#having milk ready for him is their peeling oranges

[rocococoa]

hawk always seems to have milk in his fridge or is always ready to offer some to tim like - episode 1 when he mentions that he doesn’t have any milk when offering tim something to drink? that scene in episode 6 where he bought him a large fucking bottle after picking up tim? having bottles of milk ready in their little haven in the fridge in episode 8? i wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bottle in the bag during that one 80s scene in episode 4. the dairy industry must love this lovesick man.

[hereticpriest]

Gulp

The Typist Series

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Warnings: Post-Partum, Pregnancy Kink, Mommy Kink, Lactation Kink, Breastfeeding, Somnophilia-Adjacent, Married Sex, Post-Partum Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Creampie.

Note: Anya is Hungarian for mother/mom

Pregnancy is hell. Anyone who says otherwise should, respectfully, jump off a cliff.

Frankly, having the babies doesn’t really improve the situation either.

That is the thought fixed in your mind as you wake up to the dawn’s first light streaming through your curtains, illuminating your bedroom in warm shades of orange and gold. Your husband’s arm is an anchor around your waist, and your first instinct is to complain about him being clingy, except you vaguely remember a midnight argument about him not cuddling with you and you don't want to send too many mixed messages. Your second instinct is to cringe when you realise that the front of your nightdress is damp, as is his sleeve. 

“What in God’s name?” You ask no one in particular, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning, stretching like a cat within the confines of his grip. Laszlo stirs at your side, grumbling unintelligibly as he pulls you closer to him so he can bury his face in your hair and grind his hips into your ass. Despite the temptation to take advantage of his endless willingness to satiate your needs, and the growing wetness between your legs, the odd dampness of your chest is enough of a concern to distract you. 

“Laszlo, love, wake up.” You murmur, sitting up and tugging your nightdress away from your skin. Your husband stirs again but doesn’t open his eyes, simply slides his hand down over your plump stomach to pull your nightdress up over your thighs. He’s used to your early morning cravings by this point, to such a degree that most times he barely even wakes up before he’s inside you. Since giving birth, he’s changed his method while you recover. He strums you with skilled fingers until he’s woken up enough to crawl between your legs and put his mouth upon you.

“I have you.” Your beloved promises sleepily, pressing his lips to your shoulder and gliding his fingertips through your labia.

“Wait, that’s not-” You cuts yourself off with a moan as he strokes his thumb across your puffy clit, then slides two fingers into you.

“Wanton this morning, szerelmem. You’re already ready for me.” Laszlo purrs, only to grunt when you wiggle in his grasp and gently thump his shoulder.

“Laszlo, my chest.” You whisper insistently, and Laszlo peels his eyes open and blinks at you. Not that he’s opposed to worshipping at that altar, but the urgency in your voice is a little odd.

“Sore?” he asks, then glances at your wet, swollen breasts and seems to finally realise what you’re saying. He hums, sitting up and rubbing his hand down over his face as he yawns. He carefully helps you pull your nightdress up over your head, his eyes going half-lidded at the sight of your breasts. They’re visibly swollen, and your nipples are leaking fat droplets of semi-transparent white liquid that dribbles down to the swell of your belly.

“Look at you, szerelmem. Full of milk for our children.” Laszlo praises you softly, nuzzling his nose against your ear and sliding his hand up to gently cup your breast. He’s surprised by how hard it is, and he frowns a little at the way milk slowly wells up at your nipples. It takes a bit of kneading for it to flow more freely, but it seems to ease a bit of your pain.

“Careful, I’m tender. Having Hannah as a wetnurse is a blessing, but it seems I’m filling up when I don’t have our little ones.” you murmur, leaning into him as he strokes his thumb over your nipple, getting it wet. He lifts his hand to pop his thumb into his mouth, and you gasp, looking both scandalised and thrilled. Your cheeks are flush with love and desire, as they often are since marrying your troublesome husband.

“Hm. Sweet.” Laszlo whispers. He grins at the look on your face, then boldly dips his head to lick the sticky milk from the dip between your breast and belly. He licks the last bit from the bottoms of your breasts, then closes his lips around your right nipple and gives a gentle suck.

“Oh!” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his short hair, “Are you supposed to-”

“I don’t think it will hurt me, wife.” He interrupts you, swirling his tongue around your nipple, then giving it a rougher suck, “Is it helping?”

It takes a moment of consideration to reach past your desire for him and think about his question before you come to the conclusion that yes, it is in fact helping. When you first woke, your breasts felt hard and painful, but the swollen ache of your right breast has begun to ease with every swallow. Laszlo looks up at you through his dark, pretty lashes and you smile at the sight, combing his curls back from his face. His eyes are half-lidded, and there’s a softness in them that makes your stomach feel syrupy. He grabs your breast with firm hands, massaging you gently to get the milk flowing as he sucks at your other nipple, slowly soothing the ache that originally woke you. There’s an eagerness to his actions that makes you wonder whether he’s thought of this before, or if your predicament simply brought something new out of him.

“It is helping. Switch, though.” You demand, gripping his dark hair and guiding his mouth over to the other side. Laszlo hums, wrapping his lips around your nipple, shameless despite the fact that his thick facial hair is wet with milk, his throat bobbing with every swallow. He sucks at your breasts until you’re no longer leaking, then gives your nipples an extra squeeze just to be sure even though it draws a whimper from you. He parts from your chest for a moment to lick his lips, and you’re a little surprised to see nothing but desire written across his face as he palms himself through his sleep pants.

“You’ve gotten the sheets wet, anya.” Laszlo purrs, and you shiver, awed by the way you clench around nothing, “Ahh, did you like that? Naughty.”

You give him a gentle shove, and he laughs, leaning down to kiss you.

“Roll onto your stomach, anya.” he whispers, pulling a couple of pillows over to prop you up with. You sink into them, getting yourself comfortable and hugging the fluffiest of the pillows.

“I’m never letting you get me pregnant again.” You complain, and Laszlo laughs openly, kneeling behind you.

“Good luck with that plan, kincsem.” He replies, rubbing the head of his cock against you teasingly, “I’ll have you heavy with another child within a couple of months, at most.”

You groan as if the idea doesn’t thrill you, and he laughs again, thrusting all the way into you in one go. 

“Stop complaining, anya, I know how excited you are. We’re going to have to change the sheets.” He teases you, grunting as you clench around him, “Fuck, your hunger is unending.”

He takes you slowly, as per your doctor’s warnings. The old man had insisted that sex was perfectly fine a couple months after giving birth, but warned that you both needed to be careful to avoid any complications. The twins are freshly eight weeks old, and Laszlo has been generous enough to bring you to completion with his mouth or his fingers up until this point, but he knows as well as you do that that simply won’t do. Not this time. you need him, and he needs you, and no half-measures will be enough.

“God, I missed this.” Laszlo mutters, and you sigh happily, rocking back into his hips.

“Missed you too. I need you, my love.” you purr, matching the gentle pace he sets. Despite the slow, steady pace, it doesn’t take long for you to find your completion upon him, his fingers tracing love letters across your aching clit as he spills inside of you. Despite his insistence that you would need to change the sheets, he collapses beside the mess and pulls you into his chest when you’re done, passing out again within moments. You cuddle up to him, your back to the window, barely conscious of the way his spend runs down your thighs. You should clean up, but you care not. You throw your leg over his thigh, nestling your belly comfortably against him, and bury your face in his chest. Your fingers trace delicately through the hair on his chest, and you fall asleep with his heartbeat in your ear.

With Hannah caring for the babes, you can afford to sleep in a little longer. The sun has only just crested over the horizon - you have plenty of time before anyone will have any expectations of you.

[needcake]

Day 1: surprise/gift

Engport | G | 1.3k

@engportevents

.

.

Small socked feet padding softly across the wooden flooring woke him up on Sunday morning.

Their room was still dark, a faint sound of light rain coming from behind the closed blinds, Gabriel’s steady breaths coming from his side of the bed. Arthur reached blindly for the alarm clock behind him and opened his bleary eyes to stare at the red numbers marking over half an hour before seven. Gabriel grumbled sleepily and he agreed, putting the clock back down and returning his arm around his warm waist.

He was almost, almost, falling asleep again when he heard it once more: small feet trampling the floor going up and down the corridor, scurrying away like mice on a ship.

“I think the boys are up,” he whispered into the collar of Gabriel’s pajamas and his husband groaned tiredly, pulling the sheets tighter around himself and excluding Arthur from his cocoon.

“And why do I have to be?” came Gabriel’s sleepy response, to which Arthur couldn’t think of something equally smart to answer back so he just grunted at him, peeling back the warm covers and blinking at the floor to find his slippers.

He yawned out into the corridor and noticed a single raisin on the floor. Half a meter away he saw another one, and then another one half a meter away from that, trailing all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, he found the two scurrying culprit mice.

“What are you two doing up?”

A pair of Asian boys ages 8 and 5 looked over their shoulders at him, frozen and caught. It took one too many seconds for Arthur’s brain to connect the dots and fully understand what the hell was going on. There was spilled milk in the counter dripping down the kitchen tiles, an empty bag of raisins on the floor, eggshells on the counter, orange peels hanging from the kitchen sink faucet. His oldest was holding a pan on top of an open flame on the stove and his youngest stood on a precarious three-legged stool perched beside him, holding scissors.

There was also something burning.

“What the f—”

“You’re not supposed to see!” Leon yelled loudly, jumping from his stool and dashing towards him with the scissors and Arthur barely had time to dodge him and take a step back before the door was slammed on his nose.

He gaped at the door.

Then he huffed.

And then he went back for reinforcements.

“Gabe, wake up,” he said, turning on the lights and the human cocoon on the bed squirmed away, hiding his head under the pillow. “The kids are in the kitchen.”

More squirming. “So what?” came a tired response, muffled from under the pillow. “Come back to bed. They’re probably just making cereal.”

A plate crashed downstairs and Gabriel jolted upright, eyes wide open and alert.

“They are in the kitchen,” he repeated, with emphasis.

A multitude of expressions flashed through Gabriel’s expression, from horror to surprise to bewilderment, back to horror.

“And you just left them there? Arthur!” Gabriel whispered-screamed, untangling himself from his twist of sheets and emerging from the bed an angry butterfly, pulling on the first pair of pants he saw – Arthur’s – and stealing a robe from the rack – also Arthur’s –, spitting hair out of his face as he stood in front of him with his hands on his hips and clothes a size too small for his body. “There are knives in the kitchen! Open flames!”

He stepped aside and Gabriel passed by him, nostrils flared, pulling the sleeves of his robe up to his forearms and puffing like a dragon coming out of its lair ready to breathe fire over an unsuspecting village with Arthur hot on his heels.

As they reached the kitchen, Gabriel raised his fist ready to pound the wood into submission, but just as was about to the door opened a small gap and Leon stuck his head out.

“Vicente said Dad can come in, but only Dad,” he said, and Gabriel’s fist slowly uncurled, still held confusedly suspended in the air.

He looked behind his shoulder at Arthur and they pointed their fingers to one another in a silent argument over who ‘Dad’ was, both of them slowly turning their fingers back towards themselves.

Leon’s little hand darted out from the open crack in the door and grabbed the ends of Gabriel’s stolen robe, dragging him inside and shutting the door on Arthur’s nose again.

Arthur stood there, his mouth still trying to articulate his confusion, when a few seconds later Gabriel was pushed out of the kitchen and stumbled into him, hands catching on Arthur’s arms to steady himself and the two of them barely securing their footing before the door to the kitchen closed again.

He didn’t seem any less confused than Arthur though, which was something of a feat.

“I think…” he started, looking genuinely startled. “I think our sons might be evil geniuses.”

Arthur held his husband by the elbows and remembered to close his gaping mouth.

“Huh.”

-

Gabriel relayed the instructions he had received: they were supposed to stay in bed and wait for the surprise. So back to bed they went, sitting stiffly side by side, staring at the open door waiting for something to happen.

“Still think having kids was the right decision?”

Gabriel turned his head to blink slowly at him, not quite getting it.

“We could be sipping margaritas at a beach somewhere right now,” he continued, and Gabriel’s confusion dissipated, but it was replaced with a warm, humorous something he didn’t have time to articulate into words, because right as Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, a pair of tiny feet sounded on the corridor and the conversation was stalled in favor of both of them turning towards the door.

A pair of flour, butter, sugar-coated boys came in holding a tray of oatmeal-raisin muffins, burnt scrambled eggs, raggedly sliced oranges and tea, which was deposited at the foot of their bed.

“We wanted to surprise you,” Vicente said, and Leon shrugged slightly beside him, supporting a disgruntled little pout on his lips (much too similar to some of Arthur’s to go unnoticed).

And so he was the first one to break out of their stupefied stupor, internally shaking himself and sliding the tray towards them over the duvet. “Well, I’m very surprised,” Arthur said, putting on what Gabriel called his dad-voice, looking at the slightly under-baked muffins and the odd-chopped orange slices and the watery tea. “And you did this all by yourselves?”

Small heads nodded, and Gabriel huffed out a little defeated chuckle through his nose.

“Come here,” Gabriel said, opening his arms to welcome Leon and pull him up into the bed, setting about cleaning his flour-dusted cheeks with Arthur’s robe sleeve. “Whose idea was this?”

“Mine!” Leon piped from his lap, and Arthur saw the small honest smile on Vicente’s face.

He beaconed the child closer and silently asked for his glasses, giving them a good wipe with the hem of his sleeve before handing them back. “Was it?” he asked privately, and Vicente shook his head. He smiled at him and ruffled his hair, making space for the boy to climb on the bed with them.

Arthur winced at the taste of the tea, and Gabriel gagged around a bite of a gooey muffin. But their eyes met over their children’s heads and they held back their laughter.

“You know what?” he said, holding a moment of suspense, looking at his children’s expectant expressions and his husband’s amused raised eyebrows, a mess of sheets and crumbs and droplets of tea on the duvet, Gabriel in his robe and sugar on the kids’ noses and chins. He smiled at it all. “This is actually perfect.”

[gctchell]

👄 + Charlie (Lilith)

send a ‘👄 + character name’ and my muse will talk about that character

Plates of pancakes are soaring overhead, accompanied by freshly cut fruits toppling from saucers with quick apologies and hands blurring over one another to grab at pitchers of milk. Where someone makes a spill, the little cherry-colored maid zips over to clean up and demand a payment of food while holding the messmaker at forkpoint. Her daughter is amongst the chaos, stealing the largest stack (for both herself and her stalwart lover) as Lucifer barely has time to peel off the others before she snatches them fresh off the pan.

"Charlie, be careful! They're hot, hot, hot!"

It's a charming scene. Lilith is there at the island with a plate of halved pancakes, oozing with pink syrup and topped with nibbled candied violets with a floating fork tapping at the fluffy breakfast. Her eyes are on her speedster of a daughter, clearly following an itinerary with lover at her side and the first guest tailing after them both with grouses over how fast they're going, but still following just the same.

"I know that she has wrung herself dry to get to this point." Lilith can see it in her baby; the stress, the strain, the weight that bares down on the shoulders and the back. This is not an easy endeavor, it requires a lot of effort and patience, and a lot of strength of mental fortitude. To help a Sinner recover from their fatal flaws, to bring them around, to help them stand and wean themselves off of poisons, and to face their inner demons.. It's not a journey for the faint of heart. You must be ready to take on a load and bare the brunt of an entire life that isn't your own and carry it in your head, and find the best ways to assist. "What she has chosen is an enormous goal to carry."

There are easier dreams to chase, but the most impossible-seeming one there is, Charlie, just like her parents, chose to chase. And she succeeded. She succeeded, and how heartening that is for a mother to witness while she walked the length of Heaven, only to find a man with the energy of Hell fading quickly from his soul, slithering about alongside Emily with newborn colors?

How heartening to hear him speak of her daughter's name, regaled with high praise?

"And yet, she is carrying it." Lilith rises from her chair and Hell comes to a stand sill; the pancakes flying from the hot pan freeze mid-fold. The maid sinking her fork into the orange of an anarchist with her hand in the air in surprise has frozen in the middle of her lunge. Charlie and her small entourage have paused in the doorway, and her mother shadows over with a gentle knock of their noggins together. A moment of time stopped so Lilith does not impede or stop her in her tracks, just a moment to hold her before she blazes off into glory and a therapy session.

"Charlotte putting her mind to anything is an example of her confidence and tenacity; she doesn't give in, she flies through as a prismastic light refusing to not be noticed. She puts herself into everything she has ever pulled together, and it is not always successful, but it is a training experience. She refines her own mind." She nuzzled their heads together. "You are a star of your own making, moonbeam. Don't you dare stop now."

Fzzzzz!

Pancakes land back on the iron pan, and everything is back in motion. Chaos rolls back in, and if Charlie glanced back to where her mother is contently perched, Lilith is blowing a kiss her way and giving her a smile.

"Be well, you three. ~ ♪"

[santigarcia]

Phone 📲

Human Touch Part Two

a nathan bateman x f!reader series

Part One 

word count: 2.9k

rating: M/E for sexual themes, smut (pls only read if youre 18+)

summary: You send Nathan accidental nudes and that turns into something else...

a/n: thank you so much for the response from part one!! be sure to read that one before this one!! and as always thank you to @punkpascal and @sergeantkane for making this moodboard for me! let me know what yall think!

That morning when you wake up there’s a stack of paper, your phone, and a breakfast tray on the table in your room. You didn’t even hear Kyoko come in. You can only assume Nathan is working, and you don’t want to bother him this early.

You still can’t believe last night was even real. Even when you wake up it takes you a moment to remember where you are.

With a stretch and a sigh, you climb out of bed. You reach for your phone immediately and see a text from Nathan on the home screen. He put his number in your phone and you flush at the mere thought of having a text relationship with him.

The text from him says that he is working, but you’re welcome to come ask him any questions you may have about the thesis. That’s what’s on the table. It’s a heavy stack of paper. The text also tells you that you don’t have to read the entire thing, but enough to see if any of it makes sense.

You’ll read in a moment, first you want to eat some of that breakfast. It’s an assortment of fruit and oatmeal. There’s also some toast and a glass of milk, water, and orange juice. It’s all so good and you’re happy to eat something so fresh.

You also notice nearby is a stack of your clothes from yesterday, they’ve been washed and dried. You get up to pull on your underwear only, you like feeling Nathan’s shirt on your skin.

Once you’ve finished eating, you reach for the papers. You begin to thumb through them and it’s almost impossible to read. Hardly any of it makes sense to you, and you don’t know if you should feel dumb that he thinks you could read it, or dumb that he’s so smart to write something of this scale.

A text alert causes you to jump while you’re deep in this thesis. It’s from your cousin.

‘Where are you?’

‘You’ll never guess! I’m a Nathan Bateman’s!’

You text back and forth for a while. You catch her up on all that’s happened in the last few hours. You stop texting her to take a couple selfies showing her where you are. You playfully take a couple nudes; you lift his shirt and take some aesthetic looking photos of yourself.

You send one of the normal selfies to her. But then joke that you took nudes.

‘You should send them to him!’ she teased back.

You’re about to send her another photo when Nathan texts you and ask how it’s going. But you don’t register it’s from him and before you know if you’ve sent him one of your nudes.

You drop your phone in a panic and burst out the door. You have no idea where he even is, but you bolt down the hall to find him. You remember him pointing out his work area on the tour last night.

You turn the corner quickly and see him sitting quietly at his desk. There are several screens in front of him, and behind that is a wall covered in sticky notes.

He glances up at you, but you can’t tell if he saw it or not. His expression is blank. He seems confused now that you’ve sprinted into his office.

“Something wrong?”

“Please tell me you didn’t look at them.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. He saw it.

“So… who was that meant for if not me?” he scoots back in his chair to look at you better.

“Look, I was sending it to my friend to uh, hype me up. And I accidentally sent it to you.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. From the running, but also the thought of him seeing the photo. Ok yes, he saw you naked yesterday, but not like THIS. “Did you look at it?”

“Of course, I looked,” he shrugs and licks his lips. “And I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. But I kinda get the feeling you wanna hear my thoughts,” his smirk is plastered to his face.

“Just tell me, you're dying to say something. You have been since you saw me last night,” you blush hard.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous and I’d kill to touch your tits,” he states without so much as blinking. “But hey, it’s fine,” another shrug. “We can forget about this. No harm done.” He rolls back up to his screens.

“Wait,” you speak up, and he turns to face you again. You sigh heavily before you speak again, “ok so the picture was for you, sort of. I wanted to send it to you whenever I got the guts to make a move. So, I sent them to my friend to get her opinion, but I sent it to you instead by mistake.”

He sits quietly, his mouth quirks up in a soft smile.

“Is that you making the first move?” he asks referring to the ‘conversation’ last night.

