and doesn’t let his monster obsession get the better of him when he’s around you

… the other 10% of the time is another story

he’s rubbed the thin skin of your ears between his fingers while theorising about how much better your hearing must be than his (while he thought you were asleep, of course)

he’s combed his fingers through the soft fur of your tail, gently bending it to-and-fro as he quizzes you about its functionality and sensitivity

he’s woken you up in the middle of the night, his nose pressed gently against yours, so that he can watch your eyes adjust to the light, diligently writing about whatever it is he noticed

he’s walked by your side through floor after floor of the dungeon, showering you with questions about yourself and your kind that range from mortifying to endearing to expected — all asked as bluntly and excitedly as you’ve come to expect from your monster-obsessed s/o

he’s even offered you his hand to bite so that he can observe and experience the difference between your bite force and the marks you leave behind and his own — chilchuk and marcille both immediately spoke up to protest that particular experiment and insisted on you two keeping a sensible distance between yourselves from that point until your next rest

(naturally as soon as you all settled into your camp that night, when everyone else was distracted or already asleep, he brought it up to you again with just as much excitement and fascination as before — if not more)

he just… really finds you interesting, that’s all

[jesterwriting]

characters: sanji x vampire!gn!reader

contents: handjobs, bottom sanji, blood drinking gone sexual, reader is slightly animalistic from hunger, sanji is always happy to provide a meal, medically inaccurate, not proofread

word count: 1.5k words

note: i got vampire brainrot at 3 am last night. that is all.

playlist: tear you apart - she wants revenge

Hungry.

You were painfully hungry.

Your stomach clenched, growling so loud, you were sure it would wake the crew. Though your heart no longer beat, you couldn’t help the fear that coursed through your veins at the thought. The last thing you needed was one of your friends coming across you when you were starving, slathering like an animal as you paced on deck in the dead of night.

Everything hurt. Your instincts were going haywire with the all encompassing desire to feed; to sink your claws into whatever living creature who dared cross your path and bleed them dry.

The new moon hung overhead and the deck was bathed in shadows. Your sight was not hindered by the lack of light, pupils dilated so large your eyes were sure to be a sea of black. Stalking forward, your footsteps faltered when you heard a sound from the kitchen.

Bu-bump.

A heartbeat. Your lips pulled back in a snarl as saliva pooled in your mouth. It was a lone heartbeat, pumping liters of fresh blood through the veins of a silly little human who was up too late for their own good.

Your world was bathed in shades of gray. The varnish of the wood at your feet seemed to be etched in silver. Night vision was not only practical, but beautiful. If you weren’t so damn hungry, you would take a moment to appreciate it.

Opening your mouth, you scented the air. You recoiled when the sour, but familiar, taste of cigarettes hit the back of your throat.

You knew who was waiting for you in the kitchen. The one whose heartbeat called to you, sang to you, begged to be devoured. Your hands shook at your sides, the door to the kitchen growing closer as your feet moved of their own accord. The rational side of you screamed at you to leave, to lock yourself in your room until morning where you would land on an island and finally restock your blood supply. The animal side of you, however, was never one to give up on a meal.

You loved your friends, they were like family to you. Not once did they make you feel guilt for your dietary needs, nor did they make you feel like a monster. Now, as you ran your tongue over your fangs, you wished they were scared of you. The desire to hunt was buried deep in your very marrow, muscles clenched tightly in preparation to pounce as you turned the knob. You dreamed of the sensation of sinking your teeth into soft, prone flesh. Warm with life, so different from your own.

Light blinded you for a second. You blinked a few times, adjusting to the brightness, before Sanji’s figure drew your eye. He was hunched over the sink, staring out of the porthole.

You could smell him from here. What would his blood taste like, you wondered. Rich, meaty, or floral. Your fingers twitched in anticipation, clawed nails grazed the flesh of your palm. Sanji still hadn’t noticed you, too caught up in his own thoughts to see your approach. Every squeaky board on the ship was memorized in the back of your head. It was almost a dance: step, turn, dip, step again, as you quietly stalked toward the ship’s cook.

You could see the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Sanji whipped around, revealing an ashtray with a still smoking cigarette resting in it.

“Y/N?”

