#Hardly anything has gluten in it so why is it on every box

[applejarjar]

Food product: 'sugar free' 'non-gmo' 'gluten free' 'natural' 'organic' 'no nitrites/nitrates' 'no hormones'

*Me foaming at the mouth*: shut up shut up shUT UP SHUT UP

[elisela]

read until end omg check please / nurseydex / au for @missanniewhimsy who has been waiting for this fic since the wild beat the caps in march, whoops .

Apparently, being a writer doesn’t pay the bills.

Yet.

Derek always likes to tack that on there. Being a writer doesn’t pay the bills yet, because it will. One day. Hopefully not in the far-off future because he’s got high hopes of moving out of the closet his landlord calls a studio in Flatbush, but that would require several things to happen first, like finishing a manuscript.

He’s working on it.

Turns out that while writing in college had been fairly easy for him, making time to write in between the dead-end jobs that pay the bills when he had no energy left for anything that wasn’t staring blankly at moving pictures on a screen wasn’t so simple. And thanks to the endless parade of dead-end jobs—barista, ticket seller at an off-off-off Broadway theater, cashier—he rarely had an entire day off to devote to finishing the last three chapters of his book.

And when he does get a day off, miracle of miracles, he goes and does stupid things like says yes when his friend asks if he can please, pretty please (with a cherry on top) cover for him this weekend. So instead of burying his face in his computer and a gallon of coffee, he’s out here at the Flatbush farmer’s market, sitting underneath a stark white tent surrounded by books that no one’s so much as glanced at in the last forty-five minutes.

The pies have been flying off the table. Bitty’s in no danger of not making a profit today and Derek’s pretty sure he’ll have to erase the last two flavors—peach and strawberry rhubarb—from the board any second, but the books.

No one’s even looked at the books, despite the large sign declaring them free.

He doesn’t even know why Bitty has them. Well, he knows why—because Eric Bittle has never been able to say no when faced with his sweet old neighbor dropping off anything at his door, let alone seven full boxes of books that she claimed she couldn’t take with her to the retirement home. What he doesn’t know is why Bitty couldn’t just turn around and take them to the nearest donation center. They look out of place in the tent that had been filled with baked goods, and Derek doesn’t blame anyone for looking right past them.

He’s not looking forward to packing them all back up at the market’s end, but at least he won’t ever have to bother with it again.

—

Of course, where Bitty can’t say no to sweet old ladies, Derek apparently can’t say no to Bitty and his big pleading eyes. So when he calls again on Wednesday night—talking so quickly that the words blend together—Derek ends up right back at the market with the books.

The Thursday crowd is calmer than they had been on Saturday, which is both a blessing and a curse. It means Derek’s not on his feet the entire time, but there’s only so much people-watching he can do before he goes crazy. It’s basically inevitable that he picks up the nearest book, despite its god-awful cover, and starts reading.

And reading.

He has to set it down every few pages to smile charmingly at people wandering by and make small talk—no, he’s not the baker, that’s a friend of his … oh yes, everything from scratch, you wanted gluten-free? Right over there in the blue boxes—and it's during one of those conversations that he hits on an idea. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice to spend a quiet afternoon reading and eating pie?” a woman asks her friend as Derek loads up a paper bag with her purchases. 

“Feel free to take as many as you want,” he says, and watches as she reaches towards the pile and hesitates.

“They don’t really look like my thing, but thanks,” she says. They leave without another word and he hardly sees them go. They didn’t look like his thing either, but the one he’d picked up was good, and—

It doesn’t take much to rip a paper bag in half and rustle up a tape dispenser and marker from Bitty’s supply bag. He spends a few free minutes sorting through the books on the table, setting aside a few that look promising, and then googles reviews on his phone as he wraps them up. All it takes is writing a few generic, key phrases on the paper before he scatters them carefully throughout the boxes of pies and sits back in his seat.

The books fly off the table after that, so quickly that Derek’s previously chill afternoon is now spent feverishly wrapping in between schmoozing and doing the job Bitty is paying him in baked goods to do. Closing comes as a relief this time for a different reason, and he’s just starting to pack the remaining books back into boxes when a shadow falls over the table.

“No more blackberry?” someone asks, and Derek almost snorts. He’s been out of pies for nearly an hour, he’d only stayed to get rid of some more of the books. 

“Sorry man,” he says, glancing up—a mistake. Derek’s always been a sucker for redheads, and the setting sun has cast a glow that makes his hair shine nearly golden. “No more anything.”

The man’s face falls, and Derek’s heart along with it. 

“Come back next week, I’ll make sure you get one,” he says before he can stop to think about all the things wrong with that sentence, starting with the fact he won’t be there. 

The guy’s fingers trail over one of the wrapped books Derek hadn’t yet put away. “Magical realism,” he says, sounding amused and more than a little dismissive. “Never really got the point.”

Derek straightens up at that and looks across the almost-empty table. “Sounds like you haven’t read any,” he says, and reaches over to push the book closer with two fingers. “Should try it before you make up your mind.”

The man grins at him, crooked but sure. “Too late for that.”

—

The next Thursday morning finds Derek wishing he’d never been born as he listens to Bitty repeat every word of their conversation to Jack, only to come back on the line to say, “You can come along, Sugar, but this I’ve got to see.”

A few more minutes of cajoling Bitty gets him nowhere, and, already resigned to his fate, he fires off a text to Jack. 

I’ll give you $20 if you convince him to stay home.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to respond. This is excessive, especially for you.

The day is nice, at least, and Bitty running his own booth does mean that Derek is kept well fed and can hide behind his laptop screen. He’s writing in the sense that he deletes two out of every three sentences he comes up with but it’s more than he’s produced in the last month, so he’ll take it. He’d definitely be more productive elsewhere, but being elsewhere would mean that he couldn’t glance up and down the street every forty-five seconds hoping to catch a glimpse of bright red hair, so he stays. The constant tapping at the keys earns him proud looks from Bitty, who seems to think he’s getting much more done than he really is. 

Derek doesn’t dissuade him of that notion.

It figures that the man he’s been idly thinking about all week comes up at the exact time that Derek’s zoned in, fingers punching out sentences he’ll no doubt hate the next day. It takes Bitty poking his shoulder to realize it, blinking at the slight disorientation of the sun being in a completely different spot than he remembered—shining right into his eyes—and being addressed with a question.

“—says you saved him a blackberry pie?”

Bitty’s blinking in a manner that is likely supposed to look innocent and misses it by a mile. He knows perfectly well the pie in question is resting in a bag at Derek’s feet, because he’d put it there himself. 

Derek stares back at him. If Bitty’s going to insist on intervening, Derek’s not going to make it easy for him.

“For heaven’s—” Bitty mutters, and turns a sparkling smile on the man as he reaches down. “Sorry, Will. Derek just gets so focused sometimes, it’s like he’s on another planet. You know how writers are.”

“I really don’t,” the man—Will—says, but he’s grinning as he looks at Derek. “Thanks for saving that for me. My shift ends too late for me to get over here any earlier.”

“All good,” Derek says. His back, which has not appreciated the last several hours molded to a metal folding chair, chooses that second to twinge. He shifts and stretches, and catches Will’s eyes dropping to his torso as he does. “I saved you something else, too.”

Bitty had given up on giving away the books—Derek was mostly certain that was Jack’s doing—but he’d had brought what he’d needed along. He takes the immaculately wrapped book out of his backpack and passes it over, forcing himself to keep a straight face as Will’s eyes scan the bullet points. Sword fights, he’d written at the top, followed by patricide and descriptions of food so good that you’ll need at least five snacks while you read.

Magical realism had been conveniently left out.

Will grins, his shoulders shaking with a short laugh. “I’m not much of a reader.”

That’s—almost a deal-breaker, and Bitty seems to know it by the way he jolts into action. “Five snacks—well, you’ve already got the pie but I’ve got some of these cookies I’ve been testing, they’re missing a little something but I haven’t figured out what. Take some and come back next week and tell me what you think. And if you go to Justin over there—he’s got the best salsa, just tell him Eric sent you and he’ll toss in some chips. Derek, sugar, would you go get the peaches that Chris is holding for me and start loading them in my car?”

He looks over at Will—already biting into one of the cookies Bitty had almost thrown at him—and winks. “Enjoy.”

The reader comment can be forgiven by the way two identical patches of red immediately bloom on Will’s cheeks.

—

It takes just a few days for Derek to get a text from an unknown number on his phone.

Still isn’t my thing.

You read until the end, Derek writes back. He’d written his number on the fifth to last page—just far enough from the end that it probably wouldn’t be seen if someone was just flipping through.

Only because I kept expecting it to get better.

He taps the back of his phone, ignoring how Jack jostles him when he squeezes his way onto the couch, tossing a bag of chips down on the coffee table as the theme to Hockey Night in Canada plays. We can hit up the bookstore, he finally types in. I’ll find something you like. Cornerstone, Thursday at 7.

Three dots appear and disappear so often that Derek is sure Will is trying to find a polite way to turn him down. What he gets instead, however, is—It’s a date.

--

(And they lived happily ever after the end)

[tinymiko]

Coffee and cream

Henry Cavill/ thick woman

Rough sex, swearing, road rage, one night stand lots of swearing seriously I have a filthy mouth

So this is the first time sharing here and the first fic like this I've ever written be gentle. Also it's 4:50am and I'm doing this on my phone so formatting sucks.

Coffee and cream

Henry waited in line at the Starbucks half tempted to take off the ball cap and hoody in order to rush the service. Taking a look at the crowd he quickly changed his mind, his mother always said patience was a virtue. Besides getting his coffee 2 minutes earlier wouldn’t make up for the crowd of fans who would inevitably detain him for at least thirty minutes. He loved his fans was grateful for them but sometimes he wished he could grab a cup of coffee without getting mauled.  

 

He scooted towards the rear wall hunching in on himself watching the people come through the doors enjoying watching people without them watching him. A rush of hot air blew in as the door opened again. A small woman walked in head down auburn curls swinging down to her back blocking his view of her face. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to see her face but he felt compelled to move forward eyes tracking her as she waited in line. She was striking  pale skin dark eyes, long lashes. She had small lips that seemed to be perpetually smiling. Henry moved closer. Close enough that he got a whiff of her perfume,, she smelled like coconuts and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. No heavy floral perfume or overly sweet vanilla for the little lady. Coconuts was strangely appropriate, exotic sweet like her smile.