You nod, biting your lip.

“Alright then,” he stands and cracks his neck.

“Right now?”

“Why not? You got somewhere you’d rather be?”

“I suppose now is the time I tell you that I'm, uh…. virgin,” you look down at your feet.

His expression softens and he takes a few steps forward. He puts a warm hand on your neck, just under your jaw and ear, “I’ve got you, okay? We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, but if you are… I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

He lowers his hand to your hip, and it all comes spilling out. “I want this. I want you. You’ll just have to show me how.” You blink at him, “you really liked my tits?”

He brushes his thumb along your hip, his skin burns through the fabric of his shirt.

“I wouldn’t waste my breath on it if I didn’t,” he leans closer to you. His body heat warms you in an entirely different way than last night. “Is my room ok?” he whispers. All you can do is nod, but you smile. He does too and grabs your hand.

“I can't believe that one picture of me did all this,” you lean into his shoulder as you walk over to his bedroom.

“Yeah? Well, you have some pretty powerful tits,” he chuckles. “Right in here,” his hand moves to your lower back pointing you towards his room.

“Look,” you start to talk while he sits down on the bed. He’s watching your every move. You know he knows you’re nervous. “I know this is probably going to be meaningless sex to you, but it’s not to me ok?”

“Kitten,” he frowns, “this is not meaningless to me. I told you last night, you’re exactly my fuckin’ type and I’d be a dumbass if I let you go. I mean if you want to leave, Kyoko will show you the door.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Really. I wanna get to know you. Every bit of you.”

“So, we’re starting with sex first,” you bite your lip, and he shrugs.

“What better way to get acquainted?”

“We haven’t even kissed yet…”

“You have to come closer if you want me to touch you, kitten.”

Each step closer to him makes your knees shake. You come to stand in between his spread legs and his hands grab your lower back. He pulls you onto his lap and goes right for your lips. His tongue slips between your lips and you moan. You grind yourself down on him and feel him harden between your legs and you gasp.

“Sure, you’ve never done this before?” he murmurs into your neck. “I got you,” he reminds you.

“Don’t say you won’t bite unless I want you to. Because I do. I do want you to,” you whine a little.

“Noted.”

He nibbles under your ear gently and you squeak. He squeezes you tighter and chuckles, his grip is tight.

“We need to get you out of those clothes,” he repeats his phrase from last night. This time it’s even scarier, but more exciting. He tugs on the hem of your shirt asking permission, which you give. He peels off the shirt revealing your bare chest underneath.

You wriggle under his gaze as his eyes rake over your body. You can feel him growing harder still beneath you.

“Please say something,” you whisper.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I wanna…,” he clears his throat, “can I touch you, baby?”

You nod and his thumbs brush against your nipples first. His touch is soft, he traces all around your breasts with his fingers. Then he palms your breasts and squeezes. He bounces them, feeling the weight in his strong hands.

“Kitten,” he mouths at your neck. “I haven’t seen an actual person in months, and I haven’t touched a woman in well over a year. You’re gonna kill me.”

“In a good way I hope?” you moan a little. “Because you’re killing me.”

“Good?” he asks squeezing a little harder. “Fuck… fucking perfect. You seriously have the best tits I’ve ever seen, baby.”

When he lowers his head to your nipple, that’s when you really cry out. He hums happily and sucks harder. You buck your hips and he only seems to encourage it. He likes you wanting him. And he needs you, you can feel his need.

His beard brushes against your soft flesh and you shudder. He files that away with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Nathan-“ you whine. “Please.”

“Please what kitten? Use your words baby.”

“Lay me down?” you writhe again in his lap.

“Good girl.” He pats your ass and stands with your legs wrapped around him. He lays you down, then spreads his body on top of yours. He kisses your lips over and over. He thrusts himself onto your thigh and groans into your cheek. “Are you real?” he sighs happily with a soft groan.

“I keep asking myself that,” you laugh.

He chuckles deep in his chest and sits up, pulling off his shirt. You reach for him right away and he shivers under your hands.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, tracing his skin. He’s toned, but still has a softness to him. It’s perfect. And he’s warm, so warm.

He moves down between your legs, giving you another look asking for permission. You hesitate this time, and he waits patiently for you to nod. He doesn’t budge until you do.

His fingers dance along the hem of your panties and he slides them down. He whistles softly when he sees you’re wet and needy for him.

“All that for me, kitten?” he looks up at you. He leans up to kiss your lips and he murmurs against you again. “You ever use that vibrator and think about me? Want me to go get it? Let me make your fantasies real kitten.”

You can only blink at him and you open your mouth trying to speak.

“Baby, I can’t make your dreams come true if you don’t open that pretty mouth,” he chuckles. “Where do you want me? C’mon. It’s just me, no need to be shy.”

“But- you’re you!” you laugh. “Just, please, touch me.” You grab his hand and guide him to touch between your legs. “I want you here.”

“Good girl,” he praises again and kisses your hip. He slips a finger inside with ease and he delights in that. His thumb brushes your clit and when you shiver, he smirks. He knows he’s on the right track with you. “Can I add another?” he asks.

“Please!” you cry, and he obliges. The second finger is a pinch, but a welcome one. His thumb presses harder on your clit and rubs in tight circles.

“Feel good?” he asks though he knows the answer. He can read your body like all the code he works on. You clench around him, and he continues his touch. His fingers curl deep inside and you let out a loud moan. “There it is,” he hums and kisses your thigh. “You’re doing so good, kitten.”

You moan his name when you find your release, and he works you through it. His voice is soft but commanding and full of praises.

“You did so good baby. So, so good. Ready for more?”

“Please,” you buck your hips up. “Can I touch you?”

He climbs off the bed to pull off his shorts, his hard dick springs free. He pumps himself a few times and sits down next to you on the bed.

“Have you ever touched one before?” he asks, there’s no jest in his tone but he really, really is turned on that his dick is going to be the first one you’ve touched. And he wants to hear you say it.

“No,” you reach for him and he puts your hand on him.

“The tip is the most sensitive part,” he breathes, your hand already feeling good. “Fuck, yeah just like that.”

“You’re…big. Are you going to fit?”

He wants to moan, but he holds back. He’s so turned on from your shyness.

“I’ll fit kitten,” he chuckles warmly. “Fuck, squeeze harder-“

You squeeze him and enjoy the warmth and weight of him in your hand. He looks perfect, just like you imagined he would.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes what?” he chokes out a gasp and pushes you off him.

“Yes, I used my vibrator and thought about you.”

“Thought so,” he winks and positions himself between your legs. “You ready for me? I’ll go slow.”

“Wait-“ you stop him before he does anything else. He pauses, he’s about to ask if you want to stop when you gently pull off his glasses. You get a better look at his soft brown eyes, and he seems almost shy when you look at him. He clears this throat. He reaches for your hands; he pins your wrists above your head and kisses you deeply while he pushes inside slowly. You moan together and he checks your face for any pain or apprehension. Your eyes are closed, and your mouth is open, and he hums kissing your cheeks.

“You with me kitten?”

“Push in more,” you gasp, and he chuckles darkly doing as you ask. He shudders, your warmth feels so good to him. He buries his face in your neck and tells you so.

“You have the best pussy,” he grunts as he pushes in all the way.

“You better not just be saying that” you gasp.

“Kitten, are you ever going to believe me when I say I don’t mince words? I mean what I fuckin’ say,” he purrs. He’s straining, he wants to move so badly. “Please, kitten- tell me how you feel. Use those words baby.”

“It’s good, it’s so good. Tight. But, oh shit, please- move.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He lets go of your hands and he starts to move. You grab his head and hold on for dear life while he snaps his hips into yours. You know he’s still holding back and if you told him to, he’d unleash his full power on you.

You wrap your legs around him, and while the feeling of him is new and foreign it feels good. There’s a dull ache, but it’s wonderful. Wonderful because it’s him.

“Nathan,” you moan, “let go. Manhandle me. Fuck me hard.”

He makes a strangled sound between a gasp and a laugh and starts to push into you hard. He holds your body close to his and he sits up, pushing deep into you. His face buries into your tits and he moans, he fucking moans into your skin.

You reach between your bodies to touch yourself, but he shoves your hand away. He rubs you tight until you’re clenching around him. You’re both covered in sweat and breathing heavily when he nears his end.

“Fuck, fuck. Where do you want me to come? Tell me now,” he growls. His thrusts are sloppy, his dick jumps inside you and he squeezes you tight.

“In me,” you moan, and no sooner did the words leave your lips did he spill himself inside of you.

“Holy fucking shit,” he sighs with a soft laugh. He cradles your head and lays you back down. He pulls out with a shudder as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that was amazing. You were amazing.”

“I feel amazing,” you look up at him. Your body is humming.

“Can I run you a bath?”

“Will you join me?”

“Well, that was the plan…”

You shove his chest playfully. “Your thesis sucks by the way.”

“Ouch!” he puts his hand over his heart.

“I didn’t understand any of it!”

“I didn’t think you would. Really it was just an excuse for you to stay a little longer.”

Oh.

OH.

“Well why didn’t you just say so?” you smile warmly.

“Cuz I’m a dumbass when it comes to women.” He gives you a genuine smile.  “And I didn’t want to scare you anymore than you already were last night. I wanted you to want to come to me on your own terms. And I knew that if you didn’t understand the thesis that meant you really are here for me. And not my secrets.”

“So why did you give me the money?”

“Wanted to.”

“What am I going to do with you?” you laugh.

“Hopefully, a lot,” he nips at your chin.

“Nathan!” You shake your head laughing, but inside you feel it. That pull. You’re already falling for him and he is too. “I think I’m going to tell my cousin I’m going to stay-“

“Forever?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “Maybe I will.”

“We’ll get your things tomorrow. I want to meet my future cousin-in-law.”

// 

tagging: @pascal-isaac, @wasicskosgirl, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @shadow-assassin-blix, @writefightandflightclub, @aellynera, @softboywriting, @veuliee2, @spider-starry, @mylifeliterally, @millllenniawrites, @ntlmundy, @foxilayde, @writingletterstothefire, @mandoplease​, @anetteaneta​, @feelmyroarrrr​, @artsymaddie​, @shakespeareanwannabe​, @thevalentinowhitebag​, @deanfanatic​, @magicsuperheroes​, @phoenixhalliwell​, @that-one-weird-one​, @mariesackler​

[bunnyywritings]

unexpected

tenya iida x fem!reader

[a/n: he’s so cute hehehe 🥺 here’s my first Iida fic, it’s your basic summer trope but...I simp for this man on the daily, I was a little sad to see that there aren’t many Tenya fics out there so I took it into my own hands, this is slightly self-indulgent but other than that, he deserves some love so uh yeah, enjoy! -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

Class 1-A just couldn’t take the heat anymore so they begged and begged and begged until Aizawa finally gave in and planned a class trip to the beach.

Today, the girls decided to head to the mall and buy some new swimsuits since wearing the very non-flattering school issued swimsuits would be absolutely terrible. You had gone along since you didn’t really have a swimsuit, you had one from back in middle school but it hadn’t fit you anymore. So far, they had all been able to find one they liked except you. You had been to countless stores but hadn’t really found one that caught your eye but the girls insisted on going to one more store so you could look around. As you looked around, you had started to doubt that you’d actually find one. That doubt was realized when all the ones you had tried on were the wrong size.

Once back in the dorms, Momo had offered to make you one. An offer that you gratefully accepted. You had searched online and showed her what type of bathing suit would be ideal. After thanking her 100 times or so, you had gone down to the kitchen.

“Oh (y/n), You’re back. How was the mall?” I don’t think Todoroki realized how loaded that question actually was. He and Midoriya seemed to have been just chatting, eating snacks. Iida had been making some tea.

“Uhh well it was great, the girls were able to find some bathing suits.” You sat down across from your two friends.

“Is someone wrong? It doesn’t sound like you had a good time?” The freckled boy asked carefully

“I had a good time. It was nice to hang out with the girls but I’m just a little tired.” He nodded understandingly, Shoto had grabbed the packet of pocky and held it out to you in a silent offering. You giggled and accepted the offering, he nodded in approval when you took two of the strawberry flavored biscuits. You had joined their conversation about which pro hero had the best costume, a cup of tea was placed in front of you. Looking up, Iida offered you a small smile before sitting besides you and contributing to the discussion about All Might’s costume. You blew at the surface of the drink before taking a sip. It was black tea sweetened with just the right amount of honey and a bit of milk. You blushed at the fact that he remembered how you liked your tea. Too distracted in your thoughts, you nearly jumped out of your seat when Midoriya called you out.

“You agree with me (y/n), right?” Your eyes widened before you cleared your throat. Iida’s heart started to pound when he could see the mischief in your eyes.

“Well why are we even bothering to discuss All Might’s costume when Endeavor’s is clearly the best. Todoroki. Thoughts?” He had been friends with you long enough to know that you were just pulling his leg.

“Well, as much as I see your point. Why don’t we talk about how Kamui Woods has the worst costume.” Your jaw dropped.

“Okay now wait a second.” He knew that he was your favorite pro. “That’s a little much when someone like...”

Iida gave his 2 cents here and there but he enjoyed seeing you giggle and smile while joking with the other two. He couldn’t really explain why but his heart would pound harder any time you asked for his opinion or the butterflies in his stomach would go wild when you smiled.

Finally, the beach day came. Everyone had woken up bright and early to make sure everything was ready and loading everything onto the bus when it had arrived.

“IF YOU AREN’T IN THE BUS BY 9AM, WE WILL LEAVE YOU HERE! OH YEAH!” Aizawa cringed from beside Present Mic as he made that announcement. That meant that there was half an hour before you guys would leave. You nodded, amazed at the fact that you could hear your teacher while he was still outside. You finished packing your bag before getting changed into your swimsuit, standing in front of your mirror and scrutinizing your reflection. It was nothing to do with the swimsuit itself, Momo had done an amazing job. You were just...insecure. It was a one-piece with an opening at the stomach. It looked cute when you had seen it on the model online but on you, it seemed wrong. It made your thighs look like they were bulging out of the material and the pudgyness of your stomach seemed to be accentuated. Sighing, you pulled on your shorts and tank top before making your way out to the bus. Aizawa crossed your name off the list before you boarded and took a seat beside Ochako. Midoriya and Iida in the seats behind the two of you and Shoto and Tokoyami in the row in front.

Thankfully, the ride to the beach was only about an hour and a half long. Everyone unloaded the bus, as instructed by Iida. The beach was relatively empty so it gave you guys the abilities to claim a huge spot for the entire class. 1/3 of the class had instantly stripped down to their swimsuits and ran to the water. While the rest had set up the tent, some chairs, the volleyball net, or their personal umbrellas. You had offered to share yours with Tokoyami since it was big enough and he didnt seem too keen for on being in the sun too much. Even then, he had still peeled off his shirt and was sat on his towel in nothing but swim trunks as Dark Shadow had made an appearance and started to play with the sand.

You had sat down criss cross on your towel, book in hand. You had put it down from time to time to watch your classmates laughing and having fun. Midoriya had approached the two of you and asked if you guys had wanted to join their volleyball game. You had accepted the invitation but Tokoyami had politely declined. You were on a team whith Shoji, Shoto, Denki, and Shinso. Ochako, Midoriya, Iida, and Sero were on the other team. Mina, Tsuyu, Aoyama, and Momo were watching on the sidelines, cheering for both teams of course.

Halfway through the game and you all took a hydration break but you were starting to feel the heat. Quirks were allowed so with that and the fact that your quirk had to do with fire meant that your body ran warm.

“Are you okay (y/n)?” Shoji asked as he handed you a bottle of water. His question caught the attention of the others as they noticed that your cheeks were a bit more flushed than normal.

“Yeah, why don’t you change into your swimsuit?” Ochako asked, head tilted to the side.

“I-I have it on but well...” you sighed, deciding to be honest. “I’m just a little s-self conscious.” You looked away, slightly embarrassed as the words left your lips.

“Aww (y/n), no!! You’re super cute! Come one, I bet you look great!” Mina grinned encouragingly. “Plus, the girls have seen you pretty much naked before so there’s no need to be shy.”

“Mina!” There were calls of embarrassment from both the boys and the girls.

“You do have a point...” you mumbled to yourself. You walked off to the side and started to unbutton your shorts. All the boys had looked away to give you your privacy. (because they drink their respect women juice every morning)

“O-okay. D-done.” You nervously announced as you handed your clothes to Mina.

“See! I was right!”

“W-whoah! (Y/n), no disrespect but you look hot!” Denki smirked, nodding appreciatively. As the others had started to compliment you, no matter how hard Iida tried to restrain himself, he couldn’t stop his eyes running over your body. More specifically, your thighs. The way they slightly strained against the material of your bottoms made him blush. He couldn’t help but glance at them once the game had started. The way they flexed when you had gone to bump the ball or the slight jiggle they had when you ran for the ball. Don’t get me wrong, Iida likes you for you. Your personality, your kindness, and your intellect were very attractive to him but your body was a definite plus.

Your team had won the game and while Mina, Momo, and Tsu were congratulating you, Mina caught a glance at Iida. He had looked at you, eyes softened, and a blush on his cheeks before looking away.

“Ooh it looks like you’ve caught the eye of mister class rep.” She teased.

“W-what? Mina stop m-messing around like that.” You stuttered, her previous statement was making your heart want to burst.

“It’s true though! Don’t you have a thing for him too?”

“Well yeah but-“ you were cut off by her calling him over.

“Hey Iida! What do you think of (y/n)’s swimsuit? It’s nice right?” Oh how you wished the earth would split open and swallow you whole.

“Y-yes, I do. It’s very flattering (y/n).” His answer made your heart do somersaults. “May I o-offer some advice?”

“Oh uh yeah, sure.” You were a bit confused but wanted to see what we had to say.

“As a young hero, you work hard every day to get stronger and make sure you can be the best hero possible. You should be proud of your body because it’s the fruit of that hard work and well...because you look r-really beautiful. Regardless of what other people may say.” His sudden confession made your eyes widen but before you could respond, he had run off while shouting at Bakugo about the dangers of grilling without proper supervision.

Throughout the day, the girls teased you about your crush on the class rep. Currently, you were drying yourself off after having been in the ocean for a bit. You had wanted to confess to Iida. You had been slowly gathering the courage to do so, the other also helping hype you up.

“Hey uhm Iida. Would you maybe want to get a smoothie with me? From that place up the cove?” You were fiddling with your fingers.

“I would be glad to accompany you (y/n).”

So the two of you had gone off to get some smoothies. Chatting about trivial things as you waited. He had opted for an orange and carrot smoothie while you went for the simple mango smoothie.

“So uhm, before we go back. I h-have something to tell you...” he motioned for you to continue as he sipped at his smoothie. “Right. Well I just-well I...” you sighed, taking a calming deep breath before continuing. “I like you Iida, like uhm r-romantically. I have for a while now and I just thought I’d let you know.” He was silent, still sipping at his drink while processing your words.

“Well that’s a relief. I’ve been figuring it out over the passed couple of days but I have romantic feelings for you as well, (y/n). And seeing as the both of us seem to do relatively well in our normal studies and our hero studies, I could see that balancing a relationship with schoolwork should be relatively doable.” His words stunned you.

“Wait so does that mean-“ You really we’re at a loss for words.

“Yes. It means that I would like to pursue a relationship with you. As boyfriend and girlfriend.” The turn of events made you very giddy with happiness.

“C-could I hold your hand, Iida?” You asked nervously as the two of you walked back. He chuckled and nodded, taking your hand in his.

“I can do you one better.” He had leaned down, noses inches away. “If you’ll allow me to?” You nodded, closing your eyes and leaning forward to close the distance. Lips moving together, it was inexperienced but sweet and soft nonetheless. Both of you a blushing mess as you pulled away. The rest of the class cheering from a distance as they watched the exchange.

Later on that night, during the bonfire, the both of you sat next to each other. Having already changed into some sweats to protect yourself from the cold, he had let you wear his navy blue hoodie since you were still shivering. He hesitantly wrapped an arm around your waist, relaxing when you had moved closer and snuggled up to him. He watched with a soft gaze as you joked around with Shoto and the others and partaking in eating some s’mores. The way your cheeks puffed up as you gave him a tight lipped smile, mouth full of the concoction of gooey marshmallows and chopped made his chest feel fuzzy and warm.

Even as he held you close, as you nuzzled into his chest because the ghost story Tokoyami was telling was a little too scary for you, he still couldn’t believe that you had reciprocated his feelings. The girl that he had his heart set on since the second week of school was now his girlfriend. It was times like these that made him expect the unexpected.

gєиєяαℓ тαgℓιѕт (open): @ohbois-biggay-bnha​

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Top Anon

Pogue Parry x Reader

Word Count: 2,288

Summary: You have a loyal follower who comments on every post under your food blog. Just who is your favorite follower and why is the new grocery boy kinda cute too?