The acrid stench of fear filled the room, if only for a moment, before Sanji relaxed. You met his eyes and mimicked his stance, mouth open slightly to taste the air. He was so close, you could practically taste him. It wasn’t until you heard a loud ‘plop,’ did you realize you were drooling.

Concern flitted over his face as Sanji drew closer to you. He was so warm, smelled so delectable, it took all of your self control to keep from pouncing on him and draining him dry. You gripped the counter so hard it cracked.

The noise caused Sanji’s expression to jump. Gently, he placed his hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Hungry,” You ground out.

You didn’t realize he had removed his coat until the top few buttons of his dress shirt were loose. Sanji tilted his head to the side to reveal the pale column of his throat. You swallowed hard.

“So eat.”

Hands shaking, you struggled to contain yourself as you approached him. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“I trust you,” Sanji said, as if you weren’t a monster, drooling at the sight of him.

You trailed your fingers down his cheek and along his jaw, watching a trail goosebumps well in their wake. He trembled under your grasp, but there was no longer the scent fear in the air. Sanji was telling the truth, he really trusted you.

Breath shaky, you brought your lips to his jugular. “Kick me if you feel faint.”

“I won’t have to do that.”

The scent of him was driving you mad. Unable to control yourself any longer, you sank your fangs into his tender flesh. Sanji let out a gasp and brought his hand to cup the back of your head as you started to suck. Your fingers tangled in his hair to drag him closer to you. He tasted heavenly and floral. Almost like rose water, but richer, the barest hint of iron tickling the back of your throat. You moaned, sending vibrations against his skin as you drank from him, desperate to fill yourself with as much of him as you could.

Sanji’s whimpered as your tongue darted out to caress him, the pink muscle leaving a sticky trail of saliva as your feast grew sloppier. You wanted more of him, from flesh, to bone, to marrow, devouring him whole until nothing was left behind. Sanji’s sweat was salty. It only added to the bouquet of flavors you were indulging in. Gently, you stroked his face with your free hand, a silent praise of how good he was being for you. With a breathy gasp, Sanji tilted his head back, eyelashes fluttering against your palm.

“Taste good, love?” You tried not to focus on how his voice hitched when your lips suctioned against his jugular. An insatiable heat pooled in your gut.

You responded by placing an open mouthed kiss to his skin. He shivered under your lips. He could feel you smirk as you dragged your hand down his chest and along his hip to his crotch where you met the hard bulge in his slacks. Your fingers were gentle, toying with him.

“Say the word and I stop,” You muttered.

Sanji bucked into your palm. “Please, don’t stop.”

Expertly, you unbuttoned his pants and slipped your hand under his waistline. His cock throbbed when you gripped him, a small moan falling from Sanji’s lips and into the air where you could taste his arousal. He was hot, almost too hot, against your palm. There was a small part of you that was worried your naturally frigid body temperature would be a turn off for him, but he seemed to be enjoying it if his desperate thrusts into your hand were any indication. You spread precum down his cock until he was slick enough for your hand to glide along the length of him. He whined when your thumb brushed over the head, only for the noise to cut short when you suckled the sensitive skin of his throat. Your sharp fangs lightly nipped at whatever inch of skin you could find.

He was delicious, pliant and soft under you. What you wouldn’t give to have Sanji moaning like this every night. With the taste of roses on your lips, you sped up your ministrations, moving on from lazy flicks of your wrist to rapid strokes that met the speed of his thrusts. He was shuddering as he panted, the noise so hot you could barely stand it. What was once feeding became a trail of hickies along his collarbone. You could feel his body tense, Sanji’s grip in your hair tightening.

“F-Fuck, I’m cumming,” Was the only warning you got before he spurt hot ropes of cum against your fingers and into the fabric of his underwear.

You continued to stroke him, giggling as he twitched in your arms, before removing your hand from his now soft cock. Full for the first time in days, you lapped at Sanji’s wound until it closed. Healing spit was one of the few benefits of being a vampire, aside from enhanced strength and speed. You pulled away and wiped your lips with the back of your hand, smearing blood and semen across the bottom half of your face. Sanji stared down at you as if you were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, even as filthy as you were.

He stumbled, and you took great care to slowly bring him to a sitting position on the floor. “You’re probably lightheaded, I drank a lot.”