 

He shook his head and backed up wondering just what it was about this woman that had struck him so. She was pretty no doubt but not the most beautiful he’d seen, hell not even the most beautiful in the Starbucks. She had drawn attention though, more than a few eyes followed her. It wasn’t just that she was tiny barely reaching his chest she was undoubtedly a woman, thick and full. There were no gentle slopes or subtle curves on her. No the little doll was like a mountain road, round and dangerous curves. The sharp dip of her waist almost cartoonish in comparison to the ample hips and the swell of creamy breast. She was built like a brick shit house.

 

 

Henry was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice he had moved so close to her until she bumped into him. Her little hands steadying herself on his abs and he felt his gut clench in desire at the heat of her brief touch.

 

“ I’m so sorry sir, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

 

“No I apologize, I hadn’t realized I was so close to you. I was a bit impatient for my coffee I guess.”  Henry took a deep breath when her brown eyes widened in recognition

 

 

“No worries it’s as much my fault as yours patience is a virtue I never possessed, especially not when coffee is involved. Besides it’s a hazard of being small sometimes people don’t see me down here.”

 

She smiled and then walked towards the pickup line grabbing a comically large Frappuccino. She walked back over to him handing him a grande caramel latte with Henry scrawled on the cup.

 

“I think this is you.” She told him an amused smirk on her face before she turned and walked away.

 

He stood for a moment just watching her go before chasing her out the door his long legs catching up to her quickly.

 

“ You know who I am?”

 

“ of course you’re huge dude plus a ball cap does not a disguise make.” The smirk was back on her face and Henry got the feeling she was laughing at him

 

“why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“ Because no one deserves to get attacked by fans before their first cup of coffee and you were practically crawling into your sweater trying to hide. Which is hard to do when you’re that big so kudos on that.”

 

 

Henry looked at her with disbelief before letting out a loud guffaw.

 

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

 

 

“Already got one cutie besides I gotta go to work but enjoy your coffee. Also I loved you in the Witcher the wig really does it for you or does it for me however you want to take it.”

 

 

She climbed in a black SUV with a grunt that had him smilin, why did the smallest people drive the biggest cars.

 

“wait can I buy you dinner tonight. I'm in town for a few days training with Gracie.”

 

“The ju jitsu guy?” she asked.

 

“ yeah how’d you know?”

 

“I’m Puerto Rican we’re raised on boxing and MMA well that and dominoes. Anyways I really do have to go my boss is a hard ass and I’m already  late.”

 

“wait, just can you call in. I don’t know anyone here and I’d really like to thank you for not outing me.”

 

Isabella took a deep breath. She was really trying not to freak out. Henry fucking Cavill was talking to her! Asking her to dinner her plain little Isabella Sanchez. Of course she had immediately recognized him, who wouldn’t.  She had also recognized how hard he’d tried to blend into the walls and she felt sorry for him. How hard must it be for him to do anything without being mobbed. She was still trying to decide if it was worth hearing her boss's mouth when a group of girls came out of Starbucks. Unfortunately at that same moment Henry had taken off his cap to run his hands through his hair. The girls immediately squealed and rushed towards him. Not taking the time to think Isabella unlock the doors to her Suburban and yelled for him to get in. The car shook with the force of his body jumping in the passenger side and Isabella pulled the car in reverse tires squealing while she made an illegal turn onto the highway.

 

 

“ Wow thanks! I’ve never been actually been in a car chase.”

 

 

“that was hardly a car chase.” She said smiling

 

 

“Could have fooled me.” Henry muttered loudly.

 

“I could drive you back to the fangirls.”

 

 

“ no you’re a fantastic driver I didn’t fear for my life at all.”

 

Isabella snorted. So she had a lead foot she got him out of there before he could be molested by overly caffeinated fan girls.

 

 

“ I’m Isabella by the way.”

 

She held one hand towards him while quickly changing lanes and swerving around a slow driver.

 

“maybe you should keep both hands on the wheel.” He suggested with a dry chuckle. He was also not so discreetly putting on his seat belt. Isabella rolled her eyes. With his shoulders she wasn’t sure anything short of a head on collision would even jostle him.

 

20 minutes later they were pulling into his hotel and Henry had never been more glad to see a hotel in his life. The fact that the GPS has estimated their driving time at 40 minutes instead of the 20 minutes of near flying it took may have accounted for that. Isabella was sweet and funny and scary and the craziest driver he had ever had the displeasure of riding besides. He wasn’t sure how they had survived or how she hadn’t gotten arrested. She violated more laws than he had known existed cursing in English and Spanish at anyone that didn’t drive fast enough. So anyone driving the speed limit or below. He was a bit terrified of her, turned on to and he wasn’t sure what that said about him.

 

“ come up to the room well order room service besides I think I need some Dramamine”

 

 

“You can’t complain if you didn’t die that’s the rules .”

 

“I’m not sure I could complain if I did die.”

 

She snorted at his muttered words maybe she should have taken it easy on him but honestly she loved to drive loved the speed being higher than everyone else for once it was exhilarating.  She followed him to his room half worried half horny and wondered if she should be more concerned. She didn’t usually follow strange men to their hotel rooms. He had looked so panicked when those girls spotted him she couldn’t just abandon him.  She usually had good instincts about people and hers were saying he was a good person. of course her mind was telling her instincts she was thinking with her lady bits and well her lady bits weren’t thinking at all.

They ordered sandwiches and talked while they ate. Henry found himself telling her about his childhood about his love life or recent lack of and everything in between. Isabella was surprisingly easy to talk to. She wasn’t afraid to call him on his shit or to eat with gusto and he was glad. Hollywood and their   and gluten free salads were getting old. He missed comfort foods and comfortable people.  He laughed loudly as she told him about her uncle and father nearly getting into a fist fight over a game of dominoes how her aunt had forbidden the game since the “incident “ as everyone now called. Isabella called It hilarious and was still lamenting the lack of video footage of the two men dueling with canes while cursing up a storm. ( this actually happened)

 

It was nice really nice actually. He hadn’t felt so normal in years so when she stopped talking to take a drink he kissed her. Pulling her lush little body to him until she was straddling his lap. Her hips rocking against his hardness causing him to hiss.

 

He should stop he hadn’t meant to go this far but she felt so goddamn perfect in his arms. Squirming in his lap the heat of her cunt burning him through the jeans he was wearing. Fuck it he thought for once throwing caution to the wind. He wanted this wanted her. Isabella with her kind eyes and loud laughter her crazy road rage and gusto for life. It beckoned him a sirens call that he was lost to. He had spent years playing the game enjoying the fruits of fame. Had models and actresses all long limbed lithe all the same. Henry realized as he grabbed a handful of hips that it was like eating rice every day. It would keep you alive but was hardly living. Isabella this vibrant stranger was like a feast after years of famine.

 

 

 

 His hands traveled her back down to cup the fullness of her ass.  He pulled his mouth from hers to run his lips against her throat nipping at her jaw. She tasted like heaven sweet and salty and just fucking divine. Her fingers clawed at his back as ground herself harder against him he could feel her wet heat through the thin panties she wore. Her skirt uselessly rolled around her waist.

 

“Fuck Henry please”

 

 

Her pleas went straight to his cock and he ripped her blouse from her body tearing it in two leaving scraps hanging from her arms. Her nipples dusky rose and pebbled in his hand. He couldn’t help but suck one into his mouth before letting it go with a loud pop. She clenched her thighs and bucked her hips riding his Jean clad cock ferociously.

 

“You like little doll” he pulled the other nipple into his mouth sucking harder and she made little mewling noises. Dhe was going to be the death of him. He had known the second he had gotten into the car with her. He just hadn’t known she would ride him to death mewing like a kitten while fucking like the devil.

 

“more please harder"

 

 

Never one to deny a beautiful woman Henry pulled her still writhing body off him and tossed her bodily on the bed. She landed on the hard but he didn’t stop just ripped the rest of her clothes from her body. Before shoving his own off. Henry paused to look at her his gaze burning her body. The tattoo of a fiery heart on her hip the scar from an old belly piercing. Her glistening pussy just begging to be tasted. So he did he dived into the bed his weight  making her bounce a bit. Spreading her legs he passed his tongue over her slit. She squirmed trying to  close her legs but he held her thighs open scooting until she was trapped by his shoulders. Pinned beneath the massive girth of his muscular body. Every pass of his tongue sent a jolt between her legs. He plunged his tongue  in and out of her sopping hole fucking her with his tongue. Isabella screamed it was too much his weight his smell his touch everything was too much and she thought she might die of pleasure. He thrust two fingers into her cunt twisting and turning them while his tongue lapped at her clit. Her stomach clenched and her back arched obscenely  her breast jutting in the air and she convulsed the strength of her orgasm taking over her body. She shook with after shocks and Henry crawled up her body his face shiny with her slick.

 

 

Isabella felt her body tighten in response seconds before she was sure she was going to pass out but looking at his face covered in her juices his tongue darting out to catch errant drops. She was wet all over again. Pulling his face to hers she licked at the seam of his lips tasting herself. Her fingers ran through his curls and she tugged on them impatiently. In  answer he plunged into his bulbous head stretching her to capacity. He stopped halfway her little cunt so tight that he was afraid he’d hurt her if he fully sheathed himself. Henry could feel the sweat dripping down his head a vein in his neck bulged with the effort to keep still. He wouldn’t hurt her not after she’d been so kind no matter how much he wanted to let go. To fuck her into the mattress.

 

“ Fuck your so goddammit tight. I can’t fuck, we’re going to have to go slow little doll or I might hurt you. ”

 

Isabella took a deep breath slammed her hips forward fully sheathing him. She was full so full she could swear he was going to tear her in two but she needed it, need his big cock to fuck her into the wall.

 

“don’t you hold back don’t you fucking hold back.”