It was a new year and the start of a new you. Well, that is, a you who was trying new things.

In the past, you always made resolutions, but that spirit ran out before the month of January was even done. But after the particularly rough time of the past year, you swore that this time would be different, that you would make a serious effort to do something new.

It was that determination that led your current situation—your kitchen countertops were covered with ingredients and cooking utensils, your cell phone resting on a near by tripod for filming purposes.

The goal for this year was to try running a blog, and since you were a bit of a foodie, it made a lot of sense to center the blog around cooking and food. The idea came to you quickly; the hard part was deciding on a name, which took a while.

Eventually, you settled on The Foodiest. Naming was not one of your strong suits, but it was enough to get the point clearly across to potential viewers.

Choosing the layout design was on the same level of easy as deciding and didn’t take more than a day or two to implement on your site. Thank goodness for the existence of pre-made layout templates that saved you the effort of having to code everything yourself.  

With of the work on that end finished, the day had finally come for you to actually cook something to post about. Seeing as how January was a cold, winter month, you chose to make mashed sweet potatoes. Not only was it one of your favorite winter side dishes, it wasn’t hard to make either, giving you the confidence that even if your writing was lackluster, at least the food would look good.

Most of the blogs you were familiar with used a combination of text and photos for readers to follow along with, but you were going to try video in place of images. You sometimes struggled to copy based on what was shown in the photo, especially when you first started cooking, so you hoped video would make it easier on budding chefs who came across your content.

Luckily, the video would be sped up and lapsed for the final post to spare people from having to watch the monotonous parts in full length.

Hands on your hips, you surveyed everything one last time to make sure it was all ready. With a satisfied nod you reached forward to tap the large, red record button on the phone.  

You debated whether or not to talk while filming but decided against it. You were nervous enough posting to the blog without having the added stress of talking.

Everything happened in its regular order: you started by peeling and chopping the potatoes, a basic step, but you took your time doing it, paranoid as ever that you would cut yourself with the knife. Next you boiled the bright orange chunks in a pot of water; then put them in a mixing bowl once they were cooked. And finally used an electric mixer to blend it all nice and smooth, adding in milk, brown sugar, and cinnamon.  

Swiping your pointer finger through the finished product, you hummed with delight at the delicious, sweet taste. You pulled out a presentable bowl from the cupboard and spooned some orange fluff into it for the final reveal. Reaching blindly towards the far end of the counter you grabbed a bag of pecans to top off the mashed sweet potatoes. You scrutinized it and added more pecans for good measure.

Doing something in front of a camera was very different than doing the same thing on a normal day. Tension leeched out of your shoulders and you exhaled loudly with your head leaned back. A sense of pride warmed your chest, especially as you returned your gaze to the picturesque bowl. It looked great and tasted even better.

There was a large portion of leftovers because the recipes you used were collected from family and meant to feed small armies of people. You did your best to eat what you could and made plans sharing the rest with friends and coworkers later.

A few days after you published the post, you decided to check the stats on your account dashboard to see what the public response to it was, if there was any at all. Google analytics was useful for counting the total number of views it received while the blog site itself tracked the likes and… a comment?

Initial shock gave way to a bolt of excitement that had your fingers tingling with energy. You clicked to read it, wondering what it may say. Fingers crossed it was something good, whether it came in the form of a compliment or some constructive criticism.

Anonymous: wow good job

The chair creaked as you sat back slowly. You didn’t know how to read that, there wasn’t a whole lot to go on. Wow good job, said sarcastically? Wow good job, said excitedly? It didn’t help that the commenter didn’t believe in using punctuation either. And since it was submitted anonymously, there was no easy way to track down who sent it.

But maybe you were being too paranoid about it. You decided to take it as a compliment and cracked your fingers before firing off a response.

Foodiest: Thanks anon! I had a lot of fun with this dish. Hope you tune in for the next one :)

Anonymous never followed up with that particular exchange but they commented on every post without fail for the next two months.

Anonymous: nevr had white chili before it was good

Anonymous: the stuffed pepper were good

Anonymous: good call with the shrimp

Of course, all of the messages were sent as anonymous, so there was no 100% guarantee that it was the same person, but your gut feeling told you that it was. Who else had no respect for grammar rules and religiously used ‘good’ as their only descriptor?

You grew to expect, and enjoy, the weekly comment left by anon and made sure to leave a nice response in return. It was hard not to feel a connection to someone who took the time to try your recipes and leave a nice message. If only you could figure out who it was or at least have a name for them besides anonymous.

Foodiest: I’m glad you liked the recipe! My gramma swore by mayo when making grilled cheese. Thanks for always liking my stuff, if you ever want to talk more feel free to message me!

There. Maybe that would make them feel comfortable to give you their name you thought as you powered down your laptop for the night.

You spent the next couple of days leading up to the new post planning on what recipe to cook. Yep. Definitely not hoping for more information about anon.

For this newest post you decided to make some Indian curry, one of your favorites. Even long after you finished cooking, taping, and cleaning, the potent scent of spices was still heavy in the air, like aromatic nirvana that had your mouth watering even with a full stomach.

You tried your best not to refresh the post every few minutes to see if anon commented but it was tough. It turned out that you didn’t have to wait long as they left a comment within twenty minutes.

Anonymous: havent cooked this yet but looks good. Never really had indian before so have to go buy the stufff first – po

Anon finally gave up a name! You let out a happy noise and read it again. Po… short and to the point, just like all of the previous responses had led you to think about them. There was no time to waste, you hurried to write back, initial typos all over the place as the words out-paced your fingers.

Foodiest: Hi Po! It’s nice to have a name to put with your words. I would recommend going to an Asian Market for the spices, they’re more likely to carry them. Let me know how it goes for you :)

Since that conversation, Po and you chatted frequently about the weekly recipe choice, whether or not it looked good and if Po had plans to make it themselves, which they often did. Po seemed to like all types of food; vegetarian, meats, drinks, desserts, even ethnic dishes from places as far off as Bolivia and Morocco.

And the longer you two talked, the more frequent the messaging became. Whereas in the beginning Po would only submit a compliment that you would follow up with a ‘thank you’, it had turned into lengthy back and forths that took up a majority of the comment section for each post. More followers joined as the months went by and you hoped that they weren’t intimidated by your blatant favoritism but it was just so easy to talk with Po. If you were being honest with yourself though, it wasn’t only that it was easy… you genuinely liked talking to them.

Every time you made a new post it was difficult to not refresh the page every few minutes to see if they had left a message. And when they did, it was like a shot of electricity straight into the system where your heart would jolt and your face would flood with heat. You were hesitant to say it was a crush given that you didn’t know what they actually looked like and the computer screen barrier made it so you were content to define it as friendship.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you grabbed your wallet and keys while putting on shoes so you could make a quick run to the store. You had big plans to make some buffalo chicken wings for the blog this week and you needed to stop by the store to pick up some ingredients that you didn’t have, namely Frank’s Original Red for the buffalo sauce and blue cheese for the dip. Being an adult and responsible for your own grocery shopping was a chore at times. 

Luckily, Winter had thawed out into Spring so there was no need for you to warm up or car or scrape your windows. You just hopped in and drove the four blocks it took to get to the store. The plan was to cross the stuff for the wings off of your list first and then browse around for some good snacks to tide you over for the next week or so. Things were going according to plan until you saw him.

A tall boy wearing an employee apron stood in front of the cracker section, his jaw line and soft looking long hair catching your eye. Then he reached up to the tallest shelf to restock some boxes his arms flexing slightly to show off his heavy biceps and his shirt rode up, exposing deep cut ridges in his lower abdomen. To put it simply, you were starstruck.

He finished with the boxes he had in-hand and went to grab more from the cart at his side when you noticed your blatant ogling. Rather than confront you about it he merely smiled and moved out of the way so that you could get to the brand that you wanted. Choking from embarrassment, you kept your head down and threw a box of Goldfish into your shopping cart, speeding to get out of the aisle and his presence.

The store was a small local business and you frequented enough to know most of the workers there but you didn’t recognize this one, meaning that he must be new. What a way to make a first impression on him. Clearly your constitution was no match for his rugged, good looks. Then he was polite enough not to comment on you objectifying him which somehow made you feel even worse about it.

You decided to end the shopping trip almost immediately knowing that you were too spooked to continue shopping lest you run into him again.

You rolled the shopping cart into an open check-out lane and started putting your things on the conveyor for the cashier to scan. It just so happened that you knew the cashier—she was a middle-aged lady who’d been at the store for nearly two years. “Hi, Y/N. Find everything you needed?”

“Hey, Eva. Yes, I did.” You tried to steady yourself. Eva had a notoriously sharp eye and wouldn’t hesitate to question you if you looked off.

She left you alone today, engaging in normal chit chat, until she had trouble scanning the bottle of Frank’s hot sauce. Eva frowned when it didn’t want to scan and tried again but the bottle slipped from her hands and the neck of it shattered. Eva cursed and huffed, hurrying to throw the bottle into the trash before more leaked onto the register.

“I am so sorry, hun! I’ll get you another.”

“It was an accident,” you assured. “I can get it myself—"

“Not a problem,” she assured you with a wink. She pulled a walkie from her hip and spoke into it. “Hey, bring me a bottle of Frank’s Original Red Hot Sauce. Quick.”

You barely had time to don your awkward smile as she talked about how her neighbor’s dog kept pooping in her yard when the guy from the cracker aisle walked up behind Eva and handed a bottle of hot sauce to her. She took it and patted his back to get him to move forward.

“Thanks, hun. Y/N this is the new grocery boy—”

“Pogue,” he interrupted. “My name is Pogue.”

_______________

Another fic where they know each other but don’t know that they do. This time featuring Pogue and his fandom accepted interest in food. I picture him to have bad messaging skills — his fingers struggle with those tiny phone buttons. 

[voltives]

Could you write a fic of Nadine post show? Maybe she's watched something happen on TV or heard it through the grape vine and is processing the emotions of feeling separated from the people involved.

hope you enjoy !! i took a tiny bit of creative liberty here but it more or less fulfils the prompt. thank you for requesting :)

-

title: split

rating: g

words: 1.6k

characters: nadine + roman tolliver (though mostly nadine)

fandom: madam secretary

also available at ao3 here

“Did you hear? The President’s daughter is getting married at the end of the week.”

She hears scraps of it whilst Roman is getting ready, fumbling for socks and a bite of breakfast before work - because god if they didn’t have a busy family. Shindy asks her again where Annie is, and she gestures vaguely in one of the distant rooms where the sound of a girl gurling is just about distinguishable, along with a faint yapping of a dog.

They were all supposed to settle down for breakfast, until Annie had decided that she wasn’t hungry anymore, and even Shindy had followed suit. Even Roman was too busy to sit down for a couple of minutes, and she had tried her hardest at making breakfast for them all. Never mind.

“Stevie? Or Alison?” Nadine questions, picking up another spoonful of oatmeal and frowning at the texture of her own cooking. Too thick. More milk.

“The tall blonde one. Stevie? It’s on the news if you’d care to watch it, Mom. I thought you of all people would already know about this.”

She shakes her head in reluctance. Nadine watches him grumble about being late again, and she can tell he is only half-listening to her. But, even the name creates a pang of guilt. It was easier to just completely forget about communication with the white house if it meant she was left alone for a few months, or years.

“You know I don’t care to, I don’t watch the news anymore,” Nadine says, grabbing an orange. “I don’t think they’d miss me that much.”

Roman shrugs in that indifferent way of his. She sees traits of him more openly than she sees anywhere else, and maybe the close distance is what makes her finally at peace.

“You haven’t kept contact with anyone since you left. Mike sometimes asks me how you’re doing and I never know what to say.”

She stops peeling. A rush of fur strikes her bare ankles, and she reaches down with a spare hand to scratch absently behind the ears. What else was she supposed to do? Nadine had spent hours staring down at the screen of her phone with her fingers hovering over the keyboard with the text window open, angrily reciting the words she wanted to say.

‘Don’t contact me ever again,’ she wants to type back to every sentimental message. There was a line and a boundary, and every single ‘I miss you,’ had gone straight to fueling her anger. The messages weren’t even candid. She pities him slightly just for sounding overly desperate and forlorn. She was mad at him for wanting her after all this time.

“How did he get your number?”

He shrugs again. “Dunno. He just really wants you to come to the wedding. But I can’t go with you because of work and Shindy gets antsy being left with Annie for too long.”

“She’s still–?” Her mouth shuts before she continues. It’s really not her business to pry.

“In therapy? Yeah. We’re working on it. The dog’s supposed to help but…”

Nadine nods, patting his shoulder. It was easier to stay out of what was going on whilst she was under the same roof. Even if she had experience working in Myanmar doing humanitarian work, it was almost nothing compared to moving to a new country in the west, and it was a topic she knew was hard to tread with the culture shift.

“I get it. I’ll keep out of your business.”

“And are you still buying a ticket to DC…?”

She pauses, hesitating. Showing her face out of the blue with no notice? It would draw more attention to her than necessary. Separation was ideal, wasn’t it? If time managed to heal most if not all her wounds, the rancid feeling would eventually go away. Nadine wasn’t fiending for the thrill of government work anymore when it made her tired and the losses outweighed the feeling of change and hope.

She had decades and years of distance to figure it out. If the innate feeling of separation wouldn’t disappear, then it would trickle down into loneliness, and then sadness. Nadine would fall back into old habits and the cycle would begin again.

Nadine wasn’t in New Jersey participating in dance competitions with an unpredictable mother. She wasn’t in Illinois, overworked and underpaid under Vincent Marsh. She wasn’t in DC working behind the scenes and playing around with other people’s lives.

She was here in California, the sea practically at her doorstep. Her life would never be as perfect as she had envisioned, but it was hers to live at last. The tide would recede, the sun would continue to rise, the wind would still blow through her hair if she stood outside for long enough just after sunrise.

Still. The pang in her chest would never ever quite go away. Being the outsider in everything no matter how included she was in everyone’s lives. Being a stain in the cross-roads of other people’s lives. Being removed from the concept of motherhood for eight consecutive years when she was convinced Roman had hated her over a mere misinterpretation.

Nadine was outside of maternal fulfilment. Outside of the gesture of romantic love, outside of being the mere mistress. Who had loved her long enough to stay? There was always more of her to hate at the end of the day.

“Mom?”

She turns to look at him, shrugging and pushing the plates away. Her appetite is lost. He won’t ask her about it, either. (He never does.)

“Probably not. It’s not for me.”

It is an answer she feels certain of.

-

The window pane is cold against her cheek. A book remains half balanced in her lap, but she can’t bring herself to focus on the words. It wasn't even that dark, although her mind kept drifting to new places. Why was she so apprehensive to begin with? It was just a wedding. It wasn’t like she was returning back to her job forcibly because Elizabeth wanted her to.

Hell, within a week or so she could have returned to the routine of her old job. It would have at least given her something to do.

But the alienation comes back. It isn’t a matter of not going simply because she didn’t want to, but because the feeling wasn’t right. Ten minutes spent at the wedding would have automatically made her bolt on even a slight hair-trigger. There were a billion and one things else to consider and make sure of light-years in advance.

It was a matter of if the atmosphere wasn’t quite right, or the lights were too yellow-y or if the texture of fabric on the dress wasn’t suitable for a long evening where there wasn’t any opportunity to get changed at a moment's notice. At some point it would all begin to blur into one, and heaven forbid if she tried explaining her situation to anyone.

She would have slipped in and out of the crowd without anyone noticing.

A door slamming in the distance made her hands jump to cover her ears, the flinch instinctive. It had taken a while to adjust to the constantly busy environment with everyone coming and going at once in the household, but compared to the beginning - she was retreating to her room less frequently. Nadine wonders if it's chalked up to an excuse for her refusal to go. They were going to be happy with or without her. What difference would her presence make?

She wrestles with the window latch as she opens it as far as it was willing to go. The wind bites at her skin in nips, but the satisfactory chill is there.

Reaching for the waning pack on her nightstand, Nadine lights a cigarette. She doesn’t know why her habit of smoking is still there. It picks up sporadically and without purpose: serving to drag her into a new and early grave.

Her elbows perch against the sill, and she stares out at the landscape. She makes out the form of a car in the distance, followed by another array of lights from a sky-scraper just beyond the body of water. Was there anyone in this dreaded city who had the same thoughts as her?

Maybe there were others like her who never belonged anywhere. It was people like her who would drift between coasts, between cities with no place to call home. Even her office had been home, once.

The book lies abandoned by the foot of her bed. If she pays close enough attention to the distant noise coming from inside the house., she can make out the quiet raising of a voice. Feminine - probably Shindy. It really isn’t her business to intervene on her son’s crumbling marriage. It was an unspoken rule that she never pried into his private life that he didn’t bring up to her, and he would never question her about her own.

Another billow of smoke envelopes her form. It feels good. It quenches the feeling for a few more blissful moments, until she can begin to digest her hesitation and her further indifference to everything.

It is about what she wants, isn’t it?

So then why…

Why is there nothing to feel?

-

[nicole-kaiwo]

Blackinnon Week 2021 Day #4

You can also read the story on AO3 and FFN

The bet

        Races, competition and bets were a constant element in their relationship. Sirius had not expected that Marlene, like him, had such a strong need to compete. But he was positively surprised by this fact.

        It all started entirely innocent. One day, Marlene looked out the window and prosaically announced, "It's going to snow tomorrow."

        "Snow? No chance. It snows two days a year in London, and it's still too warm for that."

        " You want to bet on that?"

        " Hell yeah!"

        They shook hands and agreed that the loser would wash all the floors in the house.

        Of course, Sirius won that bet. However, it activated a side in Marlene that he had not known before. She demanded a rematch.

        They started making bets about practically everything. They could make almost any activity into a little tournament to see who of them was better. They began keeping a scoreboard pretty quickly to keep track of which one of them won more often.

        They both had a very strong need to always be the first one. They raced each other on brooms, in running down stairs, in drinking an entire bottle of beer, in brushing their teeth or taking off their clothes.

        Sirius was particularly proud of his victory in eating chilli peppers. They both had to eat one spicy pepper, and whoever reached for the milk first lost. Marlene didn't even last a minute.

        However, she beat him in such competitions as pulling a banknote out from under a glass without touching the glass and lasted much longer than Sirius without using magic. And what impressed him most was how quickly she could eat an entire pizza by herself (how did that pizza even fit in the stomach of such a petite Marlene?).

        Most of their bets were really childish and immature. For example, who would peel a hard-boiled egg faster (Sirius), who would wash the dishes faster (also Sirius, never mind that Marlene was not even trying to win this one), who would colour a colouring book faster (Marlene), who would look better in the other's clothes (Marlene, but only because when Sirius saw her putting on his shirts, he decided to give her the win so they could occupy themselves with something else).

        But there were also bets in the adults-only category. One time while kissing, Marlene made a rather funny sound. Sirius was very turned on by it. He repeated the sound, only louder. With normal couples, it would probably end there, but not with Sirius and Marlene. They went into a competitive frenzy, and after a while, the sounds coming out of their bedroom started to resemble a nature programme or a banshee screaming.

        Over the last six months, all the childish betting has gone a bit to the sidetrack. They concentrated on one particular bet. Neither of them wanted to lose that particular bet, so they would try to beat the other's score every now and then.

        Like most of their bets, this one also began spontaneously.

        While living together, Sirius found out that Marlene was having very painful periods. More often than not, she spent the first day of her period curled up in bed. Sirius wanted to help her somehow, so he prepared a hot-water bottle for her and then lay down next to her, gently stroking her hair. They lay like that in peace for a moment, until suddenly Marlene spoke in a soft voice, "I love you, Sirius."

        "I love you too."

        "Yes, but I love you more."

        "No. I love you more."

        "Forgive me, love," Marlene said, turning to face him, and there was a hint of competition in her voice, "but I love you more."

        " You must be dreaming, McKitten. I brought you a thermophore and stroked your hair. It is obvious that I love you more."

        "Pff!"

        Marlene rose abruptly from the bed and disappeared somewhere behind the door. Sirius began to worry that maybe she was actually mad at him. But after a moment, she returned and, with a wide smile on her lips, handed him a bar of dark chocolate with pieces of orange peel (their favourite).

        "This is for you!" she announced proudly. "You see, I love you more. Told you."

        "Hmm, I don't see why chocolate would beat a thermophore."

        "Sirius, do you know what chocolate this is?"

        " A dark one with..."

        "No, my darling. This is the last chocolate we have in the house. I'm on my period, so clearly, I need it more than you. But I am willing to give it to you to prove how much I love you."