Somewhat pale, Sanji met your worried gaze with a smile. “Nonsense, my angel, Next time you're hungry, feel free to seek me out. I am a meal made for you to enjoy.”

[dream2bu]

Ingredients:

1 lb (450g) beef stew meat, cut into small cubes

2 tbsp olive oil

1 onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 celery stalks, diced

1 cup (200g) pearl barley

2 carrots, diced

6 cups (1.5L) beef broth

1 cup (240ml) water (optional, for a thinner consistency)

1 tsp dried thyme

Salt and pepper to taste

1 cup (150g) chopped mushrooms (optional)

2 tbsp chopped fresh parsley for garnish

1 can (14.5 oz or 410g) diced tomatoes

1 bay leaf

Directions:

Prepare the Beef:

Warm the olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Place the beef cubes in the pot, season with salt and pepper, and sear until browned on all sides, approximately 5-7 minutes. Take the browned beef out of the pot and set it aside for later.

Cook the Vegetables:

In the same pot, add the onions, garlic, carrots, celery, and mushrooms (if using). Cook the vegetables for 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they start to soften.

Combine Ingredients:

Return the browned beef to the pot. Add the barley, beef broth, water (if using), diced tomatoes, bay leaf, and thyme. Stir well.

Simmer:

Cook the vegetables for 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they start to soften.. Cover and let it simmer for 1-1.5 hours, or until the beef is tender and the barley is cooked. Stir occasionally.

Season and Serve:

Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper as needed. Remove the bay leaf. Serve hot, garnished with fresh parsley.

Serving and Storage Tips:

Serving: This soup is best served with crusty bread or a side salad. It’s even more flavorful the next day after the flavors meld together.

Storage: Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days. Once the soup reaches a boil, lower the heat to a simmer. Reheat on the stove or in the microwave.

Tips for Success:

Use Quality Beef: Opt for beef stew meat or a cut like chuck roast for tender results.

Brown the Beef: Don’t skip browning the beef, as it adds depth to the soup’s flavor.

Soak the Barley: If you have time, soak the barley for a few hours before cooking to reduce cooking time and ensure even tenderness.

Customize the Vegetables: Add potatoes, parsnips, or green beans for extra heartiness.

Health Benefits:

Rich in Fiber: Barley is a good source of dietary fiber, which supports digestion and helps maintain steady blood sugar levels.

Protein-Packed: Beef provides a significant amount of protein, supporting muscle repair and growth.

Loaded with Vitamins and Minerals: The vegetables contribute vitamins A, C, and K, along with minerals like potassium and iron.

Low-Fat Option: This soup is naturally low in fat, especially if you choose lean cuts of beef.

Nutritional Information (per serving):

Calories: 350

Protein: 25g

Fat: 10g

Carbohydrates: 40g

Fiber: 8g

Sodium: 650mg

Variations and Substitutions:

Vegetarian Version: For a vegetarian option, skip the beef and use vegetable broth instead. Add beans or lentils for protein.

Gluten-Free Option: Substitute the barley with quinoa or rice for a gluten-free alternative.

Spicy Kick: Add a pinch of red pepper flakes or a dash of hot sauce for a bit of heat.

Herb Swaps: Try rosemary or oregano in place of thyme for a different flavor profile.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Rebirth

"Human DNA contains all the necessary genes to produce feathers - it's merely a matter of selective activation."

I may have gone a little overboard with this, but I saw this on a Twitter meme, and it got me thinking:

The human body readily responds to changing environmental stresses in a variety of biological and cultural ways. We can acclimatize to a wide range of temperature and humidity. When traveling to high altitudes, our bodies adjust so that our cells still receive sufficient oxygen. We also are constantly responding in physiological ways to internal and external stresses such as bacterial and viral infections, air and water pollution, dietary imbalance, and overcrowding. This ability to rapidly adapt to varying environmental conditions has made it possible for us to survive in most regions of the world. We live successfully in humid tropical forests, harsh deserts, arctic wastelands, and even densely populated cities with considerable amounts of pollution. Most other animal and plant species are restricted to one or relatively few environments by their more limited adaptability.