 

 

Fuck was all he could think when the tiny woman slammed her body down on him. He pushed into her his big hands holding her hips in a bruising grip as he pulled out to the tip than  slammed her body down his erection over and over. He had lost it. He knew he was holding her too tightly slamming her little body to strongly. The small part of his mind that still was coherent cursed his weakness even as he continued lifting her up before yanking  her down his cock till finally he felt his balls tighten. He wanted to make it good for her though the absolutely filthy sounds of him gliding in and out of her soaked cunt made him think it already was good for her. He managed to capture one luscious tit in his mouth biting hard to keep it as she thrashed screaming a second release and he roared incoherently feeling his seed fill her up he couldn’t help the smug smirk before finally collapsing on the bed. He had enough presence of mind to make sure she landed on top of him so he wouldn’t crush her then fell asleep.

[zukofenty]

off the grid

➜ Summary: The one where Katara is a spoiled heiress who manages to crash land on a (cute) soldier of one of the most dangerous nations in the world. 

“Get your face out of my vagina!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs. 

“Here’s a thought, get your vagina out of my face first!”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, CEO!Katara, Soldier!Zuko, Crash Landing on You!AU 

➜ Words: 10.3k

AO3 @zutaramonth

“Get your face out of my vagina!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

  “Here’s a thought, get your vagina out of my face first!” Zuko yelps, words gargling. He currently was being suffocated by the crotch at his neck. After Katara’s many screams, and a swift kick to his face, they both scrambled off each other, laying on the ground for a quick moment of relief. Her body is aching after throwing herself from the tree she was stuck in. 

  After realization set in that he was a soldier who was just nearly crushed to death by a cooch, and she was a woman who somehow crossed impenetrable borders, they swiftly were both upright. Katara in a fighting stance, and Zuko’s gun automatically pointed at the girl’s face. Her eyes nervously darted around, looking for any escape route in the expanse of wilderness and trees and furry animals she sure were foaming at the mouth, looking for a bite of gorgeous heiress who smelled of Chanel No. 5. 

  “I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me!” Katara screeches, taking off as fast as her Yeezys could take her. 

  “Um, yeah I can !” He insists, shooting into her general direction. He wasn’t trying to kill her persay. Maybe maim. (It just would’ve been a lot easier if she died). 

  “Fuck!” he screams, once the girl was out of sight. 

  Last week, Katara was cyberbullying Debby Ryan from the comfort of her penthouse. One of her larger concerns of the week was debating buying the rights to all of her Disney Channel movies, just because she felt like it. Then, she could post clips of her disturbing, Radio Rebel smile every day on Instagram without copyright claims and she could blissfully ignore Debby Ryan DMing her a defamation lawsuit. 

  She had money money . Like being able to turn on the AC during the summer type of wealthy. The type of rich that could sing John Lennon’s Imagine during any crisis and say that’s enough activism for today . After all, she was an heiress of one of the richest families in the Water Tribes—a nation at the forefront of nearly every cultural conversation. In the past, every other nation out there doubted their abilities based on size alone, underestimating the tribes’ growing force. Once a nation surviving on simply hope to prosper post 100 Years War, they were now a cultural powerhouse you couldn’t ignore if you tried. From their dramas, skincare routines, and exquisite cuisine (two-headed fish soup and all), the nation was suddenly the talk of the entire world. They thrived under people’s ignorant assumptions. Blossomed despite people’s mistreatment of them in the media. Soon enough, those who questioned their authority were begging for alliances. 

  Except for the Fire Nation. A nation stuck so determinedly in the past. Notorious for their inability to move on from the world of centuries ago. The world where the Fire Nation was a dominating force. While every nation competed to innovate, the Fire Nation seemingly refused to accept reality. Their borders were violently closed off. Their trade was limited to working with the Earth Nation every once in a blue moon. Refugees who manage to escape tell stories of a cruel life seemingly stuck in the stone ages. Their leader, Azulon, threatens to bomb somewhere, something, someone every other week, and every nation’s relationship with them has remained precariously in the air since then. 

  “What the actual fuck !” She screeches. “I thought this was one of those national parks joggers find bodies in, not the fucking Fire Nation !” 

  Dead or alive, people weren’t allowed to make it out of the Fire Nation. 

  Katara was a stubborn CEO. The kind to only accept things by her way, by her standards. Coming from money didn’t mean shit when you didn’t have the raw hunger she had. She wasn’t like many of her peers. She wasn’t content with just sitting back and signing a few papers once in a while so she could make it to her SoulCycle class. But, she’d like to think that’s what made her so successful for the last decade. Katara was insistent on testing her clothing company’s new batch of athletic clothing. She scaled a mountain range in the sweat resistant hoodie. She swam in Olympic sized pools in their innovative, competition ready swimsuit and swim cap matching set. Of course, it made sense to test their new paragliding uniform. At the time. 

  “ Don’t move. This field is full of landmines,” Zuko warns, putting out his hand to stop the shaking girl. He sees it in her eyes, the way she’s about to run after he’s managed to catch up to her, and unknowingly blow this entire shit up. “They’re grey and round, or shaped like a box that—” 

  “Like the one you’re stepping on, right now?” Katara smirks, hands coming to her hips to taunt him.

  He freezes, hands coming out to balance himself at the edge of the stream she’s managed to leap across. 

  “Again, I am a bad bitch. These won’t kill me. You won’t kill me.” She snatches his walkie talkie from his jacket’s pocket, and thinks about just taking it and letting the guy who almost fucking shot her suffer. She decides against it (she didn’t want to get on God’s, or Rihanna’s, bad side today) and sets it down on the ground in front of him. He’s left to watch her expertly leap around a few stray explosives. 

  “If ‘bad bitch’ means missing a few limbs, sure. Go ahead ,” Zuko baits. She happily gives him the bird, before running as fast as she could in her Yeezy Boost 350s. Running even when she hears gunshots whizzing past her. Running even when she sees a sign, warning about a field of landmines. 

  She runs until her vision becomes blurry, and all she can hear are little children chanting a song about the Fire Nation’s greatness. She runs, even when her body feels like lead, and her eyes are a hair’s breadth away from shutting. 

  //

  He doesn’t know why he helps her. Why he wants her to get out of here alive. Why he scoops her up once soldiers began flooding the village she stumbled upon. They were making sure everyone was doing their part in singing the national anthem before the enforced curfew. She should’ve been shot to death by now by his men, or at least mauled by a wild lion vulture. 

  He just doesn’t understand it. Their forces were meant to kill , trained to shoot anything at the border on sight. He doesn’t understand how this five foot nothing girl had outrun men who have trained in the military for nearly their whole lives. His army was sloppy that day. Most of them were still drunk off of whatever cactus juice and homemade wine combination the ladies at the local village had offered to them. Then again, it wasn’t every day someone decided to paraglide during the biggest storm of the decade. It wasn’t every day someone managed to cross into the Fire Nation, when no one wanted to be there for decades . 

  He doesn’t understand why he pulled her close to his body at the sight of the military’s trucks, and runs them into his house at the edge of the hill. He doesn’t understand why he spent the last three hours painstakingly cooking up noodles from scratch for her. She takes a quick nap on an old sleeping mat he found while he works diligently. His stomach protests the fragrant aroma. He hasn’t eaten a homemade meal in months. 

  “People literally steal and sell my pubic hairs on eBay. The average price is one grand for a single strand. I deserve better,” Katara says. He thinks it’s completely in jest. She cackles when he glares at her. The smile she sends him tries to relay that she's grateful, but he’s hardly swayed by her charms. Instead, he’s scoffing at the efforts.

  A first for her. 

  She’s used to getting her way, as an expert at manipulation. When you’ve spent your whole life ruthlessly competing to run one of the largest corporations in the world, you couldn’t afford to be sweet or gentle or genuine. You learned to work people, bend them to your will until they snap. Then, you move on. Find someone else, do the old song and dance again. 

  Before she could even lift a chopstick, Zuko quickly grabs the bowl from her grasp, a pout forming on his lips. While he was always taught to school his features, he always knew he was no good at it. 

  “I will continue to do what I’ve been doing for the last two hours, and just ignore everything you’ve been saying,” he mutters, sipping at the broth to her dismay. The second she walked in, she called his house “a hut with a dick in it.” When he instructed her to take a shit in the outhouse, she didn't speak to him for the next hour. He thinks he saw her tear up when he mentioned there was no Internet. He swears he was ten seconds away from busting a vein. 

  “ Ugh . Room temperature water?” Zuko guffaws once her nose crinkles up in disgust.

  He blows a stray strand of his hair away from his face. “There are no ice cubes.” She hates how everything he says is so matter of fact. 

  “Get some, then.” she says, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I don’t drink ice cube-less water.”

  He just laughs. “Right, when we get any sort of electricity first, I’ll make it my number one priority to get a fridge that dispenses ice cubes engraved with your perfectly detailed portrait on them, too.” 

  Katara shoves at him, and he just stares at the spot on his chest she touched. “For future reference, I am vegan. Well, vegan adjacent. But still. The point is I am a delicate flower with an even more delicate diet. A delicate flower that’s used to caviar and organic shit and the rich people gluten-free bread you get from Trader Joe’s. So I’ll excuse it this time, but the next time  you make something please remember.” She follows up the command with a sweet smile, as though it made up for her demands.  

  The memory of her dodging bullets with a branch in her hair easily comes up in his mind. “Nothing about you is delicate.” Zuko barely budges when she tries reaching for the bowl again. 

  Katara gasps. “Even my bowel movements are delicate!” 

  He just snorts. 

  She’s annoying, he decides. All brattiness considered. Even with her tiny frame drowning in her dirty paragliding uniform, and a pout that has him wanting to laugh. The way she moves is dainty, with the self-assurance only those who grew up in comfort have. But, something about her eyes reveal something crueler, something so much more vicious underneath the soft exterior. 

  He was thoroughly out of options. While he has her holed up in his house until they decide an escape route, he feels his stomach churning at the thought of the Fire Nation’s regular surprise house inspections. Turning her over to the government meant a quick and easy execution for him and his men without question, and the potential to cause even more political strain with the rest of the world. Even if they do hand her to the government, there’s no telling what they would do to her. 