        And with that, Marlene won the first round of their bet on who could make the other person feel more loved.

        Sirius loved this bet. And he couldn't lose it. He wanted to compete with Marlena in this competition until the end of the world. And that could come at any moment. Therefore he wanted to win this bet once and for all.

        Currently, Marlene was taking the lead. But he already had an idea of how to beat her. Everything was ready. The little velvet box was waiting hidden between his socks. The date had also already been chosen. To say he was scared was like saying nothing. But at the same time, he was looking forward to it.

        Sirius only had to wait two more months to fall to his knees in front of Marlene and show her how much he loved her. And if she did him the honour and agreed to become his wife, they would end their last bet with a beautiful draw.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded. Chapter Three

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie:

Trojan horse.

Week 1(War and Peace)i: 

Monday came around quickly. The amount of sleep she had managed to achieve felt like something of an accomplishment considering what little else there was for her to do.

Feeling brave she gathered herself up and began an exploration of her new home. She recalled the features that Jamie had detailed to her on the Saturday morning before she’d fallen into a light coma for the next 30 odd hours. First, she started with the basement. Recalling the moment in Home Alone where Kevin had been forced to face his own below-ground nemesis, she took the steps carefully, the popular scene repeating over and over in her head until she actually came face to face with a harmless looking space.

As described, there was a washing machine and a dryer -the funnel used to expel the warm air from the back leading up and out of a tiny window near the ceiling- as well as several boxes stacked high in the corner. With not much else to view, she noted the cupboard which contained all the powders and conditioners she’d need and returned to the kitchen.

She’d never really been into cooking before, but despite this she thought the massive aga with its shiny maroon front looked extremely professional. It was, however, so clean she didn’t think it had been used much before. With Jamie working odd and long hours, she presumed it was more likely that he lived on cold snacks and microwave meals.

Looking in the large American-style fridge, she found an assortment of basic produce. What looked like a bottle of unpasteurised milk (most likely bought in himself) and some homemade butter lay in the door alongside a batch of freshly laid eggs. It all seemed fairly self-replacing and she smiled at the idea that one could live completely unaided in the middle of the Highlands if you knew how (or lived with someone else who did).

The freezer, as she expected from inspecting the contents of the fridge, contained a whole host of bagged and sealed meats - enough protein to keep a whole family afloat for months.

Closing the door, she pulled a stack of post-it notes from her pocket and penned a reminder. Seeing all the produce he’d got neatly tucked away reminded her of her teenage years.

Having lost her parents young, she had grown up travelling the world with her uncle and along the way she had gathered herself some producing and growing skills, mainly vegetables and greens, but useful nonetheless. Aiming to reinvigorate her knowledge of horticulture, she wrote:

“Ask about potential vegetable patch/greenhouse…CB”

Placing it on the front of the fridge, she admired the initials she’d signed off with. It hadn’t clicked until she’d come to the end that she could no longer refer to herself with her maiden name and she had hovered over the ‘C’ for longer than normal before sighing and signing with her new pseudonym instead.

Mentally exhausted from overthinking two small letters, she poured herself a glass of water from the tap and continued through into the lounge where she’d sat only hours before with her initial guardians.

It seemed larger and brighter now she actually had the time and a little more energy to view it.

The fireplace was extensive and contained a series of photographs in expressive frames. They must, she thought, have been set up there by someone else.

The first was of a group of young children. Ashamed, she felt badly that she couldn’t pick her host out of the line up. His face and features were still hazy, the only signifier she could recall was the mop of bright red hair that sat atop his head and possibly blue eyes...though she could have been mistaken.

Looking harder, she tried to squint, hoping that might clue her in as to which of the children was Jamie. Giving up, she carried on along the line, smiling as the young girl turned into a young woman. It must be his sister, she pondered, touching the tip of the frame as she looked over the wedding photos. The dress was stunning, the groom looking favourably over at his new bride whilst the crew in the background threw confetti in the air above them.

Picking out Jamie, she noticed his tight smile and high cheekbones. She felt relieved, having not been able to determine who he was in the earlier line-up had made her instantly abashed but at least somewhere in the back of her mind she’d had the forethought to note his defining features in her tired haze.

Towards the back of the ground floor she found a small sitting room. It contained the TV and some rather large overfilled bookcases and looked out over the small garden to the rear. Although she knew she wasn’t supposed to leave the house, she enjoyed -for a moment- sitting on the arm of the chair and looking out across the fields. The sun was still low in the sky and the wind was blowing the long grass gently whilst clouds occasionally masked the sun from view.

The space was enclosed with a waist high stonewall along the top which ran from an outhouse building, to a gate and then on to a covered open-shed arrangement. To the right and behind the shed was a row of rather tall trees. These captured her attention for several minutes as she watched the branches sway and the birds flit in and out of the woodland area. She could almost smell the scent of the spring day and taste the pollen on her tongue as she leaned closer to the window.

It was there she sat for several hours before her stomach growled angrily, reminding her of how little she’d eaten over the weekend.

Making herself a quick sandwich, she wrote out a ‘thank you’ post-it before returning back to her room. She knew Jamie probably wouldn’t be home for a while but the chime of the clock as she’d cleaned up her plate had made her suddenly nervous, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to make idle conversation yet, and she’d escaped just in case he came home out of the blue to check she was alright.

As it stood, though, he hadn’t and didn’t arrive home until well into the evening. The sun had already begun to set as she put down her kindle at the sound of the door opening and closing.

She knew it was dinner time and the afternoon had passed so quickly that she had barely looked up since she’d returned to her room. Glancing out of the window, she watched the birds fly across the inky blue sky, the orange hue slowly fading as late afternoon turned into evening. Warring with herself, she argued over going down, her mind compromised by her unwillingness to seek out company. She would, after all, have to succumb at some point - it would be rude not to.

Having some form of sixth sense on the matter, Jamie appeared to understand her a little more than she did herself, and for the next few days he allowed her time to adjust and settle.

He would come home at a normal time and, instead of crowding her, he prepared supper, placed hers in the microwave, and then placed himself in the study until bedtime. By the middle of the week she had become accustomed to this routine and would often wait for him to close himself in his own quarters before sneaking back downstairs to eat herself.

As this progressed, her post-it notes become more frequent and she would often add small doodles with large smiley-face stickman on them. Jamie found these endearing, it had been a long time since he’d had anyone else living in the family home and it was a nice surprise to find that he enjoyed it - even if it was only the small noises of Claire moving about that clued him in as to her presence. Stashing the notes in the back of his jeans pocket, he began to collect them, placing them on the pin-board in his small office as he did so.

By the end of the day on Friday he had managed to arrange them into ‘thank you’ notes and ‘question’ notes and had created a set of his own which he aimed to place on the fridge for the following morning. All of these were answers to her queries. Intrigued by her idea for a vegetable patch in the yard, he had returned that specific ask with a list of items he’d ordered from locals and friends which he aimed to have ready for the weekend - this was the one he was most proud of.

“Wire and mesh for coverings, 4 X wooden planks for a raised surround, fertile soil, seeds, glass sheeting to be cut in prep for greenhouse, assorted spring veg selection...JF”

That had been left on Wednesday and he was chuffed to return home in the evening to find a rather large spaghetti bolognaise aside his newest ‘thank you’ note.

Having made the bolognaise she had shyly returned to her room, the message hidden away in her pocket as she’d sat at the desk for the evening to research plant and vegetable growth extensively. There hadn’t been many evenings in her old life where she’d had the time to process alone, and so even though she knew her hobiting away time was coming to an end, she was grateful to have been allowed the week to relax.

Through the use of notes, she had built herself a mental picture of Jamie and his personality. He, at the beginning of the week, had left her meals and then absconded so that she could eat alone, but by the end of Friday their roles had been reversed as she felt he shouldn’t have to take care of her when he’d been out at work all day. She didn’t have a large cooking repertoire, but there were plenty of cookery books hidden in one of the cupboards and she’d taken to reading them to pick out the easier looking recipes to trial.

There had been some mistakes. Some burned pasta (which she hadn’t known to be a possibility until she’d achieved it) but overall it hadn’t been too traumatic.

Peeling open her book, she pulled the post-it -which had now lost most of its stickiness- and ran her fingers over the text. She couldn’t deny how excited she was over the prospect of a garden of her own. The overwhelming thoughtfulness of it was helping to coax her out of her bedroom and she resolved to use the weekend to thank him in person.

As much as she was revelling in their silent, written communications, there was little chance she was (or should be) able to avoid total human interaction for the next 11 weeks. He was going above and beyond for her, changing his own habits whilst she reassessed her life -something few others, she thought, would do for a complete stranger.

With her decision made, resolved to be more social in the morning, she curled up under her duvet with her newest book. Before she knew it, the words were bleeding together, her eyes struggling to remain open as she fell into a dreamless sleep.  

[bush-viper-cutie]

“Easter Holiday Break” || YEAR 3 – Ch.31 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter                          Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 11/10/2020

Word count: 3, 260

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Heather was deep asleep early morning when her whole bed started shaking violently. Someone was banging on the girl’s dormitory door yelling her name. She sat up and groaned, remembering what Draco had said the night before. She leapt out of bed and dug in her trunk for her Quidditch uniform, hugging everything to her chest ready to run to the bathroom when she saw her stolen library books had become dislodged and fallen to the floor.

She picked them up quickly and shoved them in her trunk, locking it closed. No one else was awake, the violently shaking bed hardly made nose thumping around in its spot, and so she figured it was safe to continue getting dressed. Ten minutes later she was out in the common room with half the team waiting with Marcus as everyone else slowly came out.

“Hurry up! This is practice time you’re cutting into!” Marcus yelled into the boy’s dormitories and slammed the door.

Heather had never seen him so unraveled. He was pacing the common room, shoving furniture and pillows out of his way as his pacing circle widened. Finally, Draco and the Keeper, Miles Bletchley, came out with messy hair and half-lidded eyes, ready to leave.

They walked down to the Quidditch pitch and Heather and Draco broke off from the rest to get their brooms out of the shed. By the time they walked in, Marcus, the Keeper, and the two beaters were doing pull ups on their brooms which stayed suspended in the air, unmoving, as they raised themselves.

“What is this?” Draco motioned at the sweaty faces of Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. “I’m a Seeker. I don’t need to do this, do I?”

Marcus jumped down from his perfect pull up and pointed at the empty spot next to him. “Both of you.”

“B-b-but – ”

Heather groaned and pulled a stuttering Draco along beside her. She placed her broom on the ground and held up her hand. “Up.” The broom lifted, following the motion of her hand and let her guide it up above her head until her outstretched arm could no longer guide it and it froze in place. She jumped and grabbed onto the broom, dangling from it and looked over at Draco who had done the same.

“One.” She nodded at Draco and together they heaved up. She closed her eyes and groaned, willing her tired arms to pull her up as high as they could. She felt the top of her head hit her broom and opened her eyes. “Just a bit more!” she whispered, trying to get her chin over the handle. Her arms shook and she glanced over at Draco, who was still dangling, arms fully extended, with a face as red as a tomato. She dropped down and covered her smile so Draco wouldn’t see in case he ever stopped squeezing his eyes so hard.

The cold blue morning turned warmer and pink as the sun started to rise just beyond the trees. Her arms were pounding and sore and her uniform was already soaked with sweat when Marcus started drills. They hopped on their brooms and practiced double the amounts they normally did. They went through play after play and every possible situation they could get into.

Heather was rolling, flipping, twirling, and diving all over the place until Marcus was assured she wouldn’t mess up any moves with the Quaffle under her arm. Peregrine and Lucian, whose drills normally consisted of aiming the Bludgers at apples and oranges that Marcus got from the kitchens, was now them aiming the Bludgers at each other and occasionally at Heather and Graham.

After Marcus blew the whistle, Heather touched down hard on the ground and fell off her broom landing on the wet grass like a dead fly swatted out of the sky. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t even feel her arms. At one point her braids had gone loose, probably during the diving roll where she dodged Lucian’s Bludger and almost lost her head and joined Nearly Headless nick.

“Careful!” She screamed as Draco fell down beside her and almost smacked her head with his broom.

“If it weren’t for your brother, we’d still be asleep!” He winced and groaned as he sat up. “You should have taken the broom and thrown it into the fire.” His hair dangled over his eyes as he glared at her. Whatever slicking gel he used for his hair had come off completely with his sweat.

“Practice tonight after Gryffindor’s. After dinner meet in the locker room and DON’T be late.” Marcus looked at everyone, making sure they all heard, and headed out.

Heather sat up now that she could feel her arms again and stretched as best she could. “So how’re you going to even up with Harry? The drills you were doing only help you fly steady and cut corners faster… You have to anticipate where he goes – ”

“Flint and I have it under control.” Draco pushed his hair back and looked up at Peregrine who had made his way over.

“I heard McGonagall suspended one of her Prefects from competing in the National Gobstone Championship last year for getting into a fight over what color the nose plugs should be.” Peregrine stared at Draco and raised his brow. “It’d be a shame if… Potter ended up not playing this match.”

“A real shame.” A wicked grin spread across Draco’s face. He turned to her and raised his brow. “Wouldn’t it, Potter?”

Heather looked at Peregrine to Draco and nodded reluctantly. She stood and left the Quidditch pitch, put away her broom and headed to breakfast. Her spoon shook, spilling half its contents of milk and granola oats before reaching her mouth. It took twice as long to eat and by the time she was done, Harry, Ron, and for a brief second Hermione, had arrived for breakfast.

“We’ll be at the Library,” Ron told her as she left the great hall.

She peeled off her uniform and threw it in her dorm room’s assigned hamper and took as fast a shower as possible, remembering all the essays they had been assigned over Easter break. She had one from Divination, one from Care of Magical creatures – about dragons even though all term they’d only been caring for Salamanders; two half ones from Herbology about two different sentient carnivorous plants, one long one from Transfigurations with tie-ins to Charms – Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had decided to team up to ruin their break this time; three four-inch ones from History of Magic about the three most controversial laws the Ministry had threatened to pass should the Puddlemere United Quidditch team not change their colors from moss green to mud brown in the late eighteen-hundreds, and one from Potions. The only teacher who hadn’t assigned anything was Professor Lupin.

She should be glad that she didn’t have an essay on cursed socks or hexed pet collars to complete on top of all the other assignments, but now that she had decided Defense Against the Dark Arts was her favorite class and that Professor Lupin was her new favorite teacher, she really wished he’d give out more work than just ‘read the next chapter if you’d like’. How could she improve if all that was normally required was reading ahead and writing short essays on creatures they should be learning about in Care of Magical Creatures?

She picked up her bag and headed down the main corridor towards the library when Neville came running down at full speed towards her.

“It’s happening!” he yelled, his arms flailing behind him as he pointed and ran. “H-hurry!”

“Already? But it’s only been two months!” Heather stopped Neville in his tracks by bracing herself as best she could for Neville to knock into her. She caught his shoulders and steadied him.

“Thanks. I thought I’d keep running until I tripped or something.” Neville’s eyes brightened and he pulled out a green leaf that was slowly turning purple in his hands. “Professor Sprout says it must have been a good batch!”

“Let’s go!” Heather took Neville arm and forced him back into a run towards the third green house.

As they ran they were joined by five other students of different years who had all also heard the great news. Two months ago Professor Sprout had let several eager students help plant several chilled seeds of various living death plants from the same family. They didn’t know which seeds they had gotten to plant, but Heather guessed she had gotten the Freezing Shudder plant by the feint spidery grey veins it had. If she guessed correctly, she’d earn five more points for Slytherin, putting them one-hundred and sixty points in the lead above Gryffindors for the House Cup.

They arrived at the green house and entered to see ten different large plants ready to bloom all lined up against the windows. At the center, sitting at the tables, were twenty or so other students. She stopped Neville from sitting at the first table and pulled him along to the last where Fred and George sat whispering to themselves.

“Why are you two here?” Heather sat across from them, suspicious and amused.

Fred and George smiled at her and crossed their arms.

“We like Herbology like everyone else here.” Fred poked at the table with his finger several times, “and you can’t prove otherwise.”

George leaned in. “And we especially love that plant right there.”

Heather turned to see the one she had planted. “The Frozen Shudder?”

It had the shortest of all the stems but the thickest by a good one or two inches. The green was slowly draining from its leaves and trunk-y stem as it died, replaced by a dark velvety purple. The buds on the very top looked swollen and ready to explode with all the other buds, like a balloon stretched to the max.

“Yeah. And you’re not the only one with a charmed pot.” George wiggled his eyebrows. “Hermione told us.”

Neville turned to her surprised. “Oh! What d’you have growing! Which charms does it have? I tried making one myself with an old pot from home, but everything I plant in it catches fire or grows a single grape.”

“I haven’t grown anything yet,” she lied. “I’m waiting for something good. What’s the point in growing grass or squirting Astrophytum Asterias if it’d be just as easy in a normal pot?” She avoided looking at Fred and George who were holding back smiles as Neville nodded.

Fred mouthed ‘for shame’ at her. “What a marvelous point you have. Which is why we’re going to grow our very own Frozen Shudder.”

Heather tilted her head at them. She was curious as to why they wanted it. It isn’t deadly, it’s most common as a show plant for winning ribbons and medals, and it wasn’t used for any potions she knew of. In fact, to use it at all, a saw is needed to cut off any part of the stem which is completely frozen.

“Oh my! So many here. Alright, I have the list here of everyone’s guesses. I hope you’re all ready – and cover your eyes when it happens!” Professor Sprout shut the green house door and took her seat, taking out a ceramic plate from under her desk and held it up like a shield.

Almost on cue, a feint whistling noise started from all the buds. They harmonized for about a minute, and just as everyone eagerly looked around at the plants, the buds exploded thick juicy petals, pelting everyone in the face and back. Everyone cheered as the last petals fell off the plants and Fred and George dove under the table to collect as many Freezing Shudder petals as they could. Heather looked down at them as they stuffed them into their robe pockets and took a few extra petals at random.

“There’s nothing to be worried about technically, but I am.” Neville looked around the room again as if double checking that the only plants to have exploded were only the non-deadly ones. “I mean its Fred and George isn’t it?”

Heather laughed and shrugged.

“Well. That seems to be the last of them.” Professor Sprout went by checking the plants and awarded five points to Slytherin for Heather’s correct guess and almost forty to Hufflepuff for all of their correct guesses as well.

Professor Sprout made everyone leave so she could clean up and Heather walked back to the castle with Neville, Fred, and George. Neville guessed why they’d want to grow Frozen Shudders the whole way but he either never guessed correctly or they refused to let them in on it.

Heather yawned as she pulled the library door open and quickly found Harry and Ron at a table in the back talking to a large pile of books. She approached and sat down. “Hello Hermione, how’s the studying?”

“Will everyone PLEASE stop distracting me?”

Ron shook his head. “She’s been like this since we got here. Harry, help me make another pile of books over here, they might be friendlier than this one.”

Heather laughed and took out all her sheets of parchment and her potions book. She stared at it and frowned, shoving it back in her bag and took out her transfigurations and charms ones.

“Oh can we copy!” Ron shuffled his papers around and flattened out his started essay with one sentence on it. He had his quill ready to write as he leaned over to see what she’d already written.

“I HOPE you’re joking, Ron.”

Harry rolled his eyes and moved Heather’s started essay for him and Ron to read.

“I’m not hearing a yes.”

Ron groaned. “Oh quiet, ‘Ancient Runes Made Easy’. And tell ‘Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles’ to mind her own business.”

“Humph.”

Heather wiped the smile off her face with the back of her wrist and turned to Harry. “You have practice today, don’t you? You should tell Wood that Derrick and Malfoy are planning to get you kicked off Quidditch.”

“Kicked off?”

“At least for just this match.”

Harry looked to Ron amused. “And how would they?”

“McGonagall would sooner set fire to her office than kick Harry off and lose the Quidditch Cup.” Ron leaned in. “I think she’ll lose her mind this year. Heard Snape mention it’d be seven years of winning and she almost hexed his pants off. He burst out of the staff room with singed robes.”

Heather snorted. “Well then, when we win I hope she does.” There was a pang of uneasiness in her chest but she ignored it. It was weird to hear that kind of talk come from her own lips and not Harry’s. It made it worse that Ron and Harry were looking at her slightly shocked. “Anyways. They think she’ll kick you out if they can get you in a fight. She let the Gobstone club lose their best player over a dumb fight.”

“Yeah but… That’s Gobstones…” Harry drummed his fingers and shrugged. “No one cares about Gobstones.”