When an environmental stress is constant and lasts for many generations, successful adaptation may develop through biological evolution. Those individuals who inherit a trait that offers an advantage in responding to particular stresses are more likely to survive longer and pass on more of their genes to the next generation.

Genetic change in response to environmental stresses usually takes many generations to become widespread in a population. Fortunately, we also have other ways of responding more quickly as individuals during our own lifetime. The word adjustments is used here to refer to these shorter term physiological changes that are not inheritable. The word adaptations is reserved for inheritable genetic changes developed in a population over a long period of time.

One of the more powerful types of adjustments to environmental stresses is a change in growth patterns and development. This occurs in childhood and typically results in anatomical and/or physiological changes that are mostly irreversible in adulthood. Such permanent changes are referred to as developmental adjustment or developmental acclimatization.

This led me down a rabbit hole on how a human would be affected while in contact with the Devildom and its inhabitants and how MC differs from them. Excluding Solomon as his circumstances are much more complex.

For a normal human, the risks from exposure are mainly focused on their psyche, as the brothers' sins bleed from them almost uncontrollably, and its mostly the same for other demons in the Devildom and the Devildom itself. So, as long as the human stays vigilant, they would be able to scrape by with only minor affects from the exposure. Their bodies wouldn't change, and even if they did, it wouldn't be apparent in them, but in their offspring and further descendents.

MC, however, is not a normal human. For the most part, they are immune to the affects of the sins due to their angelic heritage. But I can imagine that there would still be some results from being near them long term.

Human beings are imitative generalists. We can immediately imitate a wide range of behaviors with great facility, whether they be vocal maneuvers, body postures, or actions on objects.

So it's likely that MC would eventually start imitating some of the brothers' habits after so long. And in so duing, succumbing, more often than not, to their sins, changing them even more than before.

Which brings me to this:

MC, after being in the Devildom for so long and in contact with all these supernatural beings, begins to adapt to the environment due to their angelic heritage, exposure to magic, and close proximity to the brothers, along with their pacts.

As time passes, they begin to feel a slight change in their back and skull. They can feel the skin begin to stretch, an itch they can't seem to be free of. An ache settles there as their bones begin to change, and large lumps form there, the skin turning a bright red due to irritation.

Their diet changes, too. Foods they weren't able to eat before because of nasty side affects from human consumption no longer ail them. They become much more tempting.

Strong magic no longer makes them feel sick. Before, long exposure made their pulse quicken, head throb, stomach churn, and now its barely even a tickle. A slight sensation, like a puff of breath against their skin.

Their physical strength becomes much stronger. They break things with much more ease now. Pencils, toothbrushes, cups. All things that are imprented into their muscle memory become much harder to use. Things that were supposed to be too heavy for humans feel much lighter.

The others don't seem to notice. Assuming MCs discomfort is due to them being a human in their habitat. Neither Solomon nor the angels notice either for the same reason. Diavolo and Barbatos are the same.

They continue to do as they have done from the start. Bringing MC small comforts to help them survive. Basic necessities that humans require. They make sure that the sun lamp in MC's room stays functioning. They have human foods in stock. Medication should MC need it. All of their needs and wants are met with utmost care from the beings that love them so deeply.

MC says nothing and hides it, becoming more distant. Confused and trying to convince themself that this is but a passing thing. Its not the first time something weird or painful has happened to them in all their years being in the devildom.

That is until a blood curdling scream rips through the HoL in the middle of the night, a painful sound akin to that of a banshee, snatching all the inhabitants away from what occupied their attention.

They know that voice and are all scrambling to get to them.

Mammon arrives first, already in his demon form, being the quickest of the brothers and bursts through MCs door with no regard to the fact that he turned it to splinters. He is snarling, ready to protect MC, but the scene before him makes him freeze.

MC is on the floor, on their hands and knees. Eyes screwed shut as their face twists with excruciating pain. More screams pushing past their lips, each one with more ferocity. Their covers had been pulled along with them as if they had fallen out of bed.

The smell of blood hits him like a punch to the gut. MC was covered in it. Their sleep shirt drenched in the red liquid. Its slides down their face with no intention slowing.

It brings back awful memories that he never wants to remember. Their body cradled in his arms as he pleaded for them to stay awake and stay with him after Belphie threw them over the railing.