  He tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, rubbing at them as thought it could end the nightmare he found himself trapped in.  

  For the last few years, Zuko’s life was a monotonous routine.  

  “Type 63 Rifle, Soviet SKS carbine,” Zuko breathes, ears perking up at the sound of the weapon. His hand comes out to halt the hordes of men. “One of us. Retreat,” he barked, arms  motioning for his battalion to return to their hidden positions among the dwindling flora and fauna. Months in his uniform without rest, months spent guarding the border to ensure no one left. 

  He doesn’t remember much about his life before this. He tries to forget, because it made him too sad. It made him want to do something reckless, to break something, to even cry , because he’s long forgotten anything but getting up, getting into uniform, getting into routine. 

  It was his duty, as the only son of the Fire Nation’s notorious military director. 

  He was trained to be a war wielding machine. To show no mercy. Men in the Fire Nation weren’t meant to be weak . They weren’t allowed to be soft. 

  His mother tried to get away from all of it. She tried as hard as she could to tell her children there was a life you could feel beat with all of your heart, as long as cruelty didn’t find it first. She knew Zuko wasn’t meant for this life. 

  Zuko knew, too. 

  He was never good at anything, never the best one growing up. While he excelled at delivering blows, or wielding his swords, he was always told his mind was a pathetic thing. Too brash, too naive. Azula was always the better one at that. At violence. She was their father’s right hand, her thoughts filled to the brim with genius strategy. Always one step ahead of everyone else, even as a toddler. 

  Zuko was content to be in the background, to be nothing more than a decoration when the family portrait needed to be taken. He wants to be selfish, to blame Azula for pressing pause on his life. The day she was assassinated was the day his dreams of forgetting the Fire Nation all but shriveled up. After all, tradition mandated the military director had a blood successor. 

  //

  “I am not going to put back on my dirty underwear after I shower! I am not a Bhad Bhabie type of bitch,” Katara indignantly spits out, crossing her arms over her chest. 

  Zuko rolls his eyes. Everything she says is confusing . 

  “Don’t act up while I’m gone,” Zuko begs. 

  “Like the City Girls?” 

  She feels her blood boil at his silence. 

  “Please tell me you’re lying. Please tell me you’ve heard of ‘Act Up.’ Please. Don’t let me down now.” 

  “I have no—” 

  “Seriously, where were you all summer? ‘Act up, you can get snatched up?’ Nothing? Nothing rings a fucking bell?” He can’t help but sweat.

  Even when he looked up whatever she says on his work computer (the only time people in the Fire Nation were allowed to use the Internet) he still can’t wrap his head around what exactly a Bhad Bhabie was.  

  “Then don’t wear underwear. I don’t know what else to tell you.” 

  She holds the landline phone close to her mouth, as if to make the message clearer. “Where will the pussy juices go then!” 

  Zuko hangs up on her, only to have her call him precisely 12 minutes later. 

  “My right nipple is chafing. What about my nipple eczema!” She protests. She feels her face shriveling up. Without her Yves Saint Laurent Firming Serum, she feels like a piece of her identity was missing. He had diligently informed her to use his sole bar of soap for all purposes before he left for work, and she nearly fainted on the spot. 

  “Tell it to go away, I guess?” Zuko suggests, trying his hardest to sound helpful. He tried leaving detailed notes on how to take a hot bath by pouring boiling water in his basin, and clipping the plastic shower curtain to the ceiling, trapping the heat in. He prays she hasn’t burned down his house, or someone hasn’t seen her through the gate.

  “I can’t!” Katara seethes. 

  Zuko rubs at his temples. “This was meant for only emergencies. Goodbye !” Zuko slams the phone, returning to his paperwork. He feels a hot blush spreading across his cheeks, and tries to bring his hand up to his face to alleviate the warm feeling.

  //

  She doesn’t know why he’s so nice to her. 

  When she’s all but threatened him and blackmailed his entire crew to keep their silence and help her escape.

  She simply laughs, the sound foreign to even her own ears. Her empty stomach painfully clenched in protest at the sudden sensation. It had to be some sort of sick joke. A sick fucking joke probably crafted up by Pakku! Or some of those man-children from the Northern Tribes who think they know a thing or two because they took a Marketing 101 crash course on Khan Academy! 

  She needed to get back for the big shareholders meeting. They were going to announce the new CEO of Moon Tech, the largest corporation in the Water Tribes. It was everything she had been working for her entire life. She couldn’t afford to miss it, lest it show any weakness whatsoever. As the most viable successor, she was sure all eyes were watching her every move. Yet, somehow, she managed to end up on the set of a period piece gone wrong. A miserable, yet probably Academy Award winning, period piece that smelled like moose knuckle pussy pickle. 

  She looked to the closed door, the flimsy thing separating the minute living room from his even smaller bedroom. She felt guilty for misjudging him upon their first meeting. 

  She thinks she feels more guilty for breaking his favorite vase. 

  “C’mon! That was my favorite ficus,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head she broke the vase on. He avoids her gaze because she’s clad in one of his old dress shirts and nothing else, the thing coming to fall at her knees. If he blushes any harder, he thinks she might notice. Her hair is wrapped up in a messy updo and her face is scrubbed clean. The faintest tint of pink dusts across her cheeks. 

  “Sorry,” she whispers, hand coming to rub at the spot. She was nervous hearing someone wiggle the doorknob when he hadn’t come back well into the night. Why he had three locks on his door and used exactly none of them, she wasn’t quite sure. She thought she was being helpful by locking his doors. Until it was becoming apparent he didn’t care enough to carry his keys with him, and had an additional unlocked back door he was just attacked at. 

  He swats her away swiftly, body mechanically programmed to attack for coming so close to him. He’s body slammed bigger men for breathing through their mouths. But something stops him abruptly, and he stills when she comes closer, roughly grabbing at his head between her two hands, and bringing it to her eye level. “A slight bump will form, but it’ll go away faster if you soak some rice and press here,” she precisely finds the swelling area. He winces when he feels the pressure. 

  Her eyes are impossibly wide while she watches him, and he can’t help but shrink at her careful stare. This was the quietest she’s been since she crash landed. He feels unsettled. “I—I got you some stuff.” He places the bag gently in front of her, a now familiar flush coming to pepper his cheeks. “I’m going to go to bed now,” he lies, retreating to his room while still rubbing at his head.

  “Thanks,” her voice is barely a whisper, and stops him in his tracks. He turns to her, and her smile is so genuine. Her eyes are swelling with joy and it makes his heart ache. It seemed easier to talk to her that night than in the day. There wasn’t an impossible front to break open to see how she was feeling, the moonlight peeking through the cracks in the wall seemed to make her eyes wider, smile brighter even. Her guard is down and it makes emotions easier to decipher. 

  She thinks she can’t feel her face when she opens the bag. “I’m such a bitch,” she babbles to herself as she opens the boxes of shampoo, conditioner, and even signature Water Tribe moisturizers. Everything she complained about he managed to remember to a T. He even got her some traditional Fire Nation women’s outfits, even when she was only staying for the next couple of days. The tears pricking at her eyes feel foreign. She could afford private jets to fly to Beverly Hills and start a fist fight with Kim Kardashian just because she hit Kourtney in season 18. A couple dollars worth of smuggled products shouldn’t make her a weepy mess.  Somehow though, she feels herself unable to dim the smile plastered across her face. 

  Zuko wants to jump for joy. Though, he resists the urge when getting up too fast makes his head bump feel like it has a second heartbeat. He spent the better part of his evening at the open air marketplace a few blocks from the village. It was worth enduring the questioning glances from the shop vendors. Even when he felt like crawling in a hole and dying as he hastily gestured he wanted to purchase women’s underwear, it was all worth it when he’s lulled to sleep to the sound of Katara’s giggles. 

  //

  “I think he just smiled.” Mako whisper-screams. Nearly all the jaws in the mess hall drop open. 

  “You’re lying ,” a voice squeaks out. The dozens of heads seem to collectively turn towards their captain. Their stomachs churned at seeing living proof of the small smirk on his face. He’s distracted. Staring off into the distance, he’s just picking at the meager helpings of his lunch on his plate. 

  For all intents and purposes, Zuko was boring . He was a stick in the mud, the kind of guy you saw laugh once or twice a year for obligatory purposes, just to make sure everyone knew he wasn’t a robot assigned by the government to spy on soldiers. 

  He was a captain who delivered orders, and nothing more. A strict, by the book kind of guy. The team knew little to nothing about him. They weren’t even sure he used the bathroom like a normal human being (half of them were betting money on the robot theory). They just weren’t close like that. They weren’t the type of team to be able to joke around with their captain, share their stories, bleed their heart out on the military field. They knew the scar on his face meant he had pissed off some higher ranking officials who still possessed the power to firebend, a sacred art limited to the few. It meant there was more to the story than just a bumbling captain of a lower ranked crew. The most they got out of him was once in a while he would startle a young kid, who was just trying to get his mandated service over with. He’d clap them on the shoulder and would murmur a low “Good job.” (His definition of keeping up team morale). 

  He was efficient at his job, and good at keeping his men safe, rarely raising his voice to anyone except maybe himself. More than what they could say for other captains. He was hard on his men, but harder on himself. It was rare to see him doing anything but stress . 

  Smiling ? Simply out of the question. 

  He couldn’t help it! It was an automatic reaction to the morning he had. 

  “Thank you, for everything,” Katara says quietly, placing the tray of food on his night stand. She knew he had to get to the military base in the wee hours of the morning, and also knew she wasn’t going to wake up in time without her vibrating mattress alarm clock. So she pulls an all nighter, and tries to figure out how to use the tools and contraptions at her disposal. She didn’t mean to startle him, she swears. She has to stifle a laugh when he wakes up with a start. Eyes slowly peeling open, the eye crust obstructing his view. His hair is facing every which way. He looks younger, somehow. The messy hair, the wrinkled shirt, and drool he makes a quick job of wiping away. 

  “What’s this?” He peers up at her curiously, placing the tray in his lap. 