Ron nodded. “Not even McGonagall. So you’ll be fine. I’ll be your second and there’s no way you’ll lose whatever fight – ”

Hermione stood over her stack of books and glared down at Ron. “Ronald! The point is for Harry NOT to get into a fight. Not to win it! Harry if you lose to Slytherin I’ll – I’ll – I don’t know WHAT I’ll do! I’ll get expelled for hexing Malfoy’s stupid face so DON’T get in a fight!”

“Alright!” Harry put up his hands. “I never said I would. Can we all go back to studying and not talk about how at any moment between now and the match I could get cornered by a pack of giant Slytherins?”

They all nodded and Hermione sat back down behind her books. They studied and wrote all day – although Ron and Harry left several times to use the ‘bathroom’ and they always came back half an hour later with smeared chocolate on their lips – and ate lunch in the courtyard on a stone bench just to breath in fresh air.

“How’s Hermione doing it? She hasn’t eaten all day since breakfast.” Harry motioned at the empty seat next to them. “I’d be starving but she says she’ll keep this up all break.”

“Maybe I should bring her a muffin or something. If she passes out and messes up her schedule, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Ron stood and left in the direction of the great hall.

Harry pinched off muffin crumbs and popped them into his mouth. “What would you do… If Sirius Black was knocked out on the ground in front of you? Wandless.”

What would she do? She’d tell a teacher of course… But that wasn’t really Harry’s question. “I wouldn’t kill him… If that’s what you’re wondering. He deserves to go back to prison. A more suitable prison for him. One that won’t lose their most dangerous prisoner.”

Harry nodded.

She looked at him, staring at his muffin, and wondered what Harry would do. He’d say he’d kill him… and she wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t.

“He betrayed them,” Harry whispered. “He took them from us. He took our lives from us. We could have lived as wizards. Already known… EVERYTHING. We wouldn’t be staring at our friends dumbly every time they say something we didn’t already know.”

She thought about what it would have been like to live in a village like Hogsmeade somewhere. Already immersed in wizard culture and learning about muggles from their mother… She felt a hole rip open in her heart and fill with sadness. She wasn’t hungry anymore, and yet she felt starved.

“I’d make him pay.” Harry finished his muffin and stood.

Heather nodded and stood with him, punching his shoulder lightly. “And like always, I’ll stop you from doing something stupid.”

They headed back into the library and after several more hours – and at least three finished essays later – Harry left for his Quidditch practice. Ron had copied several of Hermione’s essays that she kept stacking on top of her pile of books and Ron kept sneaking and by the time it was dinner, Ron had finished two more essays.

Heather sat with her team and ate a roasted chicken leg, mashed peas, a bowl of potato soup, and left early to nap in her dorm until it was time for Quidditch practice again. She met everyone by the lockers and noticed Draco whispering to Peregrine. Marcus didn’t make them do anymore pull ups but they had to sit for at least an hour and listen to Marcus go over strategies again – which revolved around brute strength for Peregrine, Lucian, and Graham, and borderline cheating-but-not-quite from Heather and Draco. Miles Bletchley’s younger brother was there too, who had agreed to help signal Draco if he spotted the Snitch since it wasn’t cheating for the crowd to yell if they saw it before the players.

After practice, Heather dragged her feet down to the girl’s bathrooms and got ready for bed, throwing her uniform in the hamper again and didn’t bother showering. In the common room she had seen Marcus get all of Slytherin’s attention about something but she didn’t have the energy to stay and listen. She fell into bed and closed her eyes, ready to open them up soon to start the day practically all over again until Easter break ended.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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[everythinggeeky]

Rain, Rain, Go Away | Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: none! just fluff!

Word Count: 900

Summary: anon requested a rainy day with Steve! Waking up with Steve was a rarity, but when it happens, you enjoy it. 

masterlist

A/N: tag lists are open! This is part of my 5 Days of Oneshots!

When you woke in the morning, rolling over to Steve’s side of the bed, expecting to sprawl out across the mattress, but instead you were met with a large man. Peeling your eyes open, you were surprised to see that Steve was still home. Normally, by this point of the morning, he would have gone out for an early morning run, shower, and have made breakfast before getting on with his work.

“You’re still here,” you mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah, babe, it’s pouring outside...take a look.”

You rolled over to face the window, Steve pulling your hips into his front.

“Mmm…’s better,” you sighed, lacing fingers with his that rested on your hip bone. 

He grinned and leaned in to kiss the side of your face softly. Leaving a gentle trail of kisses from your jaw to your cheek, he whispered, “do you want breakfast?”

“Yes please.”

“You stay, I’ll be back soon,” he parted from you, pulling a pair of sweatpants on before leaving the bedroom for the kitchen.

You took the opportunity to cuddle back up in bed and snag a few extra winks of sleep before Steve came back. 

About 30 minutes later, he returned with a glorious tray of pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit, coffee, and orange juice. Steve leaned over the bed and rubbed your back softly to wake you. You sat up slowly, and he set the tray in your lap. As you looked the spread over, you thought to yourself that this was a breakfast meant for a queen.

Steve had treated you like a queen, that was for certain. Even though it did feel a little old fashioned at times, you attributed it to the time period that he grew up in. Indulging in the occasional luxury was sweet, especially when it was coming from your loving boyfriend. 

“Thank you, this looks delicious,” you leaned up to thank him with a kiss, to which he reciprocated.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he slid into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your back.

You cuddled into his side, sipping at the cup of coffee that was made perfectly to your liking. Steve picked up a strawberry and held it to your mouth; you took a bite and moaned at the taste. He grinned down at you and pecked your forehead. 

These moments spent together were rare because of the business you were both involved in. Saving the Earth always came first, no matter what, but Steve was quick to keep you as a close second. 

You watched the rainfall on the windows of the tower. The large, floor-to-ceiling windows provided the perfect view of Manhattan. You sliced your fork through the large stack of pancakes, taking a big bite, grinning at Steve. He chuckled, taking a bite himself.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked, mouth full.

“Hmm...lazy day. Want to watch a movie? Bake something?”

“Yes, brownies! And I like the idea of a movie.”

“Perfect,” Steve smiled, kissing your lips again before continuing breakfast.

By the end of the hour, the tray of breakfast was completely demolished. Steve ate most of the food he made; a supersoldier’s stomach amazing you every time you share a meal. You laid back in bed, taking a rest before even thinking about moving again. Steve intertwined your limbs with him, getting comfortable again. 

Steve was always grabby when you had the time to be alone together for a long period of time. Sheltering yourself from the cold outside, his body radiated a warm, cozy heat. You laid together for the next few hours, sharing small “I love you’s” and soft kisses. At one point, you had drifted off to sleep, to which Steve had as well.

About two hours later, you both woke up again. Rolling over to face him, you echoed his actions from this morning, peppering kisses along his jaw to his lips. He opened his eyes and smiled kindly at you.

“Ready to make brownies?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” you smiled cutely, standing from the bed, pulling a sweatshirt on to cover your cold body.

He got up with you and led you to the Tower’s kitchen, where he pulled the ingredients down to make the brownies.

Flour, sugar, cocoa, and a few more.

You began to mix the ingredients together when Steve reached over your arm to take a dab of the batter and pat it onto your nose. You laughed, taking an even larger dab of the batter, flicking it at him. It landed across his chest.

“Babe!!” he yelped.

You laughed, doubling at your midsection. 

“Might as well do this, then,” Steve said, pulling his shirt from his body. You laughed, taking a moment to look him over.

“That is much better,” you approved.

He chuckled, cheekily. You poured the batter into the pan after cleaning up your face. You enjoyed the brownies together, cuddled up on the couch in front of your favorite movie. Passing brownies and milk together, you relished these quiet moments away from crime lords and space villains. Evil exists in the world, but not here. Not now at this moment.

All that exists is you and Steve, a comforting plate of brownies, and the warm crinkle of the television. Quiet, rainy days are hard to come by but are oh so precious when they do. To be the most intentional about time is a gift.

tagged: @kenobee​ @hxldmxdxwn​ @ilovesupersoldiers​ @jbarnesss​ @stephieraptorr​

[dallanebbia]

betsubara

title: betsubara fandom: bnha pariring: kacchako; bakugou katsuki x uraraka ochako word count: 3.9k (including text in posts) warnings: none synopsis: in which the u.a. test kitchen tries its hand at the whole youtube thing, and the internet collectively ships kacchako. bon appetit test kitchen au + socmed au notes: written for day 3 of kacchako week 2020, with the prompt ‘desserts & sweets.’ i know that BA has its share of problems, but i really wanted to write this after stumbling across ba test kitchen fanfics on ao3 and some social media aus on twitter… i have so much respect for people who make smau fics, i don’t know how you do it. ochako here is a bizarre mix of brad leone, solha el-waylly, liziqi and emmymadeinjapan, and bakguou…. is bakugou :’) ao3: [link]

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別腹 | betsubara (n.) – Japanese, second stomach for dessert

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Susan Anderson @susan.anderson – Jun 29, 2XXX My grandchildren said I would enjoy watching the UA test kitchen youtube channel, but I don’t know where to start. Can someone please give me some suggestions? Why do they change chefs in every video? 62 🗨️   133 ⭮   869k ♡

...

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX Replying to @susan.anderson Hi Susan! I’m the kitchen manager for @ua_testkitchen, and I’d be happy to help! We have playlists for each of our web series on our YouTube channel, but I’ll do my best to explain each series below. 23 🗨️   241 ⭮   3.2k ♡

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX Hot Takes – If you don’t mind some occasional foul language, this is a very popular series! Chef @bakugoukatsuki demonstrates techniques on how to make Japanese staples, from omurice to hand cut soba. It’s extremely educational! 123 🗨️   213 ⭮   3.5k ♡

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX Bon Appetit – This series is all about French food, with Japanese twist! Chef @foreversparkling breaks down intimidating recipes like souffles, gougeres, and quiches for the amateur cook to try at home! 89 🗨️   165 ⭮   2.8k ♡

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX Farm to Table – If you’re interested in where your food comes from, this is a great choice! Chef @u_ochako shows viewers what it takes to grow and cultivate ingredients. She also delves into the science behind making things like kombucha, natto, and beer! 155 🗨️   188 ⭮   3.9k ♡

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX From Scratch – This is our only series with two hosts! We ask our chefs @shouto and @yaomomo to tackle the challenge of recreating popular junk food and snack items entirely from scratch. These can be anything, from your favorite candy to foreign staples like Twinkies! 102 🗨️   288 ⭮   2.7k ♡

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX 10 Chefs – This series asks ten of our @ua_testkitchen chefs to undergo a series of culinary challenges of varying difficulties. These can range from cutting a durian to cooking a live lobster! 48 🗨️   85 ⭮   1.4k ♡

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX The Great U.A. Bake Off – These are special videos that showcase U.A.’s biannual dessert competition! We invite renowned chef and television star @AllMight to join as our host and judge. Our resident pastry chef @satousugarman has held the title for the past four years! 99 🗨️   174 ⭮   2.1k ♡

↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jun 30, 2XXX We also film various instructional videos, which are not part of any particular series. These can be recipes or in-depth guides to various kitchen tools and appliances. Hopefully these give you a good place to start, and feel free to contact me if you have any other questions! 21 🗨️   98 ⭮   1.1k ♡

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↳ Susan Anderson @susan.anderson – Jul 01, 2XXX Thank you, Mr. Midoriya. I started watching Farm to Table, and I’m enjoying it a lot. I do have a question – I’m reading the comments, and there’s a cooking term I’m not familiar with. What is a “kacchako?” Is it a cooking appliance? 721 🗨️   2.1k ⭮   8.9k ♡

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↳ Just Call Me Midoriya (✓) @dekiru – Jul 02, 2XXX Replying to @susan.anderson … Um. 202 🗨️   4.3k ⭮   10.4k ♡

↳ jfc they’re actually clueless @hitoshinsou – Jul 02, 2XXX Replying to @susan.anderson and @dekiru yeah @dekiru, what is a kacchako? 180 🗨️   961 ⭮   2.9k ♡

… 331 more replies

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“Hey guys!” Uraraka waved cheerfully at the camera. “My name is Uraraka Ochako, and welcome back to Farm to Table, a show where we explore where our food comes from!” 

“For today’s episode, we’re going to be doing something a liiittle different.” On the counter was a pile of misshapen brown lumps, mottled with different black and brown spots. “On our cacao episode, a lot of you were a little… shall we say, disappointed with me, when I didn’t make chocolate out of a cacao pod.”

Uraraka’s smile turned icy, as a screenshot popped up on screen. She held up a little slip of paper from her hand and cleared her voice.

“ ‘Making chocolate isn’t easy,’ ” she read, widening her eyes for emphasis. “ ‘This girl has no idea what she’s talking about.’ ”

The dark, saccharine expression on her face never faltered as she ripped up the paper into tiny pieces, throwing bits over her shoulder.

“Now, I’m here to show you that actually, yes – making chocolate can be easy!” The hard smile was replaced by a warm grin. “My friends at Tokyo Cacao sent me some pods to work with, and lucky for us, they’re ripe and ready to go!” 

She beamed, picking up a pod and showing it off to the camera. “I’ll show you guys how to turn these bad boys into chocolate - and after that, I’m gonna share one of my favorite chocolate recipes with you!” 

Uraraka then grinned mischievously. “First things first – we gotta crack this little guy open.” Reaching under the countertop, she whipped out a gigantic chef’s knife. It was easily as long as Uraraka’s forearm, and the polished blade was engraved with two characters that clearly read, ‘Bakugou.’

A choking sound was heard off screen. 

“Holy shit Uraraka, you took it?!” A man popped into frame, gaping at the knife in Uraraka’s hand. “Dude, Bakugou’s been looking for that all morning - he’s going to kill you for real this time!” 

“Not if he doesn’t find out,” she said seriously, fixing the blonde man with a pointed look. “You’re not going to rat me out, are you, Kaminari?” 

“And get killed in his Baku-rage? No thanks.” He shivered, staring at the knife as if it was going to attack him. “At least you’ve got a chance of surviving.”

Uraraka laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re acting like he’s going to eat you or something.” 

“You don’t know about poor Mineta,” Kaminari looked grave as he closed his eyes in a moment of silence, before scurrying out of frame. He called out, “If anyone, especially Bakubro, asks – I was never here!”  

“O… kay?... ” Uraraka blinked at the camera for a few moments and then shook her head in amusement. “Anyways, back to the topic – opening the pod! The rind is pretty thick and slippery, so be careful where you’re cutting! The best way is to set the edge of the knife in one of the grooves and give it a good whack, like this - !” 

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Pro Chef Makes Omurice | Hot Takes | U.A. Test Kitchen 3,439,062 views ･ August 29, 2XXX

To quote our favorite foul-mouthed chef: “Even a F***ing idiot can make omurice.” 

Join Bakugou Katsuki in the U.A. Test Kitchen as he makes a Japanese comfort food staple, omurice. This isn’t your average, amateur omurice omelette video - Bakugou breaks down the special tricks and techniques he uses to achieve the perfect taste, shape and texture. His recipe uses buttery chicken, fried… 

[SHOW MORE]

10,237 comments

hvf26 – 3 hours ago Japanese gordon ramsey 👍 2.7K   👎   REPLY ⯆ View 25 replies

TipTop – 2 hours ago new drinking game: take a shot every time you hear “fuck” EDIT: 13 shots in and 18 minutes left, i give up 👍 8.6K   👎   REPLY ⯆ View 93 replies

shroomaster3110 – 9 hours ago bakugou: “even a fucking idiot can make omurice” also bakugou: “veal stock, red wine, honey, tomato paste, reduce for 3 days” me: instant ramen it is 👍 749   👎   REPLY ⯆ View 8 replies

obsssd1992 – 6 hours ago hOoly fuck the sound uraraka made when she tasted it 👍 9.4K   👎   REPLY ⯆ View 155 replies

vulcanus – 3 hours ago 7:33 cracking two eggs at the same time with one hand he really be flexing on us huh 👍 233K   👎   REPLY

periperi – 10 hours ago 22:18 is it just me or does bakugou look like he’s blushing??? like, his ears are so so red 👍 5.1K   👎   REPLY ⯆ View 84 replies

dinovino44 – 7 hours ago “just fucking flip it” I blinked and that shit literally went from goo to an omelet HOW 👍 144   👎   REPLY ⯆ View 3 replies

Angela B – 8 hours ago I would love to try this but i dont want to waste 17 dozen eggs trying to make it properly 👍 3.7K   👎   REPLY ⯆ View 29 replies

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“Oh fuck, that’s good,” Bakugou groaned, mouth full as he chewed. The mango-coconut tart in front of him was dotted with swirls of candied orange peel as a garnish, but it did nothing to hide the fact that the entire thing was dusted with a liberal coating of violent red chili powder.

At his side, Uraraka beamed, sniffling a little from the pervasive scent of spice in the air. “I added some lime too, just to break up the richness – it’s not too sweet?”

“S’fucking perfect.” Bakugou scarfed down the last bite of the piece in his hand. He let out another long moan, the sound of it deep and guttural, and Uraraka’s eyes widened as she stared, her cheeks turning red. “Screw it, I’m eating this for lunch.”

“Eh?” Uraraka blinked, snapping out of her daze just as the tray was snatched from her workbench. “Wait, wait – Bakugou! Give it back, I haven’t even tasted it yet!”

“Pft, like you wouldn’t down a carton of milk after one bite,” he scoffed, holding the tart above his head and trying to fend off Uraraka with his free hand as she pulled at his arm. “Fucking get off, Uraraka, I – !”

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SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Aug 17, 2XXX alright since some of y’all are fucking BLIND here’s a list of every bakugou x uraraka moment on the u.a. test kitchen youtube channel (a thread) 184 🗨️   5.3k ⭮   12.6k ♡

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Aug 17, 2XXX [01] the great u.a. Baking show, cheesecake: during taste tests bakugou hated every single person’s cheesecake EXCEPT uraraka’s peach and plum one. He said it was acceptable BUT THEN HE GOES BACK FOR ANOTHER PIECE 2 🗨️   229 ⭮   10.4k ♡

…

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Oct 28, 2XXX [33] farm to table, jicama/watermelon: bakugou says there isn’t enough heat in the dipping sauce during taste tests, uraraka then pulls out the extra spicy version she made just for him and bakugou looks flabbergasted when he tries it and then HE TAKES THE SAUCE HOME 10 🗨️   121 ⭮   2.4k ♡

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Nov 01, 2XXX [34] from scratch, shrimp chips: at 14:53 you can see bakugou and uraraka in the background working on something together and when aoyama comes in waving around a whisk like a madman bakugou PUTS HIS ARM AROUND HER WAIST AND PULLS HER OUT OF THE WAY 15 🗨️   146 ⭮   2k ♡

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Nov 01, 2XXX [35] from scratch, shrimp chips: when uraraka’s taste testing the final versions, she tells bakugou to come and try them. Bakugou grabs the chip she’s eating out of her hand and takes a bite AND THEN STUFFS IT BACK IN HER MOUTH BEFORE WALKING AWAY 29 🗨️   132 ⭮   2.4k ♡

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↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Jan 11, 2XXX [69] hot takes, udon: bakugou says he’s only doing this video because someone said he had to, and uraraka mouths at the camera “he can’t say no to me” and bakugou sees her doing it but just rolls his eyes HE DOESN’T DENY IT 34 🗨️   204 ⭮   1.8k ♡

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Jan 11, 2XXX [70] hot takes, udon: bakugou’s testing the dough consistency and yells at uraraka to come over so he can compare it TO HER CHEEKS and the man no cap says “not soft enough, it needs more pounding” and the blush on her face AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 119 🗨️   451 ⭮   3.6k ♡

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Jan 24, 2XXX [71] the great u.a. bake off, pavlovas: honestly just take this entire episode as proof you can FEEL the tension through the screen my god. the way they’re play-fighting/flirting throughout the episode jesus fucking christ the flavor is immaculate 85 🗨️   154 ⭮   2.1k ♡

…

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Mar 01, 2XXX [82] bon appetit, coq au vin: aoyama asks uraraka for help and bakugou literally spends the entire video glaring at aoyama from the background and ochako mouths “I’m almost done katsuki” at 15:43 SHE USES HIS FIRST NAME 26 🗨️   98 ⭮   1.9k ♡

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Mar 09, 2XXX [83] hot takes, takoyaki: uraraka asks bakugou to taste test a smoothie for her and he goes, “the one you made yesterday was better” but later he says something about hating Mondays WHICH MEANS HE AND URARAKA WERE TOGETHER OVER THE WEEKEND 37 🗨️   159 ⭮   2k ♡

… 13 more replies

↳ teatime @kabedondon – 6h Replying to @retrograade the detail in this thread is scary but even more concerning is the fact that you’ve somehow managed to convince me, at the very minimum, that they’re fucking 13 🗨️   1.1k ⭮   4k ♡

↳ SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – 4h Replying to @kabedondon welcome to the club, hope you enjoy your stay 21 🗨️   59 ⭮   573 ♡

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Todoroki stared down at the gooey, green-streaked mess of chocolate in front of him mournfully. At his side, Yaoyorozu looked equally despondent, poking at the dull sheen of dark chocolate covering the biscuit in her hand. 