The ringing of their screams in his ears shakes him out of his stuper, and he is at their side in seconds, his hands hovering over them, unsure whether or not he should touch them since they look to be in so much pain.

He has no idea what to do, and before he knows it, he's sobbing. Screaming for his older brother.

"Lucifer! Lucifer, help!"

The eldest was a blur of black as he rushed in. His wings and horns on full display. His red eyes practically bulging from their sockets at what he found. But he was quick to hide it.

"What happened?!" He snapped.

Mammons mouth worked to form words but could barely get them out between his sobbing breathes, "I-I don't... I found them like this and..."

There was no histation in Lucifers stride as he dropped down to one knee next to them. His hand came to softly rest on MCs shoulder to get them to look at him, but her scream of pain at the contact made him jerk it away. He gently cradled their face after that and noticed that their skin was hotter than humans should ever be. He knew enough to know that if they didn't act fast, MCs organs would begin shutting down. However, the eldest was not adept in the knowledge of human physiology and was internally berating himself for it.

"Satan!" He yelled.

The fourth born was already hot on their heels before his name could leave the mans mouth, with the rest of them not far behind.

Deja Vu for all of them. Reliving that fateful night from years long passed.

The blondes eyes scrunched together as he ran to them, leaving the others to stare in horror from the doorway.

"Their temperature is too high. We need to cool them off somehow." Lucifer said, his fist balled at his side, knuckles white from fighting off his pride and his worry.

"We need to get them into an ice bath," Satan said, the back of his hand gently lingering on MCs cheek, but when the others made no attempt to move, he snapped. "NOW!"

They scattered, but Lucifer and Mammon remained.

"We need to stop the bleeding too," he continued. "With their temperature so high, medication won't work. Their body will burn it off before it can help."

Satans voice softened, "MC, we need to see where the blood is coming from. Where does it hurt?"

MCs chest heaved, their breathes coming sharp and fast, "b-back.... he-head"

"I'm going to remove your shirt, okay?"

Satan nodded for Lucifer to begin examining their head while he began ripping away the shirt as gently as possible, paying little mind to MCs exposed form.

Satans breath stopped at what he saw, eyes wide. Six jagged tears lined their spine. Hollowed bones petruding through the exposed muscle. Strips of flesh hung over their sides, and each breath they took seemed to tear at it more.

Lucifers reaction was the same. The skin on MCs forehead had split, leaving bleached white mounds of bone in its wake. And when he looked up to see Satans face twisted with emotion, his eyes fell to the mangled flex.

Mammons sobbing intensified at the sight. What are they supposed to do? None of this was right. What is happening to MC? Why? Why, why, why, why, why, why?

MCs screams returned, and they fell to the floor in agony, reaching out to the men in front of them and latching on to them. The muscles in their back flexed, and the hollow bones pushed out further.

Asmo reapeared, "Its ready-" he gasped. His eyes fell to MCs crumbled form, and his hands covered his mouth just as Levi, Beel, and Belphie arrived.

Levi was already crying. Worrying over his best friend. But now it was so much worse. What was happening? How is he supposed to help? He wants to desperately, but has no idea what to do.

Beel was the same. He's hates seeing the people he loves more than anything in so much pain. His strength has no use in this situation, and it pains him. This is not a battle he can win.

Belphie is still as a statue. His mind racing, feet frozen in place, unable to look away. Was this what my brothers felt that time? This fear that seeps into his stomach is the same fear and agony that he felt when Lilith died. Not again, not again, not again.

"MC can you stand?" Lucifer asks.

"No," MC wailed. "Hurts too much.... can't move. Please make it stop! I can't-"

Their screams turned to agonizing sobs.

"Belphie, we need you to put them to sleep." Lucifer commanded.

Belphie did not move. He barely heard him speak.

"Belphie!" Mammon yelled.

He still did not move. Caught in the well of his own misery and regret.

MCs voice broke through, "Belphie, please!"

Belphie was shoved forward by Levi before his feet began to move on their own. Hesitant hands reached for MC, his thumbs brushing over their eyelids until they closed completely, and they fell limp into Lucifers arms.