  “My labor of love.” She insists, sitting even closer to him on his bed. She thinks she likes it when he squirms under her gaze. For all the military get up with metallic shoulders, and the endless medals pinned to his uniforms, he was just a boy under it all. “I know, I haven’t been the most...easy guest to have.” She ignores his snort. “After all of this over, after the Fire Nation opens up its borders again, I promise you. I will pay you ten times what this hut with a dick is worth. Because…” she breathes in, looking unsure of herself. “I’ll never forget your kindness.” 

  “T—Thank you,” he stutters. He thinks they’re empty promises, but doesn’t try to question them too hard. It shouldn’t be possible for his heart to pulse as fast as it does, but it seems to be mesmerized by how much wider her smile was able to get. The noodles are misshapen, probably because of her inexperience with the old-fashioned machine. The broth is salty and makes Zuko’s throat beg for a glass of water. And yet, he slurps up the entire dish without complaint. 

  Anything to see her eyes light up. 

  //

  “The first boob I ever saw was in Titanic . Haven’t seen one since. Waiting for Titanic 2 to come out.” Mako says proudly, puffing out his chest. He hoped his extensive knowledge of non-Fire Nation films would entertain Katara. Zuko’s few trusted men (mainly the ones who were responsible for letting her escape in the first place) were instructed to keep her safe while he sorted out the plans for her escape. Iroh was able to set up a clandestine arrangement with a ship leaving the Fire Nation docks for their semi annual pickup of Earth Nation goods. They were hoping she could sneak through to the Earth Nation, and explain her situation with customs there. 

  “Buddy, I got some news for you.” Katara smirks, and the boys grow nervous. She was pretty. The type of pretty that made people stare, wondering if it was possible for someone’s eyes to twinkle in the sunlight. She looked like one of those celebrities in the movies he loved. Talked like one, too. In the Fire Nation, she was the type of pretty where guys would be bartering an entire village just to get a chance to look at her. Though, just from talking with her, she seemed like the type of girl who would hide in her house after gaining said village, just to spite them. 

  Mako was curious about the Water Nation. Their schools taught them that Azulon was an elite magical creature that somehow never needed to take a shit, and people in the other nations defecated three times the amount of Fire Nation folk. He always knew something was up. Everyone was constantly smuggling goods from all the other nations, especially from the Water Nation. There were automatic rice cookers that played a song when it finished making perfect rice, and little boxes that could play music when you press it. Mako always knew there was so much more out there than people in the Fire Nation could ever know.  

  She tells them stories of her life in the Water Tribes as they wait for Zuko, and she pointedly ignores the scoffs and disbelief. “There are toilets that shoot out water into your ass crack to clean it?” 

  “You can adjust the settings and everything!” She proclaims, pride filling every one of her words. “Warm, cool, even inconsistent spurts if you’re into that shit.” 

  They all make a noise of amazement. “That’s incredible .” She talks about sky rises, and business meetings with rich people, and showers that turn on with a drop of a hat. 

  “What’s a Rihanna again? Is that your God?” 

  “Yes.” Katara answers, with no hesitation. “See, she is the baddest in the land—” 

  “Wait!” Bolin abruptly stops her. “I thought that was your God...Megan Thee Stallion?” 

  “She’s the thiccest of them all.” Katara punctuated with a click of her tongue. “I thought we went over this!” 

  “Sorry,” they grunt, looking especially sheepish. 

  “What does she preach?” Kai inquires, eyes growing wide with delight. 

  Katara taps her lip, eyes coming up to the ceiling trying to concentrate. “She’s a goddess who empowers women! She tries to get everyone to build their knee strength. I think one of her sayings is ‘I need a Mr. Clean, make that pussy beam,’” Katara . 

  Zuko watches on, leaning on the door frame. He wants to hate the fact that he’ll miss her. 

  //

 Everything was supposed to be easy at this point. 

  “Don’t forget about me.” She holds onto his arm as they sit against the edge of the fishing vessel, the waves impatiently slapping against them. He was supposed to bid her farewell at the dock, but something in him wanted to guarantee she was able to get on the second boat to the Earth Nation. 

  He’s still clad in one of his more formal uniforms. He still feels the chill of the night scraping through the fabric of his double breasted blazer. 

  Katara openly welcomes the cold, after nearly sweltering to death every second she’s been in the Fire Nation. 

  He lets his smile reach his eyes. “How could I forget a girl who nearly crushed me to death with her crotch.” 

  Her guffaw has the captain, Jeong Jeong, even startled. “Right.” She looks off into the distance, and can’t remember a time when she’s ever been surrounded by this much water. “My name’s Katara, by the way.” 

  Zuko feels a pang in his chest. “Zuko.” 

  “Nice to meet you, Zuko,” she whispers, holding her hand out to shake his. It feels warm when he grabs at the dainty thing. 

  “I hope we meet again. Maybe, in another life, Katara.” 

  “Really?” For a moment, he hears a twinge of sadness in her voice. It could be his mind or his heart making it up, but he swears he hears it.

  “Really.” 

  Everything was going according to plan. Everything was supposed to go smoothly. 

  Until they’re both panic-sweating underneath the ship in its cargo hold, trying to come up with a plan to fend off the Coast Guard officers stopping all ships sailing past curfew. 

  “Do something! Doesn’t the military tell you to do something in this case? Or are you guys just trained in the art of being ugly and having anger issues?” 

  Zuko wracks his brain. “Why don’t you help me?” 

  “What happens if I don’t?” Katara angrily mutters. 

  “You’ll deal with the consequences,” Zuko shrugs, too entirely calm. He was a natural in intense situations, but even he could feel his hands shaking. 

  “That’s just diet ‘ I hope this bitch dies !’”

  “Oops,” Zuko sneers. 

  Katara huffs. “The fact that men can breathe just doesn’t sit right with my soul.” Katara wants to strangle him. 

  A lightbulb seemingly goes off in his head. Something Mako said about the non-Fire Nation  films and stories was always a fool proof “Get out of jail” card. 

  “Kiss me,” he says without any uncertainty. 

  “Are you huffing cactus juice, bitch?” 

  “Just do it!” Zuko practically screams when he hears the door opening. She presses her lips to his chapped ones, and his hands naturally come to her waist. He’s lost in the feeling of her plush lips, how incredibly soft her body was that he ignores the screams of Coast Guard officers. 

  “What the fuck was that!” They question Jeong Jeong, who simply shrugs. The officers promptly drop the cargo door in shock. 

  She slaps his face, his cheek already reddening in mere moments. 

  “What was that for?” Zuko grumbles, stroking his face. 

  “You’re a freak!” 

  He narrows his eyes. “I prefer a ‘you’re welcome,’ but that doesn’t seem to be in your vocabulary.” He felt like his entire body was tingling, but Katara could only focus on the fact he was swiping at his lips with the back of his hand. 

  “Hey! You should be thanking Rihanna you got a chance to kiss me! If you weren’t so colonized you would realize I am one of the most beautiful women in the world!” Katara petulantly reminds.

  “I think it’s because you got diarrhea all over my one of my favorite t-shirts that I am doubting that claim.” 

  Katara sulks, confident form shrinking. “I forgot to boil the water one time, sue me.” 

  He can’t stop his laugh from taking over his whole body. He’s about to help her up when he hears, “Open it up again!” 

  This time, Katara fully pushes him down among the boxes of cargo, straddling his lap, and violently mashes her lips to his. 

  “Get the fuck up here!” Someone screams. Katara lets up on the kiss so Zuko could peer up at the officers. He feels his ears overheating.

  “She’s my fiancé.” He hastily explains, once they were on deck. In between their masks, they stare down at Katara, who bites on her tongue, and puts up an act of a bashful bride-to-be. She holds onto his arm with a vice grip, ducking her head behind his broad shoulders. 

  “They were going on a romantic sight seeing trip,” Jeong Jeong provides, sweat beating down his back. 

  Katara nods enthusiastically. “We just couldn’t wait for the wedding to have a little fun .” She grins intenerally at their coughs of discomfort and Zuko’s bewildered gaze. 

  They check Zuko’s identification card, before nodding in understanding. 

  “Fine,” one officer bites out. He stares at Katara for a beat too long as though he’s reading her thoughts. It makes her uneasy. “Turn it back, and don’t come out past curfew anymore. They’ve implemented new standards for ships.” Jeong Jeong nods in understanding, and jumps to the helm in no time. But, Zuko could sense the panic vibrating off of Katara. 

  She turns to see the second ship waiting in the distance, her ticket to freedom a few feet away. 

  “We’re not done with date night!” She insists, coming out to try to stop the officer. Zuko holds her back, eyes pleading with her. “But—I—there has to be some other way.” She’s shaking like a leaf, even when Zuko throws his blazer over her bare shoulders. 

  //

  “I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck feeding him heartburn medication like they are tic tacs,” Katara says to no one. She’s pacing nervously around the living room, and Zuko’s trying his best to come up with something to comfort her. His head is in his hands, and he’s since loosened his top knot to let his hair fall. 

  “Katara, I am only two years older than you,” he gently reminds. 

  “...And then I heard dentures always smell no matter how hard you clean them.” 

  “Katara I swear—,” 

  She gasps. “Oh my god, we have to start thinking of retirement homes.”  

  Things were supposed to be easy. 

  A spontaneous house check was something the village’s residents were accustomed to. They gathered outside their homes as soldiers began rifling through their things. Parents simply stood about, discussing the new books they had to buy for their kids for the upcoming semester. 

  Nothing was entirely out of the blue. Yet, the elusive military captain just had to show up to the front of his house, hand in hand with a blue-eyed girl. 

  A gun was promptly pointed in her face. “Oh shit. Bitch, not this again.” 

  “This house was registered for one resident.” General Zhao’s lip curls. “State your name and occupation.” 

  General Zhao had overheard a certain military director’s son was busted trying to get some punani on the seven seas. 

  It’s not that he hated Zuko, per say. Their relationship was more of a “ regularly abusing Zuko’s privacy to fulfill a personal agenda because of the bloodthirsty desire for power ” type of thing. Normal things. Maybe , it was influenced by the fact he got wind of Zuko pressuring his higher ups to further investigate his sister’s assasination. He wasn’t entirely sure. 