“Should we…?” Todoroki glanced over hesitantly, and Yaoyorozu bit her lip. 

“I was really hoping we’d get it this time.” She sighed heavily, before turning around. The camera zoomed out, the frame widening to show a few people milling around in the background. “Uraraka! Do you have a moment?” 

A chirpy voice replied, “Sure!” Todoroki visibly sighed in relief, quickly dumping his mixing bowl into the sink of dirty dishes as Uraraka came into the shot. 

“Huh, that’s definitely not right…” The brunette poked Yaoyorozu’s chocolate mixture with a frown. “What temperature did you heat this to?” 

“45 degrees?” Uraraka hummed, scooping up a bit of the mixture and dumping it into her hand. She rubbed at it, frowning. “What did you use as your seeded chocolate?” 

Todoroki slid the half-empty bag of chocolate chips across the counter, and Uraraka dumped a pile of them out. Little disks spilled across the marble, and she tested one piece between her clean fingers. “Uh, you know that you’re supposed to use tempered chocolate to seed, right?” 

Todoroki opened his mouth, paused, then closed it abruptly. Yaoyorozu buried her face in her hands and audibly groaned.

“Hey, the good news is that you can totally reuse this!” Uraraka tried to smile encouragingly. “Did the matcha chocolate come out weird too, or –?”

“Oi, what the fuck is this?” The camera panned to the side, where Bakugou was holding up Todoroki’s abandoned mixing bowl in a fist, features twisted into a grimace. “Did all those e-cigs fry your brain, Half-and-half? Who the fuck doesn’t sift matcha before –” 

“Hey, lay off of him, Bakugou.” Uraraka stomped over and snatched the bowl away. “Tempering is hard! And you know white chocolate is tricky.” 

“Tch, please.” He scoffed. “What kind of idiot can’t temper chocolate?” 

Uraraka’s eyes flashed, and she planted her arms on her waist. “Have you ever tempered chocolate before?” 

“What kind of dumbass question is that?” Bakugou growled. “Course I have, I didn’t live under a fucking rock like these two morons.” 

Yaoyorozu bristled indignantly, but Uraraka held up her hand. Todoroki just looked tired, and muttered under his breath, “Here we go again…”

“Then you wouldn’t mind giving us a demonstration, would you?” Bakugou looked at her sweet, smiling face suspiciously. “Or are you too chicken to prove it?”

Red eyes flashed dangerously. “... the fuck did you just say?”

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

The video cut to a shot of lumpy, melted white goo, before zooming out to show Bakugou’s scowl. “What the fuck is wrong with this shitty chocolate?” He kept stirring, even more vigorously this time, and looked down at the mixture as if he was trying to set it on fire with his glare.

Todoroki and Yaoyorozu were tucked a little ways away, snickering quietly as they watched from a safe distance away. Across from Bakugou, leaning casually against the counter, Uraraka smiled gleefully.

“Hur-dur, ‘what kind of idiot can’t temper chocolate?’ ” she mimicked, her voice lowered in an approximation of the blonde’s low growl. Uraraka laughed, and then ducked as a chocolate-covered spatula sailed over her head.

“FUCK OFF, ROUND FACE!” 

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

smolbean678 reblogged kryssalys ochaakou:

reasons you should stan uraraka ochako, u.a.’s farming goddess and resident bakugou whisperer:

- has probably saved about half of the “from scratch” episodes by virtue of being the only person in the entire u.a. test kitchen who can consistently temper chocolate

- speaking of chocolate, this woman pulled the hardest flex by making her own chocolate from a raw cacao pod, and then proceeded to make chocolate chicken mole with it just to prove to the haters that she could 

- is the acting president of the musutafu ninniclub, a japanese club for lovers of garlic. she also openly admits to sleeping with a ninnikyun plushie, aka the club mascot which is apparently a giant garlic clove (seriously, you can’t make this shit up guys)

- vocal advocate of Feeding Japan, a hunger relief organization that works to combat food insecurity, and is frequently seen volunteering at food banks and soup kitchens (1) (2) (3) (4)

- a lot of the ingredients she features in the “farm to table” series come from her parent’s farm! (pics) she grew up working at her parents’ stall at her hometown farmer’s market and promotes buying locally to support regional farms and businesses.

- this masterpiece of a tweet: “I love food and I love to eat. If someone wants to shame me for my body then they can go fuck themselves.”

- creates recipes that not only taste good but are also healthy, quick, easy and beginner friendly – yes, I’m looking at you, mr. bakugou “just fucking flip it and reduce for 3 days” katsuki – see the archive of her recipes here (x)

- has a tiktok dedicated entirely to trolling todoroki’s reactions with weird flavors of soba, these are my favorites (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

- she’s a self-taught chef who started as a dishwasher and worked up to being the sous chef at ryuko tatsuma’s restaurant dragoon before coming to the u.a. test kitchen and was regularly praised by food critics (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

- has single-handedly saved u.a. millions of yen from that one time she stopped bakugou from ‘accidentally’ exploding an air fryer

- speaks fluent baku-rage, not to mention their chemistry is off the charts hoO BOY the slow burn is fucking real y’all

alright there’s so much more stuff but I fucking hate formatting links, so watch farm to table and follow uraraka on social media (twitter / instagram / tiktok) because this queen deserves our love. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

hoooooot-hoot:

[link] to the twitter thread for my fellow kacchako shippers, i gotchu

54,230 notes #ua test kitchen #kacchako #stan uraraka #bakugou better worship our queen or im gonna throw hands

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

“Ugh.” Uraraka glared down at the sad, deflated lumps sitting in the middle of her ramekins. “Where is Aoyama when you need him?” 

“That looks pathetic,” a blunt voice said, and Uraraka sighed as Bakugou came into the camera frame, leaning over the counter to peer into one cup with a skeptical look. “What the hell are you making?” 

“Well, it’s supposed to be a pistachio-strawberry souffle.” She huffed, rubbing at her neck in frustration. “I can’t figure out how to get the nuts to distribute evenly… and it’s just not rising? I don’t get it – I remade my pastry cream like, three times, I know it’s fine, and I buttered my molds but it just…”

“You try freezing the molds after you butter them?” A frown came over Uraraka’s face as she shook her head. Bakugou grabbed one of the little cups, prodding the contents with a finger, and made a face. “Keeps it from contaminating your mixture and fucking up the rise.”

“When I make them at home, they’re usually fine at room temp,” she said dejectedly. “I don’t know why I can’t get it right today.” 

The camera zoomed in a little, focusing on Bakugou’s expression as he glanced towards Uraraka. He looked a little concerned, and after a beat of silence, he came around the counter to stand beside her.

“Oi, don’t get all mopey on me, Cheeks.” He nudged her shoulder lightly, settling a hand across the back of Uraraka’s neck. “You good?” 

She sighed heavily, leaning a little into his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I just… I don’t know. My brain isn’t working right now.” 

“Tch.” Bakugou looked over the mess of bowls spread across the counter, eyes settling on the deflated looking egg-whites on one side. “Look – I’ll help ya out, just this once. Don’t quit on me now, yeah?

She blinked, looking up at him with furrowed brows. “But I thought… don’t you have that thing, with –”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. This is more important,” he said, shrugging off his leather jacket and rolling up his sleeves. Uraraka just looked back at him in confusion. 

“But…” She bit her lip hesitantly. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Bakugou smirked back at her as he tied on his apron. “I got you, Cheeks.” 

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

[Video: Todoroki, frozen in place with blank eyes and noodles falling out of his mouth as someone shakes his unresponsive body]

u_ochako: i… may have made chocolate flavored soba. PLEASE DON’T CRY TODOROKI #imsorry ♡ 137.4K   🗨️ 3251 

trololoki: holy shit he actually looks like he’s about to cry View replies (157) ⯆ 

augusttine: can we all agree that what makes this 10x funnier is bakugou’s hyena cackling in the background View replies (209) ⯆ 

u_24: this is soba-sphemous View replies (54) ⯆ 

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

Uraraka rubbed her eyes, blinking as she gaped.

“You…” She looked up at him, chin trembling. “Did you really…?”

“Tch.” Bakugou huffed, trying to hide a smile. “What, your eyes don’t work now, Cheeks?” he teased. 

“I just - ” Uraraka pinched herself, yelping at the pain, before a huge, toothy smile broke out across her face. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you actually did it.” 

“You did get on your knees and beg, so…” He shrugged, snickering as Uraraka approached the counter reverently, her face glowing in sheer joy. “Ten kinds of mochi, as fuckin’ promised.”

She turned to him pleadingly. “Can I…?” 

“I already took the photos.” He nodded at the spread, a rainbow of different colors delicately arranged with a pot of tea, ready to be eaten. “Go for it, babygirl.”

Uraraka already had a daifuku mochi halfway to her mouth, lips open as she got ready to take a bite, when an unfamiliar voice cut into the video. 

“Wait a second.” Both of them paused to look at the camera in confusion. “Did he just call you babygirl?” 

There was a beat of silence, before Uraraka’s face exploded into a bright red blush. Next to her, Bakugou quietly muttered, “Fuck.”

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

[Photo: an image featuring white sheets and pillows, a woman’s bare upper back, and messy brown hair with a woman’s face half-buried in a pillow]

Liked by dekiru, redkiri, and 541,803 others bakugoukatsuki: delicious u_ochako: UM bakugoukatsuki: @u_ochako did i lie though shouto: thank god fucking finally View all 6,248 comments

3 HOURS AGO

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

SHIP KACCHAKO @retrograade – Jun 04, 2XXX RT @marsali: I. FUCKING. CALLED. IT. 

THIS IS WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF @marsali – 21m @retrograade THE SHIP HAS SAILED I REPEAT THE SHIP HAS SAILED #kacchako [media attached]

42 🗨️   3.8k ⭮   8.7k ♡

[cowandcalf]

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Epilog Ohana

Chapters 1 -13

Chapter 14

Three months later

Danny peels an orange and watches with amusement and a warm fuzzy feeling in this stomach how Aunt Deb conquers the kitchen at the McGarrett's house.

"Danny, be so kind as to hand me the spatula over there?"

"Where have you learned to cook for a whole crew?" Danny reaches over to hand her the cookware. He darts a quick look out the window. The backyard is crowded with all their friends and family who gathered today to celebrate a special ceremony for little Kalea. He hauls himself up to sit on the countertop neatly nestled in the corner out of Aunt Deb's way but still in the middle of things. He eats the luscious orange with delight, licking the juice off his fingers.

Also on AO3

She lifts her head and stretches to her full height, wiping a hand at the white apron. She smiles wisely with so much love, it warms Danny from head to toe. "I've spent years in the show business. Do you have any idea how starved we were after a performance on stage?" Aunt Deb's laugh comes deep from within her gut. It's so strange and unexpected Danny freezes, intrigued by this dazzling personality in front of him. Steve has the most fascinating relatives.

"You performed? On stage?" Danny askes with wonder in his voice. "As in dancer? Singer?"

"A singer and the dancing just happened. Hell, yeah, those were the good ol' days. Crazy, sometimes no money in the pocket but, God, did we love it. We had fire in our hearts and were ready to conquer the world. We had so much fun!" Aunt Deb's voice was filled with a hint of wistfulness. "But family is the most important thing in the world. I came home after my sister-in-law died. I wanted to be there for Steve and Mary. But – " She nods firmly over where Danny hangs on her lips not to miss a single moment, "yes, I and my crew often ended up hungry in the bar's kitchen where we had our gig. The best parties were celebrated in various kitchens. We knew some of the owners. They enjoyed a private concert while I made a late-night dinner for the whole team. Those were great and fun times. We could eat and entertain like no one else." She tells in a sparkling, enticing way that charms Danny on the spot.

Danny forgets to eat his orange and kind of jerks from the spell he's under when Mary floats into the kitchen. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes shine like stars. She looks beautiful and motherhood suits her well. She spreads happiness into the air like a new brand of air freshener.

"Aunt Deb's stories as a singer captivates everyone, right Danny?" She pats Danny's knee and flashes him one of those famous McGarrett smiles before she walks up to her aunt to hug her around the waist. "Aunt Deb is the queen of homemade food. She's famous for her roast and for the best stuffed turkey at Thanksgiving." Mary steals a sweet potato slice freshly out of the oven. "Mmm, God, it's pure manna! Tastes good, Aunt Deb." Mary pants to cool the hot vegetable in her mouth.

Aunt Deb chides her about eating with her fingers and makes her take a plate. Mary kisses her cheek and comes closer to lean into Danny.

"Where's your baby girl, Mary?" Danny snatches a piece from her plate.

"Steve's carrying her around. She's hungry and whiny. I need to feed her." Mary pricks Danny's finger with the fork to make him back off. "Those are mine. Have some of your own. You haven't even finished your orange. I'm hungry. I need to produce milk."

Danny chuckles and shoves the slice of warm, spicy-sweet potato in his mouth. It mixes with the taste of orange. "Whoa, these are madly tasty. You have to teach me how to get it that delicious, Aunt Deb."

Aunt Deb smiles knowingly and hums a melody. She turns when Steve walks in.

Danny's eyes are glued to how Steve gently cradles the youngest offspring of the McGarrett family in his arms – baby Kalea. Danny can't get enough of the soft and tender expression on Steve's face whenever he carries his niece. He's the proudest uncle Danny has ever seen, overprotective over both, mother and child. Kalea is embedded in a warm-hearted, wonderful family of which Danny and Grace and even Rachel and Stan are now a part of it too. It's overwhelmingly wonderful.

"Hey, Danny, here you are. I've been looking for you everywhere." Steve steers right into the corner where Danny still sits on the kitchen counter.

"Did you miss me?" Danny asks and strokes with a finger featherlight over Kalea's tiny head, wrapped protectively in a tiny cotton cap. "The best stories you always get waiting for the food in the kitchen."

"Aunt Deb rocks," Steve answers with a laugh. "I still love to listen to all her stories." Steve rocks his niece gently. She complains about how she feels with a small voice and lets everyone know she's upset. "Is she okay, Mary? I couldn't calm her." Steve sounds worried. "Kawika said she's just hungry."

"Yes, my sweet girl needs her milk. Look she searches with her mouth to find the food station but your dry as a desert, dear brother. Come, let's go upstairs. I need somewhere to sit comfortably and away from loud voices. She gets startled easily. I need her to drink quietly and afterward, she'll sleep peacefully."

Danny watches how Steve's cheeks flush adorably when Mary tells him how useless he's to a hungry baby with no milk to provide. "Go upstairs, Steve. Help Mary to get comfortable with cushions. Take Grace's and Nahele's pillows too. She needs to be all propped up with all kinds of support to relax.

"Okay, come on Mary," Steve signals with his head to head upstairs. "You can sit on our bed. It's big and it's quiet. No one will disturb you. I'll carry her. Eat up." Steve rubs soothingly over Kalea's back. She whimpers and pumps with her small legs. She's getting agitated.

Mary shoves the plate with the rest of her veggies into Danny's hand. "Let's go, Punk. She's working herself up into a mood. She's hungry. I don't want her to start crying. She would be too upset to drink. Come on, Steve. Let's go." Mary almost rushes outside.

Steve kisses the baby's head. "Sit tight, Danno. I'll be back."

Danny watches Steve leave the kitchen. He forces himself to slowly finish the rest of Mary's vegetables. He saves the three last slices of orange for Steve. Aunt Deb sings a wonderful, slow tune, immersed in getting the main course ready for the crowd. Danny knows she gives him the space he needs. No talking. He blinks furiously to clear his vision. Danny smells the grilled meat while he chews almost meditatively on a potato slice to make his chest unclench. Kamekona is the proud barbecue chef of today's family celebration. The animated chatter and the occasional outburst of laughter filters through the back door. It's the happiness that constricts Danny's throat and makes his chest uncomfortably tight. He's glad Aunt Deb doesn't want to pick a conversation.

Danny waits for Steve at the bottom of the stairs. He balances the three orange pieces on his palm. Everyone is somewhere else. He's alone for precious five minutes. He debates in his head if he should sneak upstairs to call for Steve to tell him he's about to go looking for the kids. He knows it takes time to feed a baby. Grace had trouble to suck properly and she was a slow drinker. Rachel never minded. She loved those bonding times with Grace. They were precious. She wanted them to last. Danny envied her for those moments, those most intimate moments when a mother breastfed her baby. It hurt him that he would never know how this might feel. It must be incredible and soul-altering beautiful.

He lifts his head. Steve silently comes down the stairs. His eyes find Danny's and Danny feels how Steve sinks into him, touching him on the inside like he always does in the same insane way.

"Hey, babe," Danny gets greeted with a soft press of lips, "how's it going? Is she drinking?"

"Yes, they're fine. I made sure Mary feels comfortable. I haven't checked but the sucking sound told me she soon will fall asleep with her little belly full of milk." Steve's cheeks are still colored pink.

"You didn't stay?" Danny leans into Steve's touch and welcomes Steve's tender, consuming kisses.

"I – no, I don't know. It didn't seem appropriate."

"Appropriate? Why? It's a mother breastfeeding her baby. The most natural and most wonderful thing in the world." Danny pulls back a little and sees how Steve's face is flushed.

"It's my sister, Danny. It's – I don't know, kind of too intimate to sit and to watch the baby suckle at Mary's nipple. Kawika is allowed to see this, not me, not her brother. I – " Steve gazes sheepishly at Danny, holding his face between his large, rough hands. "Did you watch Rachel and Grace?" He asks a bit breathless.

Danny's face lit up in a warm smile. "Yes, I did. It was beautiful, full of love and peace. It hit me every time how powerful this simple act of deep love is. A mother nurtures her baby like women have done over centuries."

Steve's eyes take him in, wander over his face. "You're so special. Do you know this, Danny?"

Danny breathes in Steve's scent when Steve drags his lips along his cheek to get to his eyes, giving him butterfly-light kisses on his closed eyelids. Steve pulls him into a hug. "I kinda felt excluded, too." Danny adds, "and sometimes I was jealous of not having this deep bond with my daughter.  As a man, you miss out on so much intimacy but I loved to sit there and be a part of something bigger."

Steve rests his chin on Danny's head. "Mary said it was okay if I wanted to stay. She's such a great mother. I'm so happy for her and Kawika. But still. I guess it was too much. I felt a bit overwhelmed, to be honest." Steve mumbles into Danny's hair.

"Eat a slice of orange. It helps to deal with the overload." Danny brings his hand up and Steve turns his head.

Danny sighs when Steve doesn't let go but signals him to bring his hand to his lips. He pulls his abs taut when Steve's lips graze over his palm to catch the orange pieces. He chews and swallows and smiles at him. Steve's tongue licks the juice from Danny's palm. "Steve, you gotta stop this – "

"Why? No one's here. Just us." Steve sucks Danny's digit into his mouth and runs his tongue alongside with a glint in his eyes.

"Hold this thought," Danny tries to free his captured finger. He feels the heat spread into his groin. Steve gets this heated look. He smiles lasciviously when he grabs Danny's wrist and holds it firmly. "Steve," Danny tries a stern tone and fails completely. "Give me back my finger. Don't be a dick. The backyard is full of guests. Aunt Deb is cooking in the kitchen." Danny hisses but laughs and maybe he also moans.

"Make me," Steve says with a smoky voice.

"Make you what?" Danny's hips push forward. Not good.

"Make me give you back your finger." Steve mumbles. His mouth sucks at Danny's finger, running his tongue like velvet over the finger buried in his mouth.

"Jesus, Steve! I can't sport a hard-on at a family gathering. Your father is outside. Maybe he's already looking for us." Danny grasps at straws. He laughs at Steve's expression and how that magical word sobers him up instantly. He gives Danny his finger back.

"That was a mean one," Steve says with a gruff voice.

Danny's amused and flattens Steve's already flat shirt with his other hand. "Don't challenge me, big guy," he grins. "Have you seen the kids recently?"

Steve wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not since I've stepped into the kitchen with Kalea. I told Kamekona to keep an eye on them. I mean, Rachel and Stan are still outside. So are Kono, Chin, Kawika – everyone keeps an eye on Grace and Nahele and they're with Jeanne. They don't go far."

"Come, I need to wash my hands. I wanna know what they've been plotting. They've become so wild." Danny grabs at Steve's shirt and pulls him in for another kiss. "And then we spent some time with your father."

Danny calls out to the crowd gathered around the colorfully decorated tables. "Hey everyone, have someone spotted the kids and Jeanne? I haven't seen them in a while."