Lucifer called Diavolo to let him know of the situation. They did their best to keep everything in order while waiting on MC to recover. Weeks passed, and the Prince and Barbatos began to visit the HoL daily to check on MCs progress.

They treated MCs wounds as best they could, even bringing Simeon and Solomon to try and help as well, with Luke sending baked treats he made for MC. The angels magic did little to help as the bones would tear the wound open anew as it continued to grow even larger with flesh new beginning to form around it.

None of them had ever seen this before. Even Solomon was at a loss. Angelic healing magic was the strongest in all three realms, and it wasn't working. Human medicine wasn't helping, and neither was demonic magic. So, the sorcerer turned to experiments and research. Pilfering through all his old tomes and notes. Taking viles of MCs blood for testing. Satan helped him with his search as well, staying awake for days on end.

Weeks turned to months, and Belphie took to staying in MCs room in order to keep them in a state of comatose to help them endure the pain, only allowing them to be awake to eat whatever food his twin brought for them. Beel had taken to being their bodyguard when the others weren't around.

Mammon came and went. Bringing with him items he believed might make MC feel better, but he wouldn't stay for long. It hurt him too much to see MC in this state. While he was away, he spent his time searching, bribing, and threatening others to find a solution. Witches or other demons, it made no difference to him. He would pay any price.

For a while, Levi stayed locked up in his room. Feeling as though he would just get in the way. But it wasn't long before he couldn't stand not having his best friend there with him. So he began visiting them, even when they weren't awake. Talking to their sleeping form about whatever game or anime he was currently fixated on until his rambling turned to pleading for them to get better.

Asmo had declared himself MC's nurse. Washing their hair and body, cleaning their wounds, and using special creams and oinments to help with swelling and scarring. He could often be found sitting by their bed holding their hand in his lap as he whispered compliments to them. His smile unaltering even if it never reached his eyes.

Lucifer came late in the night, letting Belphie and Beel leave to get true rest, and he would just sit in silence as he watched their breaths rise and fall. And when he knew he was completely alone, his back would bow with the weight of his pain, shoulders sagging under the pressure. His fist would fly to his hair, strands coming loose as he pulled. Tears would well up in his eyes. Was this Fathers doing? Was he punishing you as he had done to us? Was he truly so petty to put you through all this pain? His tears would stop as soon as the twins returned, and he would stand, his spine rigid and head held high before turning to leave himself.

This all became a routine until MC's wings and horns stopped growing.

Their wings were massive, comparable to Lucifers, and pitch black, the tips white on the underside like those of Black Vultures from the Human Realm.

Their horns were smooth like polished crystal as they curved up and around the crown of their head like a halo, the ends bent upward. Black at the base and fading to white as they went.

Finally, they found the answer thanks to Solomon.

The Sorcerer had come to the HoL, exhausted and worse for wear, but with a triumphant smile on his face. Satan, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon followed close behind.

He gathered them all in MCs room, where they still slept.

"So what's wrong with em'?" Mammon squawked, impatient as ever.

"There is nothing wrong with them. Not truly. In simple terms, MC has evolved. They are no longer human." Solomon answered plainly.

"So they are a demon now?" Beel asked.

"That's the intriguing part, No. After running multiple tests, I could find no trace of the human genome or anything connected to demons or angels in their blood. From what I can gather, the genes from their angelic heritage were domant before being activated by their experiences here in the Devildom. Their body evolved to survive. Normally, these new genes would be passed on to their descendents much later, but due to their peculiar circumstances and the power they have aquired, the process was excelerated. MC is no longer human and neither demon nor angel. They have become something new."

"Would they be comparable to a Nephilim or Cambion?" Diavolo asked.

"I don't know. All we can do is wait and see. But I do not believe they will pose a danger. If anything, this cements them as a connection to all three realms. Having been born a human with angelic blood and their relationships with all of you and pacts with the brothers, they might well be your greatest asset to create the peace you have been working so diligently for."

They all turned to look at MCs sleeping form.

"Then what are we waiting for, huh? Let's wake em' up!" Mammon exclaimed.

Lucifer looked over to Diavolo and received a warm smile and a nod.

With them all gathered around Belphie lifted his magic and MC stirred.

Their eyes blinked open, and they were greeted with new life.

Drawing reference to MCs new form. Science Overview