  “Look here, I have information that could lead to the arrest of Nicki Minaj. So why don’t you, I don’t know. Let me go ! I promise I’ll tell you everything I know about Ms. Nincki,” she lowly breathes, a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows only making the soldiers around her even more heated. 

  “Shut the fuck up!” A soldier screams behind her, poking her head with the gun. Katara couldn’t help the whimper that passed her lips. For the first time in her life, she thinks she feels genuine fear. 

  Zuko pushes past the guards holding him back, throwing them to the ground. Without missing a beat, he takes her hand in his. “Get your fucking gun out of my fiancé’s face!” He roars. Gasps reverberate around the villagers. This was the loudest and longest they’ve ever heard Zuko speak. “She works for the government as part of Division 11,” he explains, letting his voice settle into its usual rasp. Everybody visibly recoils. 

  A highly secretive sector of the government virtually no one , not even General Zhao had access to. They were agents deployed in different nations, with the goal of collecting information about the culture. It would’ve explained Katara’s Water Tribe accent, and the lack of her identification papers. 

  General Zhao pushes past Zuko, staring him down and grumbling with his men following behind. 

  The women of the village instantly make way to collect around Katara. Noses turned up at her like she was shit on a brick. No, they couldn’t give a shit about her. They had rushed into their houses after the announcement, and came back to ply Zuko with trays of food. 

  “For our handsome Zuko finally getting hitched!” The fake smiles make Katara want to stab herself. She swiftly reaches for Zuko’s hand, much to his confusion, and lays her head on his shoulder. 

  “Baby, let’s go inside. I’m cold,” she feigns through her teeth. Her puppy dog eyes make him feel like he’s in high school. He numbly nods. 

  She thinks she hears someone’s grandma calling her a slut. 

  //

  “Pick your head up king, your hairline is receding,” Katara worries her lip at seeing his current state. She doesn’t think he’s slept all night, and he has papers and maps with highlighter marks and red circles all around him on his bed. 

  It’s been a few days since his big announcement to the village, and it feels better to be able to get outside. Breathe from the confines from Zuko’s dingy house. Even among the whispers and stares from people, the villagers weren’t all bad. The women sometimes drop by to invite her over to cook with them, and the kids bring her only the nicer rocks they’ve managed to dig through the dirt for. 

  “I just want to get you home.” He practically grunts. She’s holding a cup of tea for him, and he gulps it down as if it was Rihanna’s boob sweat. “I don’t want you to stay here for even a second longer.” 

  “Thanks!” Katara sends him a sardonic smile. 

  Fuck . He always knew how to put his foot in his mouth when he’s around her. “No, uh. Not like that. This place is a hell hole, and I just want you to get back. It’s not safe for you, for anyone here.” She pats his back gently when he starts choking on the tea, trying to get all his words out. He’s so sweet, the way he just quietly tries to draft out a plan while he thinks she’s asleep. She hears him curse whenever a pen snaps with the pressure he applies. With how many times he sighs through the night, she feels guilty. 

  She’s entirely too comfortable around Zuko, he decides. She lays in bed next to him and he hopes she doesn't notice the way he’s grown warm with her presence. He craves it too much these days. “You know what, the one thing I’ve learned through all of this is that the first thing I’m going to do when I come back is shutting down Chrissy Teigen’s Twitter.” 

  “Not visit your friends and family?” Zuko asks, amusement dancing across his features. 

  “That can come second,” Katara asserts. 

  Life wasn’t completely terrible. Sure, she cries the moment Zuko leaves the house because she’s sure she’s going to die in this shit fuck of place and never get to her money’s worth of her one year HelloFresh subscription. But she has complete faith in Zuko’s abilities. 

  “It’s like during The Amazing Race Season 17 when those two vegetarian doctors ate a goat’s head to win. I think their names were Kat and Nat.” 

  “The point?” Zuko tries his best to sound exasperated. 

  “The point is, I’ll learn how to adapt for the next week or so. I promise, it’s not all that terrible!” Zuko doesn’t trust her uneasy, twitching eyes, but nods all the same. 

  “Hold my hand, motherfucker!” She beams under the attention of the villagers, most of them scoffing when she does her daily send off routine. When Zuko leaves for work, she is insistent on performing their cute couple duties to piss off old people (her other favorite pastime). “Did you remember to bring your water bottle today, stupid bitch?” 

  “I think I’d like this more if you asked nicely,” he groused. He likes how small her hand fits in his, but he thinks he’ll boil shoelaces and eat them before he would admit it. 

  She’s made one friend, at least. Ty Lee, a girl whose parents are trying to marry her off by the next summer. The older women side eyed her just the same, thinking her big ole titties were too big of a distraction among the eligible men in the village. 

  “It came as a shock to us, we still think Zuko is a robot,” Ty Lee admits over a bowl of beef stew. Katara nearly chokes at the spice level. “It’s too bad you’re marrying a lower ranked officer. I know this guy who’s way up there! You could do so much better . I think his name’s Chan!” 

  “So, Zuko’s basically a nobody here?” 

  “Pretty much,” the girl states it like it’s a known fact. “He doesn’t do much, to be honest. But he’s all the old ladies’ favorites because he’s cute and moody . Fuck that, give me communication , you know what I mean?”

  Katara could already feel the cogs whirring to life in her brain. “Thanks for letting me know, Ty Lee!” Her chirpy tone has the girl smiling as well. Good, her acting skills haven’t gone rusty. “How come when Zuko makes beef stew, it’s never spicy?” She wipes her nose with a napkin Ty Lee had given her after noticing the impending waterfall of snot. 

  Ty Lee ponders it for a second. “Sorry, babe. This is the most mild recipe you can make in the Fire Nation. I didn’t realize you couldn't handle it. Maybe he’s just remixing a classic?” 

  Katara tries to hold back her smile. “Yeah, maybe.” 

  //

  “Babies are broke,” Katara glares at the child in her lap, who only curls in closer to her.  

  “Oh my god.” Zuko lets the little boy play with his hair when he wasn’t suffocating Katara’s neck with his other arm. 

  “They live in your head and your house rent free. And then they have the audacity to stare at you in their weak ass outfits,” she points out. They’re both squeezed together on a sofa barely holding itself together, and forced to watch over the birthday boy. 

  “Don’t be mad. It’s entirely your fault Chungha’s kid laughed so hard it barfed on you.” 

  Katara’s exhausted laugh makes Zuko forget his tiredness all the same. “Don’t call the baby an ‘it!’”

  Zuko lets the kid bite on his finger, and grabs him from Katara’s hands when he begins tugging on her dress straps. “I still can’t believe you taught Chungha’s daughter to ‘not be the bigger person, and punch a bitch!’ And Chungha still invited you to her son’s party.”

  “Talk shit, get hit. Basic stuff.”

  He had to admit, coming home and immediately being dragged to a baby’s birthday celebration was not how he saw his night going. Especially after hours of grueling paperwork. 

  “He’s two ,” Zuko lets out an annoyed huff.  

  “And what about it, bitch?” Katara growls. She has her hair in a complicated updo, complete with the Fire Nation hair ties he recently picked up for her. 

  He tries to hide the fact he enjoys this far too much. Domestic things. Things like coming home from work to banter with her. Cooking for Katara while she’s busy socializing with the older wives. He heard from Mako that Katara spends most of her day with the married women. Her plan was to try to move him up the ranks of the military ladder by getting to the lieutenant’s wives first. 

  When she’s home and finished washing up, she takes his dress shirts as though they were her’s and wears them to bed. After she’s passed out on the sleeping mat in the living room, he makes it a habit to carry her to the mattress in his room. 

  “My bad back likes the hard floor,” he would insist when she would protest. 

  He thinks he’s a goner when she even starts trying to make Fire Nation snacks for his lunches. He packs them himself, but somehow misses the minute containers that make their way into his pail. Even if the container somehow always breaks because she forgets to close it properly and he ends the day smelling like fish sauce, he likes it. 

  He knows he must be fucking crazy, pretending this was all real. Maybe he was delusional and reading too much into her actions. Maybe he was a fucking idiot. But for a moment, it was easy to pretend he’s a few months away from marrying a pretty girl. A pretty girl busy spending the night playing around with babies they could one day have together. 

  He shakes the thought from his head, physically moving his head to make it permeate even deeper. She was going to be back home, safe and sound soon. It was better not to get attached. 

  She makes it so fucking hard, though. Especially when she’s wiping away at the creases in his brow before bed. Or asking him through the closed bedroom door to tell her it’s going to be ok, to talk to her until she falls asleep because she likes the sound of his voice.

  //

  She’s a stone cold bitch. A bitch that could fight with her Swarovski crystal acrylics, and come out virtually unscathed. Someone needs to explain to her exactly why she was crying like a James Charles fake apology video for being a racist at the sight of Chungha’s kid bouncing about, flinging his boogers in her face.

  “Maybe if I pray to Azulon hard enough, you guys could have your own little bundle of joy soon!” Chungha exclaims, holding the baby as tight as she could.

  After all, when you almost lose a kid, every moment you’re blessed with their breath never feels like enough. You never want to spend another moment away from them. It’s a miracle his fever broke in time for his birthday. Their family couldn’t afford to go to the doctor, with hospitals being a four hour bike ride away. 

  “Yeah, sure.” Katara barely could hear her over Yoonjn’s gleeful squeals. 

  “I’ll tell Bomi to pray for you guys, too. After what Azulon did for her little Sana, you’ll be pregnant in no time!” 

  Katara just squeezes at the baby’s chubby cheek. 

  //

  “You’re going to kill yourself.” Katara flinches at Zuko’s voice piercing through the quiet night. He’s leaning up against the wall, and emerges from the shadows because he’s dramatic and needed the added effect. She doesn’t miss the way he limps while clutching his side. 

  “Shut up .” She throws her straw hat at the ground, and flings herself across the sleeping mat, face down. “I’ve had a long night.” 

  He wants to be angry with her. He wants to scream at her. He was livid . 

  “What if you got caught, huh? You could’ve been executed .” Zuko knew it wasn’t a coincidence. That the rumors of a spirit going around healing people in the village coincided with someone’s sudden appearance. He thinks the sight of Katara effortlessly waterbending is permanently etched into his memory. The way her face was blissed out, the element easily submitting to her every will. 