Kamekona points with the burger spatula in the direction where the beach is. "Don't worry, Danny, the keikis are with gramps at the beach."

"Gramps?" Steve snorts walking behind Danny.

"Your father, grandpa McGarrett, Steve," Kawika comes up to stand beside Steve. He throws an arm around his shoulder and heartedly pats his chest. He grins like a loon.

"You worry too much, Danny," Kono calls over where she's invested in a conversation with Rachel.

"I worry too much?" Danny mocks indignation. "They always turn up without their shirts or shorts. Wet and sandy, although they know they aren't allowed to be even near the ocean. And there are sharks out there!" Danny complains, pointing with his outstretched arm to the wild sea that sloshes against their doorstep.

"Danny, you're overdramatic. They're never alone near the water. They're not that silly to walk into the surf." Rachel answers with a soft voice and a laugh.

Danny's eyes are wide. Rachel sits relaxed in a comfortable chair with a pillow stuck behind her back. She has a flower tucked behind her ear and Stan watches her with a stupidly happy smile. Pregnancy suits her well. Grace is going to have a sibling soon. Danny inhales deeply. "You're not allowed to do that, Rachel. She's your daughter, too. You have to be on my side. "

"I'm on your side, Daniel and as I said, don't be so dramatic. John is with them. They're alright."

"There are no sharks out there, Danny. I'd feel them. Your keikis are safe." Mamo's soothing voice comes from the other side of the table.

"I don't even want to know how you would sense if there were sharks swimming around." Danny's brows are furrowed. He's not yet used to all the Hawaiian mambo jambo about 'the sea speaks to me' and 'the wind tells me when to hang my laundry to the west' and 'when it's the right time to plant the seeds because the earth is ready to embrace her children'. Steve has told him that once and he still can't wrap his mind around how someone could feel that.

"Wait until you see the surfboards I've made for Grace and Nahele," Kawika informs everyone.

Danny sputters and turns around. He points with a fierce finger at Kawika and jabs his left pec hard. "Don't. You. Talk. About. Freaking. Surfboards.!" Jab, jab, jab. "What is wrong with you?" Danny calls Rachel for help. "Rachel! Tell me you haven't agreed to that crazy plan?"

"Kono and Mamo are with them. Kawika surfs since he's a child. We're in Hawaii, Danny. Surfing is the way of life here." Rachel smiles gorgeously and leans back against her fluffy pillow.

"Who are you?" Danny stammers.

"Danno," Steve's beloved rumble makes Danny keep his balance. "No shark will eat one of our kids. They will see the dolphins, as I have promised. And we will start in the shallow water. Mamo knows the sea like no one else. Trust the locals. Grace and Nahele will be fine."

Danny kind of deflates and leans into the invisible support Steve provides. "Okay, okay. One step at the time."

Kawika has still his arm around Steve's shoulder. He looks like he's completely drunk on happiness. "How's Mary and my baby. They okay?"

Steve's moved easily these days. Danny gets all the mushy vibes Steve gives off. He tries to keep a solid frame but it suits him well to be all gooey on the inside while the outer shell is a rock-hard and muscled and fierce as always. "Yes, Mary's fine. Your little one drinks as if there's no tomorrow." He squeezes Kawika's hand. His gaze drifts off to the beach. "So, you're telling me my dad is at the beach with Grace and Nahele?"

"Oh look, here they come!" Danny shouts and waves back when Grace calls his name. "And here we go. What have I told you? No shirts, sandy and wet."

They walk closer. Nahele and Grace hold on to John's hands. He leads the kids up to where everyone waits. Grace bounces excitedly and Nahele giggles his sweet laugh with his head thrown back.

"What – " Danny can't hide his smile either. The kids are so loose and content, "what happened to your shirts?" Danny's hand makes a complicated move. He also stares at John McGarrett. His pants are rolled up to his knees and the rim of his pants is wet. They have been in the water. "Hey, John, thanks a lot for taking care of them."

"No worries, Danny, it's a joy to be with them. We had fun, right kids?"

"Yesss!" Nahele shouts and shoves the shells he has found at the beach into Danny's hands. "Keep them for me."

"Where's your shirt, young man?" Danny tries to give him a stern look. But God, he's so irresistible with his smile and he's Grace's best friend.

"I gave it to Grace."

"Why?

"She likes it. Jeanne needed a shirt too." Nahele sighs dramatically as if Danny asks to most boring questions. "I'm hungry." He whines.

"Go wash your hands, put on a new shirt. You know where they are. In your dresser, bottom drawer. And you too, Grace. You know, I could buy you a spiderman shirt any day if you wanted one." He has tried so many times but her answer stays the same.

"I like wearing Nahele's shirts. He doesn't mind." She peeps and pulls at her pigtails before she runs after Nahele.

"And why needs the dog to wear your shirt?" Danny calls after his daughter. He darts over to watch Jeanne panting with Grace's pink glitter shirt and the lettering 'be a princess'. Sometimes, Danny can't get rid of the feeling that this sweet dog grins at him.

"Jeanne likes pink!" Grace screams back. Nahele almost topples over when the fit of giggle tears through his sun-kissed body. Grace laughs along with him and together they bounce into the living room. Wild and carefree.

Danny shakes his head and smiles. Steve steps up behind him and pulls him close. Steve can't form words when too many emotions constrict his throat. "Let's eat. Come on, dad. You look hungry too. Thanks for hanging out with them."

"We had fun," John repeats before he awkwardly but affectionately pats Steve's shoulder to stroll off to sit beside his wife.

"Let's eat, folks!" Aunt Deb shouts and claps her hands to get everyone's attention. "Lunch is served!"

Steve sneaks stealthily out of bed not to wake Danny. Grace is with Rachel and Nahele sleeps at his sister's house. It's only Danny and him. Steve doesn't need much sleep. The nightmares aren't tearing that often through his mind anymore. He can rest while he sleeps but the uneasy feeling when he lies awake in bed stays. Healing can't be rushed he has learned the hard way. It's better to get up, drink some water, watch the ocean, and waits until his limbs get heavy again to crawl back under the cover to be with Danny for a few more hours.

The beaten, old chest of his grandfather is heavy. He pulls it carefully from under the bench where it's stashed close to the window. The lid opens soundlessly. He holds the simple wooden box for a moment before he flips the lid open. The dog tags with his name rest there in the same heap of a coiled up chain. Two small plates with his name stamped in lie on top, just the way he has left them the last time he held them. His grandfather's dog tags are in the second, identical wood box right there where he has put them.

Steve strokes the metal with his fingers before he takes it out to hold it, to run it through his fingers, to refresh the sense that ripples through him whenever his fingertips make contact with his past. He gets lost in thoughts. He still misses it, the team, the thrill, and the purpose. The drill, the way of life that leaves no gap to think about anything else but about the next step in the mission, the training. Being a SEAL will forever be carved in his bones no matter the damage it has brought being part of missions, doing the job of an elite soldier.

Plants and seedlings have been his lifeline back to life, have held him upright when he didn't know how to make it through the day, how to make a life out of the Navy. Until Danny came along to buy one of his plants. And he sold it to the guy he hasn't known back then but to whom his heart has answered without his consent. Everything has changed after that.

It's time to move on. Kamekona and Mary have taken over his flower shop. They have plans to develop a business but are serious about how they want to run it with economical sustainability. And Steve – Steve has finally accepted the Governor's offer to run a task force. He has needed time to think about it but he's ready now. The support group helps to understand his issues and to deal with them. That's the reason he took the dog tags from the wall to keep them safe, out of sight because he doesn't need to look at them to drag him through the day. He's ready for action and stress and pressure. He needs it like air to breathe.

He carefully and slowly puts the dog tags back into the wooden box. He closes the lid and hides the boxes where they belong. It's a ritual. It's important. Each movement is accurate, dedicated, and executed with humbleness.

Steve drinks the glass of water in complete silence and gazes out to the black mass of water. He doesn't make a sound. Kono and Chin will come by for breakfast. Danny got a bit antsy when Steve didn't come out with the truth about that meeting. He got suspicious but Steve made him shut up and made him moan instead. Thoroughly fucked and tired Danny was out cold without the change to pepper him with questions.

They are going to be a team and as a team, Steve wants to inform all of them at once. HPD won't be happy to lose three good cops in one day. Hawaii needs their best and Steve and his team will be the best. The smile that spreads his lips feels damn good.

Steve climbs back into bed and curls around Danny's warm body. He's excited and the well-known, much-missed vibration of strength makes it difficult the fall asleep. He's finally back. Steve kisses Danny's neck and buries his face in the soft curve of Danny's strong shoulders.

THE END

[pixelatedrose]

Soulbound Part Two

First | Part 2 | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word Count: 2,955

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, Prinxiety, Logicality, Background Remile

Warnings: uncensored swearing, bullying, mention of drugs and alcohol, threats, Unsympathetic Remus, Unsympathetic Deceit, implied mention of sex (wow this fic went from 1 to like 67 real fast) Please leave a comment and tell me if I missed anything that should be tagged or if you want anything tagged!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

IMPORTANT NOTE!! I changed all of their last names cause I didn't like them. So. Yeah. Also sorry this seems a bit late, I got caught up with doing things and school and we had a ton of snow (where I live we never get snow) and so I was a little distracted all week. Sorry about that y'all!! But its here now, so yeah!! Hope you enjoy!!

Chapter 2

Roman woke up with a start, his wrist stinging. He looked over at his clock that read a time much to late- or early- for it to be reasonable. He rubbed his stinging skin and tried to go back to sleep. 

  This was a regular occurrence. Waking up at two am to a stinging wrist or shoulder, sometimes an ankle or forearm. Once he woke up nearly screaming as his left side felt like it was on fire.

  He didn't quite know what it was, but Roman never thought much about it. I mean, people woke up with little pricks sometimes, right? He'd probably slept on it wrong or accidentally hit his bedframe in his sleep.

  Roman lay in bed, tossing and turning as he tried to fall back asleep. He looked over to the clock once again and sighed. It was only an hour before his alarm went off.

  Not seeing the point in trying to go to sleep anymore, Roman swung his legs over the side of his bed and started getting ready for the day.

  After taking a shower and pulling in clothes, Roman's alarm rang out two seconds after he was done styling and drying his previously wet hair. He slapped it off as quick as possible, suddenly not wanting to wake anyone else up.

  Roman inched out of his room and into his brother's, flipping on the lights, much to his brother's dismay.

  "Turn the goddamn lights off…." His brother muttered through his pillow.

  Roman sighed. "Nope! C'mon Remus, it's time for you to rise and shine- or whatever it is that you do when you're awake- and get ready for the first day of school!" He walked over to the broad window and threw open the blinds, letting light filter and flow into the already lot room, the sun beams hitting Roman's twin in the face.

  "AaaAAAHH!!" His brother screamed. He sat up in bed and shielded his face. He glared at Roman after adjusting to the light. "I'm going to sell your organs on the internet you pile of horse sh-"

  "Love you too, brother! I'm gonna go make breakfast now okay bye!!" Roman zipped downstairs, not wanting to stick around to see whether his brother would act on that threat or not.

  Ten minutes later Remus came loudly down the stairs and yelled at his brother. "DID YOU GET OUT ALL THE CEREAL AND THE POPTARTS?!!?"

  Roman sighed, looking at the counter that was overflowing with four different cereals and a box of poptarts. "YEAH BRO MAN I GOTCHU!!" He yelled back.

  Remus entered the kitchen area with his heavy heeled boots and skipped over to the cereals. He poured a little of each box into a bowl and unwrapped a poptart and crumbled it on top. He went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of not milk but orange juice and poured it into the abomination that was in his bowl.

  Roman looked away and tried focusing back on the eggs he had in the pan in front of him. "I cannot believe that you actually eat that, Remus! It's revolting!" Roman bemused.

  Remus shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, staring at pointedly. "You," he sputtered through the mouthful of 'Cereal'. "My brother, have no taste." He swallowed and gestured to his bowl. "This is a masterpiece of a meal!!"

  Roman made gagging noise and slid his single solitary egg onto a piece of toast. "That's not even a meal! I daresay it would harm someone rather than anything else!"

  Remus scoffed and took another bite.

~~•~~

  Today was the first day of their sophomore year, 10th grade and they couldn't wait for it to start. Or at least, Roman was excited. Remus had made his opinion adamant; he couldn't care less if the school caught fire.

  But nonetheless, it was a day they'd all been awaiting, whether eagerly or with disdain.

  Patton had stuffed his backpack full of snacks and colorful pins as gifts for his new classmates and friends.

  Roman had excitedly roused his voice in preparation for theater and barber shop choir he was sure to audition for.

  Logan had packed up notebooks and pencils and pens, all fitting perfectly in his backpack as he awaited learning, a year ahead of his peers.

  Remus had done nothing but think up pranks and plans of destruction of freshman newbies for the start of the year. His phone pinged and he picked it up to look at it.

  A boy known around school as Deceit had discretely packed his bag and pockets full of liquors and drugs to sell to anyone who'd buy. He looked at his email and raised an eyebrow. He turned to his messages and shot a text to his partner.

  And a person of seemingly infinitesimal importance shrugged on a black and purple jacket and sighed heavily. He didn't look forward to this. What's to say it was going to be any different from last time?

  And so, life started as sophomores for each and every one of them.

~~•~~

  Virgil Sanders walked up to the front of his new high school. A place to start over… he thought.

  He pushed his way through the doors and tried to think positively.

  "Well helloooo there my good newbie of a kid!!" A voice rang out. Virgil startled back and bumped into someone behind him. How did someone get behind him so fast??

  "Ah, ah! Don't be scared my good pal!" The person behind him said, his voice was a little too reassuring, a little too happy.

  "I-I'm sorry...I'll just find my own way around…" he stammered out. He didn't want to try and be cocky and make enemies this early into the school year. And his anxiety was telling him to play it safe.

  He didn't even see the two that were harassing him before a voice trilled out, "Oh there you are, babe!!"

  Virgil felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. "Hon-ey you've got to stop running off like that! Gurl, you're gonna lose that cute purple head of yours in the crowd if your not careful!" Virgil looked up to see a boy wearing aviator shades and a leather jacket.

  "Uhm--?" 

  Virgil started before the sunglasses'd guy turned and whispered in his ear, "Just play along, babe…"

  "Right…" Virgil turned and kissed the strange man's cheek. "Sorry babe, won't happen again." He cuddled up to the man and wrapped his arms around his waist. If he was gonna play the part, might as well make it convincing.

  "That's right honey bae! Now let's get you to class!" And the two walked away hand in hand.

  As they rounded the corner, the man parted from Virgil and turned on him. "Sorry bout that honey, but gurl you were in real danger there!" He held out a hand. "The name's Remy b-t-dubs."

  Virgil shook it. "Virgil. Thanks. And sorry for the kiss." 

  Remy laughed and waved his hand at Virgil. "Oh pah-lease babe! Trust me I probably enjoyed that more than you think I did!" He winked and laughed again at Virgil's flushed face. "Now, stay outa trouble, ya hear? Cause auntie Remy ain't always gonna be around to save that cute face of yours hun. But here's my number in case you need anything!" Remy took out what looked like a business card and handed it to Virgil.

  Auntie Remy. Gossip wheel, late night counseling, party boy.

  At the bottom a number was printed. "Hey what-" but Remy was already gone.

  What just happened?

~~•~~

  Remus was pissed. He had received the text from Deceit that morning that there was fresh meat and he was so ready to spill crickets in that loser's bag! And then that stupid 12th grade dumbass senior Remy had to show up and "save the day."

  His eye caught a little freshman boy with broken glasses. He carried his books in his arms and had a smattering of freckles to accompany his bright red hair.

  Perfect! Remus thought maliciously. And crept over to sink his teeth into his next victim.

  "Hey there freckle face!" He called cheerily.

  The boy seemed startled and pointed at himself as if to confirm.

  Remus sighed. Wow this kid is dull… "Yeah you, scarecrow reject! Now Imma make this quick since I already lost one lunch income," he started, slinking around the kid. "Hand over the money you mommy gave you for food today else I'll make sure that it won't stay down."

  The redhead seemed flustered. "Wh-what? B-but, I need that money!" He subconsciously reached for his pocket.

  Bingo. Remus knew his type. Fear would get him what he wanted. He grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt, making the books tumble out of his hands. "Listen here, nerd! You gimme that money or else you're gonna be using it to mend all the bones I'll be snapping in you hand, here!" Remus held up one of the kid's spindly hands as an example, wagging it loosely in his face. His maniacal smile grew as he heard the kid whimper in fear.

  Remus put pressure on one of the kid's fingers as the freckled boy didn't move. "Tic-Toc, brainless bastard!" He snickered sadistically.

  "Fine!!" The kid yelped in fear and shoved the money at the bully. "Just leave me alone!"

  Remus pushed the kid to the ground and shoved the money in his pocket. "As you wish, orange peel!" He stepped on the kid's discarded books and walked over to where Deceit watched.

  "40-60, my snake bitch." Remus said, handing his partner 14 dollars of the 35.

  Deceit counted the money and nodded. "I'm disappointed the newbie slipped by us…" he looked off at where the purple haired boy had been a few minutes prior. "But I think he'll be back…" His amber eyes glowed a near sickly yellow. "And this time we're playing the long game."

~~•~~

  Remus had run off ahead of him so Roman entered the school's doors alone. He had wandered only a few steps inside before a blur of blue and gold barreled into him.

  "GOOD TO SEE YOU, KIDDO!!" Patton shouted, squeezing Roman in an impossibly tight hug.

  "Gah!! Good to see you too, Patton!! But," Roman gasped out, smiling. "I can't breathe, buddy."

  "Oh my GOLLY gee!!" Patton shouted, releasing Roman into open air. "I'm sorry bout that, kiddo!"

  "Really Patton, you should know your own strength by now. It'd be quite a shame if I lost my best friend before we graduated." A deep voice called, his voice laced with amusement.

  Roman softly pushed Patton aside. "Logan!!" He shouted and subsequently barreled into the tall boy, retracting after a right squeeze to just a shoulder hug. "Buddy, it's good to see you!" He laughed.

  Patton made a noise and the two boys turned to look at the shorter one. "And it's not good to see me?! I'm offended! Roman! I am your father-"

  "Not my father-"

  "And you will love me right now!"

  Roman laughed and drew Patton and Logan both into a tight hug. "Man I missed you guys!!"

  Logan gently wrapped his arms around the other two and smiled. "As did we, my friend. As did We."

~~•~~

  It was like any other start of school day. Read syllabus, play a get to know you game, repeat.

  It was really fairly normal for Roman.

  Until his third period.

  Roman knew nearly everyone in his grade, he had been the popular kid back in middle school and that had mostly transferred when he got into high school. So when roll call was being taken, it piqued his interest when a foreign voice answered a foreign name.

  "Roman Prince?"

  "You called?" Roman asked charmingly. The teacher looked at him tiredly. Roman cleared his throat. "Here!" He called a little more calmly.

  "Flora Riley?"

  "Here!"

  "Uh...Virgil Sanders?"

  Virgil Sanders? Roman thought. Maybe I just don't remember him and I'll recognize his vio-

  "Here." A quiet but firm voice answered and Roman checked behind him to see the source of the unrecognized voice. 

  A boy sat in the back of the class with his feet pressed up against the table, curling himself mostly into a ball in his chair. But even so, Roman could see purple hair peeking out from under his patchwork hoodie and stylish, iconic reverse eyeshadow applied to his face. His ripped black jeans and scuffed combat boots made it obvious that there was a new emo in school.

  Cute… Roman thought subconsciously. I mean, he was pretty cute.

  "Alright class. We're gonna play a get to know you game. Now come up and draw sticks." The teacher held out a tin full of stocks with names on them and shook it slightly, letting the wood jingle against the run. "You'll be drawing the person you'll be sitting with for the rest of the semester. You may not trade with anyone, and yeah, that sucks but so does school." The class snickered as people drew sticks. There were only enough for half the class, and the other half drew the sticks.

  Roman was not part of the group that drew sticks. So he sat idly at his seat and began to daydream about how the year would go.

  "You're Roman Prince?" A voice asked.

  Roman snapped out of his dreaming and looked up to see Virgil the Emo standing over him. Roman smirked and out a hand to his chest. "The one and only! Come to admire how pretty I am?" He asked charmingly.

  The emo snorted. "As in pretty dull? Maybe. It is a wonder of the world after all."

  Roman scoffed and pressed his other hand over his heart, as if it hurt. "I'm offended! You wound me!!" Roman held out his hand smiling. "I assume we're seating partners then! How do you do, my emo nightmare?"