  Katara knows he’s just worried for her. She knows the occasional rustle of the branches was more than a breeze. But, all she sees is red. “Sounds rich, coming from you ! What’s your name again? Sorry, my bad. I didn’t know ‘The Blue Spirit’ was a silent vowel in the name ‘Zuko!’”

  He waits a beat, before turning to face her. She has his mask in hand, an angry glare screwing her features. 

  “How did you—who did—?” His brain was apparently as smooth as Howie Mandel’s head when he needed its help the most. At least he knows where his mask went. 

  “My mind is as strong as the Twitter men trying to get Doja Cat to show us her titties.” She rolls her eyes when she sees Zuko pondering. “You leave your Dao swords on display in the living room, and the mask is underneath your bed. I don’t know, let me ask the audience.” 

  “Oh.” 

  Katara flicks his forehead.

  “At least I’m not walking around with some face paint thinking I’m helping these people!” 

  She scoffs. “But I am! They’re too sick to afford medication. To even go to the hospital. If they make it, no one wants to help them! You’re telling me I have to just watch them die!” 

  Zuko sighs. “You’re giving them hope !” 

  “In this dumpster fire of a place, yeah! I fucking am! What’s wrong with that? Tell me!” She challenges. She comes up nose to nose with Zuko, eyes darting and impatiently waiting for an answer. 

  “What are these people going to do when you’re gone?” What am I going to do when you’re gone? “They think the Painted Lady is real !” 

  “Let them!” She huffs. “What about you, huh? Going around stealing from the rich to bring back to the villagers? You think you’re any better? You’re going to get killed!” 

  Zuko scoffs. “You’re missing the point. The difference between you and me? I’m perfectly fine with dying.” 

  Katara grabs his face in between her hands, anger vanishing. “Zuko, don’t say that.” 

  “Why the fuck not? Maybe I want to fucking die!” He shouts, ripping his head out of her grasp. “Maybe I’m hoping to get caught!”

  “...Why?” Katara croaks.  

  “ You don’t get it !” He screams. Time seemed to stop when tears fell from Zuko’s eyes. Even when he’s angry, he’s never been this loud with Katara before. He wants to take it all back, stop himself.

  She’s at a loss for words. “Zuko, I—”

  “This place is a fucking dead end.  No one’s going to save us. The Fire Nation doesn’t care about us. The Fire Nation could give less of a fuck. You can’t let people think there’s hope when it’s all a fucking lie !” He laughs, the bitter sound foreign to her. “You know, it’s normal to pray for an early death here. You pray that it’s painless. It’s easier to die than live every day trapped in this reality.” 

  He loses his grip on the countertop he was leaning on for support. Katara moves to catch him before he falls, and lays him as gently as possible on top of the mat. She makes quick work to heal the gash at his side. A result of following her during her rounds, and fighting off any robbers trying their luck in the night. 

  “I thought you were the Kris Jenner of the Southern Water Tribe?” He squeezes out, trying to get her to laugh. She’s touched he remembered her Kardashian-Jenner clan rants. (He’s been Team Stormi since day one.) Then again, he seems to remember every little detail about her. “A businesswoman, right? Didn’t know you were a master waterbender on top of all of that.” 

  She snorts, and wipes away her own tears before he could open his eyes again. “I was a paramedic. I wanted to run a clinic at one point.” Zuko winces at the intensity of the water cooling his wound. “Growing up, I hated the business world. It was all backstabbing and boring bitches. But sometimes, it’s easier.” She’s silent for a while, focused only on the healing process. 

  “I—I couldn’t save a lot of people,” her voice drops down to a barely audible whisper, and her brows furrow. 

  They’re shoulder to shoulder on the mat after she wraps up his cut. They’re staring up at the cracks of his ceiling. 

  “Do you ever miss it?” Zuko rasps. 

  “Bending?” 

  “Yeah.” 

  “Sometimes.” She lets silence fill the air for a moment. “ It’s second nature to me. Fuck, I was bending before I could even talk. Is it bad that I gave up on it? Is it bad it makes me sick to my stomach?” 

  Something she loved, she couldn’t stand to do again. 

  She couldn’t save her mom. She couldn’t save her niece. What was the point anymore? 

  He wraps his hand around hers. 

  //

  “What do you think we would have been like, in another life?” Zuko groans, laying down beside Katara. She’s sprawled out, still taking in heavy breaths after breaking into an intense run. His side still aches. He thinks his arm is broken from fighting off the soldiers while carrying the dozens of survivors. 

  The captain in a nearby village was sentenced to a public execution later in the week. He wanted to go out on his own terms and take his village with him, too. Trying to sacrifice people to the Gods above for forgiveness, he set the place ablaze. 

  It’s too bad The Painted Lady got wind of it first. 

  “Hm?” Katara hums, healing a cut on her face. “I’d like to think Katara in another life got to be normal. Like just owning a Chevy and living life without ever having to acknowledge Timothee Chalamat’s existence type of normal. She’s happy. She doesn’t develop an addiction to Prozac. She probably has a small white dog named Mochi that can fit into a knock-off Fendi purse.” 

  “Really? No butt-warming toilets in her life?” 

  “Nah. She could be the Mayor of Boo Boo the Foolville without any consequences.” She can’t recall a time when she’s felt so free. When her words flow out without carefully being measured. The stars feel like daylight. The expanses of the village’s nearby river tugging at her heart strings. “She could bend without constantly thinking of what could’ve been.” 

  “Zuko in another life would’ve been a piano player.” It still stings. Thinking about the future that could’ve been. 

  “Not a full time Blue Spirit?” She teases. 

  “Full time Blue Spirit doesn’t pay the bills, surprisingly.” 

  He turns his head and sees her nose crinkle. He’s sure it should be illegal for someone to be this beautiful. 

  “This kid I healed, he made his own Blue Spirit costume. He’s been wearing it every day, and treated it like it’s this season’s Versace,” Katara murmurs. He laughs, loud and unbridled. 

  “Yeah? I saw a bunch of little girls with their Painted Lady dolls.” They were holding onto them until their knuckles turned white, even with Zuko dangling them from his shoulders.

   Katara’s heart swells. “I think I’m going to cry.”

   Zuko nudges her shoulder with his when he hears her mock-sniffles. 

  “Did you know I told this guy ‘it’s time to evacuate!’ while he was mid-masturbation.” 

  Katara’s stomach is starting to hurt with how hard she’s squealing. “You’re lying ! Please, say sike!”

  Zuko throws his hands up. “I couldn’t make this up even if I tried. He was all like, ‘You mean time to ejaculate!’” Zuko finishes the story in a dude-bro voice. 

  At this point, Katara was shaking uncontrollably, and it’s infectious. He can’t help laughing, too. 

  A beat of silence passes between the duo, too distracted by the night sky. 

  Zuko rubs a hand over his face, determined to stay awake to see her fall asleep. 

  “What would Zuko and Katara have been in another life?” Katara whispers wistfully. 

  He glances over to her, eyes heavy. “I think being us would have been easier, in another life.” Her light snores fill the air. “At least then, I could be by your side.” 

  He nudges her head until it fits securely in the crook of his shoulder. 

  //

  “Sit there and look pretty!” 

  “No!” 

  “All I’m asking you to do is sit and blink!” Katara had run into a kid with a smuggled polaroid camera trying to snap photos of her. In return for not slicing open his urethra with a dull butter knife, she was trying to force him to take photos of Zuko. After all, she wanted a memento of her time with him. 

  The teen was nervously glanced between the two, the camera shaking in his grasp. 

  “I think I’m going to go find my mom…” 

  “Pussy bitch!” Katara screams at the running boy. 

  “Old ass hoe!” He yelps back. 

  Zuko knew it was a mistake taking Katara to the night market. As a celebration of the Mid-Autumn Festival, curfews were relaxed. The marketplace opened up to sell street food into the night. There’s singing, dancing, laughing, drinking. A night to forget, a night meant for happiness. 

  He thinks it’s ridiculous. The way she doesn’t notice the way guys look at her. He’s spent the better part of the night standing in front of her if any man was brave enough to glance in her general direction. At night, she was in her element, her smile was a blinding thing that made his heart race. She doesn’t pay any mind to anyone staring, to anyone trying to get her attention. She’s just taking in the little moments around her, eyes so bright and stares so wide. Like she’s afraid to miss a single detail with just a blink. 

  “Your breath smells like stupid bitch,” Katara points out after what had to be his 20th grunt of the night. She’s sure he’s holding her close to make sure they still played a newly engaged couple. She relishes in the attention all the same.  

  “Sorry.” He sulks like a child, and it makes Katara want to hug him. 

  She pecks his cheek and he freezes. “Look! He bought his girlfriend that potato on a stick thing!” 

  Zuko rushes off without any hesitation. 

  He picks the fire flakes off the potato slices before handing it to her. She practically inhales the snack, and he frets. He thinks she’s about to stab herself with the skewer. “Oh look!” She points to another couple, while pouting. “He won her a stuffed dragon.” 

  Zuko couldn’t stand to see her upset, even for a second. 

  When she’s hugging the plushie close to her, Zuko throws his arm around her. She stops in her tracks. “Oh my god! Is that ice cream—” He runs to find the vendor without even thinking. 

  “Number 43!” The vendor yelps. Zuko instantly recognizes the greasy teenager picking up the order in front of him.

  “Give me the photos you took of my fiancé,” he says, panting. He practically ran at lightning speed to catch up to the kid, who intentionally rushed off after feeling Zuko glaring him down from a distance. The boy feels his bladder shaking.

  “But—but you didn’t want a photo! You—” Zuko’s best menacing scowl had the kid scrambling through his pockets. “She could do better, you know!” He petulantly points out, before throwing the photo in the air and taking off. 

  Zuko lets himself smile after tucking Katara’s picture safely into his wallet. He knew he told himself he wouldn’t get attached. Not his fault she’s cast him under her spell. 

  //

  He’s pouting. She’s struggling not to laugh in his face. 

  “This is mine, now.” He indignantly rips the toy of her hold, squishing it to his chest instead. 

  “Why?” she questions. 

  “If you want one so bad, ask Chan to win you one.” She straight up guffaws in his face. Zuko had caught Chan hugging her out of excitement. Ty Lee finally agreed to a date with him, all thanks to Katara meddling. 

  “I can’t believe you’d cheat on me!” Zuko scowls. He’s more cute than terrifying, and Katara just rolls her eyes. “I thought I was the only one you call ‘babe!’” He tries protesting. 

  Katara snorts. “That was short for ‘beyblade.’ Let it rip, motherfucker!” 

  “Am I not a good husband-to-be? Is that what it is? Do you feel neglected, babe ?” He’s just fucking with her at this point, his childish pout threatening to bleed into a full blown laugh. He’s biking them back home, with Katara seated at the front on only a towel. She misses her Tesla. 

  “For starters, your toes look like gorilla knuckles. They look like they could wrap completely around a baseball.” 

“Hey!” 

  “Be honest. Has anyone ever sucked your toes until you creamed yourself?” Katara’s favorite pastime is making Zuko blush. 

  She turns back to him to see his reddening face. “Oh my god! Look at how cute you are! I think my stomach has the butterflies!” Zuko just grows positively crimson at her mocking tone. He’ll blame the warming weather, though. 

  “Kill them. I won’t treat you right,” Zuko murmurs. Katara just swats at his head. “Didn’t I shoot at you? Love yourself, Katara.” 

  Once they reach his house, she jumps off the bicycle, and grabs Zuko by the shoulders. “Hey.” 

  “What?” He can’t help being mesmerized by her eyes. 

  “I think I’ll miss you,” Katara breathes. 

  “You have to leave first for you to miss me.” Zuko wraps her up in a tight hug. 

  He feels selfish when he wishes moments with Katara could last a lifetime. 

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Eight: Science ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It’s a rainy day today. Not that it matters much to Sasuke: all of his classes are indoors, and he’s got a car to drive home from school when the time comes. But for now, he’s off to his last class of the day.

Home ec.

He’s about three weeks into the school year, and he’s actually turning out to be glad he has this class. The rest of his schedule has homework like you wouldn’t believe, tests far more often than he’d like, and projects out the wazoo. So, the last hour block of his day has turned into a saving grace.

There’s no tests. Very light homework. And most of the in-class work is actually...enjoyable. It’s just a very relaxing class. The old woman teaching it seems to know that most of them aren’t really there to be professional homemakers, so she takes the whole thing a bit lightly. Most days they just go over a chapter in the book, discuss a thing or two, maybe do a worksheet...and otherwise, they’re free to practice whatever falls under the proper category. For most, that’s either sewing or cooking.

Sasuke’s taken up the latter for the most part. Turns out he’s really not that great at sewing.

Naruto still gives him daily crap about it, but it doesn’t really bother him anymore. His mother, as it turns out, is thrilled he’s taking it. She’s had him help out in the kitchen several times since starting to make dinner. And...it’s nice. He can’t remember the last time he spent a lot of time with his mother. And she seems more than pleased to have him around giving her a hand, rather than buried in his room doing homework as he is for the rest of the night.

Itachi teased him a bit about being ahead of the game when it comes to finding a spouse: surely his new skills will give him an edge. But otherwise, he’s been asking him what he’s learned whenever he comes home on the weekends to see family.

And Sasuke’s been making a new friend.

Hinata’s always his partner. She’s the only other senior, and though he’s hardly done anything intimidating, the rest of the girls seem to be far too nervous to approach him. Which he...doesn’t mind. He’s not here to rub elbows with underclassmen. He’s just here to get his miscellaneous credit and be done with it.

...but given he doesn’t have anything squared up for next semester...maybe he’ll come back to it. It’s not like he has anything else lined up.

And he enjoys the class. And his current company.

“It really is just science, you know.”

“Huh?”

Noticing he’s been spacing out, Hinata laughs softly. “Cooking! It’s all chemistry, and knowing how to use it to get the results you w-want.”

Sasuke blinks. He’s...never really thought about it that way. “Yeah, I...guess you’re right.”

“I mean...I guess I don’t know the specifics of it,” she giggles, tucking hair behind her ear. “But I know generally what happens, and why it works. One of these days, w-we should make bread! But...it takes a while. Probably too long for class…”

“I can stay after, if you want.”

That earns a blink. “...well, I don’t have volleyball tonight - our c-coach is out of town. You want to try it…?”

“Sure.”

“Okay! We actually have a bread machine here, so...that takes a lot of the work out,” she replies, giving a small smile. “Otherwise the kneading and rising are q-quite the process. We’ll have to do the whole thing another time.”

“Kneading?”

“Mhm! Mixing the dough by hand, and g-getting the right consistency. Personally I find it rather calming, but...bread can be rather temperamental! Temperature and time and all that.”

“Oh…” Mikoto’s never made bread from scratch that he can remember, so...Sasuke has no idea. “Guess I’ll take your word for it for now.”

“Don’t worry, the machine does all the hard parts. Let’s see…” Digging into a cabinet, she fetches a book that looks to be all about bread. “Hm...here we go! This recipe here is for a machine this size.”

They split up and gather the proper ingredients, of which there aren’t many. Hinata measures them out, including yeast.

“See these?”

“Uh...yeah.”

“This is yeast. They’re what make bread what it is, really.” Dumping them in, she explains, “They sort of...feed off the flour. They break it down into s-sugar, which they then metabolize, which makes carbon dioxide and alcohol! Bubbles of it form, and inflate the bread, and that’s how it rises! It also helps form gluten, which makes the dough sort of...springy! Kneading does that too. But the little paddle in there will both mix the dough, a-and knead it.”

Hinata points a finger at the little menu of controls. “So, we did a recipe for a pound and a half loaf...and we’ll do light crust. Then we just push this button, and…!”

The machine gives a whir, and Sasuke actually leans back in surprise, earning a giggle from his partner. For about a minute, it gives little spurts of movement, Sasuke peering over and watching through the glass top. Then suddenly, it barrels into a constant pace.

“It’s got several steps to go through, and it’ll even bake it when the dough’s done!”

“...why does anyone make bread by hand when there’s something like this?”

She laughs. “Well, there’s a lot of different ways to make bread, and this only does some of them. But for something basic, yeah, it’s p-pretty handy. Actually doing it all by hand is pretty fun, though...and personally I think it’s more rewarding. It’s like the brownies we made the first day! Sure, you can b-buy a box mix, and it just takes a few ingredients and some stirring. But wasn’t it fun to do it all from scratch?”

“...I guess so.”

“Overall, cooking’s really not all that complicated. Just a little math, and reading directions. You can do fancier things as you l-learn, of course...but a lot of people seem to overestimate how hard it is.”

A while later, class ends, but the pair opt to remain. Left to their own devices, they check the machine every so often, but mostly they’ve got little else to do but idle.

Which leads to browsing the net and watching videos about yeast and baking.

“See the foam?”

“Huh...so those things are alive…?”

“Yeah! It’s how they metabolize stuff to make bread rise. I told you, it’s s-science!”

Sasuke chuckles. “Yeah...math, science...guess I don’t need to be taking calculus and chemistry, do I?”

That earns a laugh.

Then, for a while, they sit atop desks and just watch the rain slither down the classroom windows. Though it’s hardly late, the sky is dark enough to make it look like evening.

“This is going to be fun to walk home in,” Hinata eventually muses.

“You walk?”

“Yeah, I only live a few blocks away.”

“I’ve got a car - I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh, y-you don’t have to -”

“I know. I want to.”

Observing him quietly with a slow blink, Hinata breathes a small sigh of defeat.

It’s then the machine beeps.

“Oh! It’s done!” Hopping down, Hinata scurries across the room with Sasuke on her heels. “Here, we need hot pads…”

Lifting the lid, the smell of bread fills the air. A perfectly fluffy loaf is revealed, golden brown and steaming. Carefully, Hinata lifts the pan out, and with a spatula loosens it from the sides. With a shake, it plops out onto a cutting board.

The pair lean over and observe before looking to each other.

“...taadaa!”

They let it cool for a few minutes before breaking out a serrated knife, carefully cutting a few pieces. Hinata doesn’t even dress it with anything, just peeling off a chunk and eating it with a happy hum. “Mm…!”

Sasuke does the same, chewing thoughtfully before nodding. “That...is the best bread I’ve ever had.”

“N-nothing beats bread fresh out of the oven. Er...bread machine.” Eating another piece, she asks, “So? Worth the wait?”

“Oh yeah. The power of science.”

“Yummy science!”

They split the loaf in half and each take a box, Hinata gathering up her things before they both sprint to Sasuke’s car. “Holy crap, it’s r-really coming down!”

“Which is why you’re catching a ride and not walking,” Sasuke replies from the driver’s seat. Once they’re buckled in, he makes his way out of the lot and following Hinata’s directions.

“I think I might eat the rest of this while I do my homework,” she laughs, smelling the box in her lap. “You better not l-let me make another one for a while, or I’m gonna get fat.”

“Worth it, in all honesty.”

Pulling up into her driveway, he waits for her to open her umbrella out the door. “Try not to drown.”

“I think I can make it.” Stepping out, she peers back into the car. “Hey, t-thanks for making the bread with me today. That was f-fun!”

“Yeah...we’ll do it again sometime.”

“Okay! Bye, Sasuke.”

“Later.” Staying to make sure she gets in okay, Sasuke backs out and heads for home.

His car’s gonna smell like bread for a week...and it’s going to make him hungry. And also remind him of today.

Which’ll make him happy.

     Phew, it's not one am for once! xD      So this is a sequel to day ninety-eight, I believe: Sasuke's introduction to Home Ec class! Turns out he's liking it better than he'd feared. I took home ec for like...a few days in high school before switching to drama. While I LOVED drama, I'm a little sad I didn't get to take Home Ec, lol - seems like it'd be a rather low-key class.      I've also made bread in a bread machine, but...I've not bravened up to doing it all by hand yet, haha - we'll both get there one of these days! I will agree though: warm, fresh bread is hard to beat.      Anywho, that's all for today! Hope you enjoyed - thanks for reading!