  Virgil didn't take his hand, rather he just walked to the back of the class. "Come now, Prince of the Preppy, we don't know each other and honestly I don't think we ever will. We're not sitting up front."

  Roman frowned at the lack of jest in the emo's voice. He thought he and the purple haired boy were flirting wonderfully!

  Since Roman didn't seem to have any other Soul Marks, he didn't have a Soulbound Soulmate. So he freely flirted with every moving thing that breathed.

  But Roman wasn't going to give up that easily. "Hey there, plum hair! Tell me, what's it like looking so fruity?"

  Virgil snorted, and hid his face in his sleeve.

  Nooo!! Roman thought. I wanna see your cute face!!

  "I dunno...what's it like being so fruity?"

  Roman laughed and tried again to reach out his hand. "An absolute delight!"

  When Virgil did nothing but sit down at the table in the farthest back corner of the classroom, Roman deflated a little. This Virgil was cute, albeit a little annoying. I mean all he would do is snark at him! Maybe Roman had misread the situation.

  "Fine alright," Roman have up. "I'll stop talking, panic-at-the-everywhere."

  "Sweet." Though it was the answer he should have been expecting, Roman prickled.

  "So you don't want to talk to me at all?" Roman asked flatly, slightly annoyed.

  "No, not really." Virgil said, pulling out his phone.

  "Really? Like really Really?"

  "Yep." He popped the P and pointedly turned away from Roman.

  "Are you kidding me?"

  "Nope." He again popped the P.

  "You know we're going to have to sit next to each other all semester, right?"

  "Yeah…? And…?"

  "Well you have to talk to me eventually!"

  "And I'll stay here dreading when that dreaded eventually will come."

  "You cannot be serious! Come on I'm fabulous!"

  "Fabulously plastic, dumb, and shallow, if that's what you mean."

  "Shallow?!"

  "Uh, yeah?"

  "How dare-!"

  "Alright class!!" The teacher clapped their hands, stopping the impending fight that was about to break out. They started passing out papers to each of the students. "Now choose one or two, or however many you want and ask them to your partner. And yeah it sounds boring and maybe it might be if you're boring. So don't be a boring teenager."

  Roman and Virgil got the paper and looked it over. It at least Roman did. He finally picked one and asked it, knowing that trying to wait for the Emo to pay attention would be futile.

  "If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?" Roman sighed out.

  The answer that came was almost immediate and nearly shook Roman to his core. "Soulmarks." Virgil seemed to have spat the word out. "I'd get rid of all Soulmarks."

  Roman was about to ask further about it but he heard a loud clang behind him.

  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SLEPT WITH SISSI LETANTA?! YOU SHIT!! YOU KNOW THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND'S LITTLE SISTER, YOU BASTARD!!!" The girl behind Roman was in an absolute rage. The boy she was talki- screaming at was pale and seemed like he'd wet set himself out of fear at any moment.

  "Whoa…yo Virgil check this ou-" Roman had once again tried to communicate with the Emo boy, but turned to see him filming the whole thing. "What are you doing…?"

  "Blackmail."

  "What?!"

  "You never know when it may come in handy."

  "You're the creepiest emo kid I've ever met."

  "And how many emos have you met exactly?"

  "Three! There was this one girl in my middle school that-"

  "Yeah okay you can shut up now."

  "Well thanks."

  The fight had only been broken up by the bell ringing. And Virgil left without saying a word to Roman.

  What a weird, creepy, cute kid… Roman thought. I think I wanna be his friend.

Again, I’m sorry this is later than I wanted it to be, and It’s not as good as I’d like it to be, but I promise I have things planned for this! Big things! Angsty things! Fluff!! I swear it’s going to be better than it is right now, I’m just a little caught up in life at the moment. Hope you liked it! And do feel free to leave a comment if you want me to tag you!! Sweet dreams!!

Taglist

@anxietea-and-insanitea

@ghostboi-bambi

@scrunchiescrunchie

[turnupswritessometimes]

I’ll Be Loving You (Forever) - Banana Fish - AshEiji

Title: I’ll be Loving You (Forever)

Word Count: 3784

Summary:  A series of oneshots set in the 80s during that one Summer where Eiji is telling Ash he's going to go home soon and yet not leaving. (Episode 11-12) Also mostly set at 3 a.m, so late nights and early mornings. (Slow dancing in the kitchen in socks at 3 a.m) *** A loud noise woke Ash. He immediately thought ‘gunshot’. Eiji. Someone had shot Eiji. Then his mind recognised the sound as a crash. Intruder. Someone had broken in. He swung out of bed, pulling his gun out from under his pillow, pulling the door to the rest of the apartment open - To find Eiji standing in the kitchen, staring back at him wide-eyed. He had turned on the light over the hob and it bathed him in yellow light. Ash's Walkman was skewed over messy hair and an 'I love New York T-shirt' covered him like a tent. Ash's stomach flipped, despite the fact that he was aiming a gun at this boy. Adorable, really, he looked adorable. But that was something wouldn't appreciate hearing.

ALSO AVAILABLE ON A03, UNDER THE AUTHOR TURNTUPS AND IN THE FIC ‘HANGIN’ TOUGH.’ I  WOULD LINK, BUT THEN TUMBLR DOESN’T INCLUDE THE POST IN SEARCH RESULTS.

A loud noise woke Ash.

He immediately thought ‘gunshot’. Eiji. Someone had shot Eiji.

Then his mind recognised the sound as a crash. Intruder. Someone had broken in.

He swung out of bed, pulling his gun out from under his pillow, pulling the door to the rest of the apartment open -

To find Eiji standing in the kitchen, staring back at him wide-eyed. He had turned on the light over the hob and it bathed him in yellow light. Ash's Walkman was skewed over messy hair and an 'I love New York T-shirt' covered him like a tent. Ash's stomach flipped, despite the fact that he was aiming a gun at this boy. Adorable, really, he looked adorable. But that was something wouldn't appreciate hearing.

"Dropped the spoon," Eiji said, holding it up so that it caught the light. He was talking at a normal volume, unapologetically, like this was completely normal.

Ash flicked the safety back. Lowered the gun – as if that was the normal reaction to finding his housemate in the kitchen. His heart was still hammering – still recovering. "It's half three."

"I couldn't sleep," Eiji said.

Ash was starting to take in details now. The shock and the panic had given him tunnel vision. Now he noticed the glass of orange juice and bowl on the kitchen counter.

"You're eating cereal?"

Eiji took a breath, then stopped himself. He hesitated, as though he was trying to find the right words. Then he glanced up at Ash from behind a messy fringe, dark strands stuck to his forehead.

"You sleep with a gun, but I'm the weird one?" he asked.

"People don't eat cereal at half three in the morning," Ash replied, tossing the gun onto the sofa as he passed it. "Not in America."

"But they sleep with guns?" Eiji said, still unapologetic. Anyone else would have been apologizing over and over again. Anyone else would have been terrified that they'd woken Ash Lynx up. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to meet his narrowed eyed glare. Eiji was completely, utterly unafraid of him. “I was hungry.”

And Ash couldn’t decide if he hated or loved it.

"People also don't steal other people's Walkman’s without asking." Ash peeled the headphones off away from tangled hair.

Eiji caught the wire – held on to it so that it didn’t go far, and smiled.

"You were asleep."

"Because people sleep at half three in the morning." Ash tried to tug the wire from Eiji's hand. Eiji stepped forward, keeping his hold.

"You don't, always." Eiji said. Then his face flushed with heat and he dropped the headphone wire like it was boiling hot. He hadn't meant to say it. It made Ash’s breakdowns known – real.

People found it hard to have secrets at half three in the morning.

"Neither do you.” Normal - keep this all normal.

"I had," Eiji paused. "A dream."

Ash was still holding onto the headphone wire and his eyes followed the black line of it. The Walkman was tucked into Eiji's pyjama bottoms, creating a dark triangle either side. He looked away. Music was still playing faintly from the headphones – the kind of half-heard music he heard when he slept.

"A good dream or a bad dream?"

"A bit of both." Eiji was still holding the spoon. It glinted in the half-light. “It just – made me think.”

"Was I in it?"

"Yeah." Eiji smiled, his cheeks flushing pink again. Adorable – but in the true sense of the word. Adore – it was something to adore – something he did adore, completely. It was a horribly romantic idea, but he couldn’t get rid of it.

"Was that the bad part?" Ash pressed. He adored this boy. This boy was like no one else he’d known.

"No." He wasn’t scared of Ash. He tugged on the wire, to no avail.

"Well, I can't have been the good part."

"Why not?" Eiji's eyes shone in the yellow light.

"Because I sleep with a gun under my pillow." Ash said. He had one hand on the counter, to balance himself, and it was cold.

"Doesn’t everyone in America?" Eiji said it as if that was normal. As if anything about Ash was normal. As if anything about this situation was normal. “You’re my best friend.”

Best friend. The words carried a surprising sting to them. They were words he had used, but he hadn't believed them.

Shorter was his best friend. Eiji was something else. There was something else with Eiji that he knew about but wasn't naming. Something in the corner of his eye that he wasn’t looking at because it was terrifying. Something that had known he had to kiss Eiji – just the once – whilst he had an excuse that made it uncomplicated.

Something that made him tug on the Walkman wire again so that Eiji took another step closer to him, smiling sheepishly.

"If I was your best friend you wouldn't steal my Walkman," he said. This thing wasn't something that could be looked at or acted upon. Not with Eiji.

"Best friends share their Walkman’s." Eiji said. He put a hand on the wire again, just under Ash's hand so that their fingers brushed against each other. Eiji's hands were cold.

"Then best friends also share their three o'clock snacks."

Eiji gave a soft half-laugh under his breath and ducked his head. His eye lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. Ash found himself wanting to drink in those tiny movements wherever Eiji was around. If he couldn’t act on this thing, then at least he could watch it from afar. He popped the headphones out of the jack, freeing himself, then picked up the bowl. He mostly-fell down on the sofa, moving the gun out of the way - normal.

Ash's gun. No one touched Ash's gun.

No one, it seemed, but Eiji.

Ash sat on the other end, one arm over the arm and one leg up, as Eiji took a spoonful. Lucky charms. He wondered if they had them in Japan.

Japan. Eiji was Japanese and maybe that was why he was different. Different to Shorter and the others because he didn't grow up in New York, rough and ignored. Didn’t spend his school days nicking from corner shops and playing knife-fights for fun. Maybe that was why Ash kept looking at him, at the light brown skin and thick, almost black, hair. Maybe that was why he was fascinated by the fact that Eiji could still go amazingly pink if he was embarrassed enough. That his lips had a tinge of pink to them. Maybe that was why Ash was fascinated by the gentle slope of Eiji's nose and the almond shape of his eyes. He had dark eyelashes too and they were thick, the black line making his brown eyes stand out even more. His eyes were such a dark brown that sometimes it was hard to find the pupil.

No, it wasn’t him being Japanese that made a difference. It made a difference that he was attractive. Attractive and scared by these world, but ready to stay in it – for Ash. This all terrified him, but he was so brave.

Eiji glanced at him.

"You're staring," he said, simply. Not like he wanted Ash to stop, but not like he wanted him to continue either.

Ash decided to continue. "You didn't add milk."

"I didn't want to."

Ash reached over and took a marshmallow out of Eiji's bowl. Eiji didn't stop him. He squished it between his fingers.

"These are full of sugar," he said. "They'll keep you up all night."

"You can keep me company." Eiji smiled at him.

Ash was the gang leader. They wanted to follow him, stay in his good books. They admired him. But they didn't want to hang out with him. Didn’t really want to be friends – more like people who had their backs. A place to stay and something to eat – friends in the other guys, but not with the one who called the shots. There was always a gap. But Eiji hadn’t got the memo.

He tossed the marshmallow into his mouth.

"There's nothing good to watch this late at night.”

"I know." Eiji swallowed another mouthful. "That's why I borrowed the Walkman."

"What are you listening to?" Ash was imagining Eiji opening the drawer with his tapes in. Did he pick one at random? Or did he take his time and decide? Could he even read the English? Especially in the dark?

Eiji hooked the Walkman out of his pyjamas and handed it over to Ash. Their fingers grazed again.

Ash popped open the back and bit his lip to stop himself smiling. To stop himself laughing.

"I figured since you had it, it must have been cool music.” There was a small smile, like he knew as well, and was playing dumb.

"New Kids on the Block isn't cool, Eiji.”

"Then why do you have it?"

Ash glanced up at him. With those dark eyes.

"Maybe I'm not as cool as you think.” He'd thought that would have been obvious. Eiji knew where Ash had come from. He had an idea, at least, of what Ash really was.

"Impossible," Eiji said, through another mouthful of cereal.

"What would you know?" Ash asked. But the complete lack of care made him scooch closer - gave him the courage to put his hand over Eiji's on the spoon. "Are you going to eat all of that?"

Eiji smiled, and Ash's grip was light enough so that he could spoon another helping of charms onto it. He held it up to Ash, his eyes glinting playfully.

"Open wide?" he asked softly.

Eiji couldn't have known. He never would have made the connection. Never would have known how visceral a memory that created in Ash's mind. A hand on his jaw and another tugging at his hair.

He detangled the spoon from Eiji's fingers and turned away as he ate it. It sat in a lump at the back of his throat. For a  horrible moment, he gagged, before he was able to swallow it down.

"Sorry," Eiji said.

"What?" Ash swallowed.

"You got that look on your face. Sorry."

"There isn't a that look," Ash snapped.

Eiji paid attention to him enough to recognize a look on Ash's face. He wasn't sure what to do with that information. Ignore it, his brain said. Ignore it just like all of the other stuff, because he couldn't read into it. If he did, he knew he'd regret it.

"Sorry," Eiji said again.

"You don’t need to apologize." Ash’s voice was low, and he realised he sounded tired. It was tiring – having all of this baggage. He glanced across at Eiji to see him opening his mouth again. His eyes were shining and Ash knew that look. Paid enough attention to Eiji to know that look. "Don't say it."

"Ash, I'm-"

"Don't-" Ash leapt across the sofa, one hand taking Eiji's cheeks in his fingers.

"Sorry." Eiji finished.

It wasn't even that funny, but it was three in the morning and they were on a sugar high. Ash couldn't help it, his grip slipped on Eiji and he started laughing. Really laughing, like it was the funniest thing in the universe. And Eiji was laughing too, and that was an incredible sound.

Then Ash opened his eyes and realised that his forehead was resting on Eiji's. His gut twisted. He pulled way. Cereal had spilt out over half of the sofa and stuck to his pajamas.

"Shorter wanted New Kids on the Block to play at his wedding," he said, changing the subject.

"Really?" Eiji asked like there was nothing wrong. Like nothing had happened.

"Yeah."

"He had a girlfriend?" Eiji continued eating.

"Yeah, she's deff."

"Deff?" Eiji echoed.

"You know, cool.”

Eiji looked up at him. "Do you?"

"Have a girlfriend?" His stomach twisted. They were approaching dangerous territory, but his head was still foggy from sleep. It was three o’clock, and hard to stop himself. "No. Shorter tried to set me up a few months ago, but-"

"It didn't work out?"

"Let's put it that way." Ash watched the curtains wave gently in the air con.

There was a pause before, in a soft voice – "is she dead?"

"Fuck, Eiji. No, she's not dead."

"Sorry - the way you said it-"

"No." He wet his lips. Ran a hand over his mouth, wondered whether it was safe to test the waters. This was something he couldn't discuss with the rest of the gang, but the rest of the gang weren't here. And they weren't Eiji. With any luck, he'd be back in Japan in a couple of weeks, so it didn't matter what he said now. That was the reason he told himself. It wasn’t a ploy to find out – "It didn't work out because - because she thought...I was gay. She said she didn't want to date a queer in case she got AIDs."

Eiji was quiet. "Are you?"

He pretended to misunderstand. Spoke too quickly and said it too tightly. "AIDS positive? No."

"I meant gay."

And it sounded so normal - so okay coming from Eiji's mouth, that it struck a sudden nerve with Ash.

"Fuck - because it was a man who raped me and not a woman I must be gay?" He snapped. Shouted. "Because of all that shit I must be-"

"I didn't mean-!" Eiji shouted right back at him - right over him. No one did that. It made him pause, mouth still open. Watching as Eiji went back into himself. He ducked his head so that his hair covered his eyes, his hands in his lap. "I meant, because - at prison, you - kissed me."

Neither of them had mentioned it. It had happened, and it wasn't to be mentioned out loud.

"That was to get the pill to you, to get the message-"

"I know, but-"

"I'm not gay."

"Okay."

It wasn't convincing. Ash hadn't been either. That made him brave - made him ask, "Are you?"

Eiji blinked. Even in the dim light, Ash could see his cheeks colour. He spoke slowly, like he was reading the right words from the air in front of him. "No - no - I'm not - gay."

There was still something in the air between them. They were both bad liars, Ash thought, though he couldn't be one hundred percent sure about it. It wasn't a fair question. The answer was no - always no. That was the only answer.

And the truth was, Ash had no idea. It felt like the choice had been made for him. If he was - then it felt like a surrender. Giving up. Admitting they were right. But he didn't really know. All he knew was that Eiji was different. That he liked being with Eiji, liked when Eiji hugged him, or let him rest on his lap - liked Eiji. Thought Eiji was the only human he would ever be able to stand kissing.

"You wanna hear the song Shorter wanted?" He decided to change the subject, grabbing the Walkman and holding a headphone up to his ear to hear where the tape was at.

"How will we both listen?" Eiji asked, balancing the mostly empty bowl on the arm of the sofa.

"We'll share." He let the tape play the last part of 'please don't go, girl.' Then stretched the headphones between the two of them, one half on Eiji's ear, one half on his. It meant sitting very close - their heads pressed against each other's. Ash was careful to let that be the only part of them that touched, making sure his hands and legs veered away from Eiji.

"Ash, you’ll break them," Eiji said. He was sat very still, but Ash could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. His nose was right under Eiji's ear and he could smell this morning's aftershave. It was a generic smell, but it still made his stomach twist. The fact that it was Eiji’s aftershave made it different. That they were sat this close and it wasn’t weird – they didn’t have to hide it.

That his heart sounded like a beat.

"I'll buy a new pair." It was worth it. This was as close as he'd let himself get. He promised himself that. It was like the kiss – just before Eiji disappeared from his life forever.

I'll be loving you (forever) was playing now. The almost Christmas-like piano that opened it up. Eiji giggled, realising that it was partly a joke. That it would have been Shorter being ironic. That was part of it. They hadn’t known each other for long, but Eiji had just got Shorter. Had clicked instantly and fell into an easy banter.

He smiled, his jaw just resting on Eiji’s shoulder. It still hurt – the fact he wasn’t here. But thinking of him, of that road trip, almost brought him back.

As if Eiji knew, his hand hovered over Ash’s back. Not quite a hug, but almost. Almost holding him – the fact that anyone would comfort him – unheard of.

"Would I be at Shorter's wedding?" Eiji asked.

It made Ash want to let Eiji stay. To not make him get on a plane and go home. Stay here, live with Ash. Live with Ash forever, in whatever this was. Maybe let this something happen – if Eiji could stay, and they could both live – why not?

If this was a world where Shorter was still here.

He desperately, suddenly, needed Eiji to stay. It was stupid, and selfish, but, at least for tonight, he’d let it happen.

"Of fucking course," he said. "You’d be my plus one. We'd have to slow dance to this together, just to show Shorter up."

“That’s mean.”

“It would be my duty as best man.”

Eiji chuckled, fingers just nudging Ash. Then it faded, and he started stumbling over his words. "I've - never slow danced."

It could have been a lie. It might have been a lie – was probably a lie. They'd lied a lot already, both pretending to believe each other. Both making up half-excuses to sit close to each other and the other letting them.

"Come here." Ash found Eiji's hands and pulled him up, scattering Lucky Charms across the floor in a tiny  avalanche. He kicked a handful out of their way, pulling Eiji's hands up and onto his shoulders.

There was a moment of hesitation, before he placed his own on Eiji's waist. His hands felt like a perfect fit - Eiji's waist was warm and real underneath his palms. He didn't know why he thought it wouldn't be, but it made him pull him closer. Eiji obliged, fingers twitching but not leaving.

Ash knew how to ballroom dance properly. Of course he knew, but it wasn’t the time for that. Now, he just turned their bodies, swaying to the rhythm. High-pitched voices singing about never leaving each other.

Eiji's hands slipped after a couple of moments, his arms tightening around Ash's neck. His chin rested on Ash's shoulder, his hair tickling his cheek. To keep the headphones on, he reasoned.

There was cereal all over the floor, and Ash kicked it away as they kept dancing.

"And would you be singing along?" Eiji whispered. They were closer than they should be, chests and hips pressed flush against each other.

Ash smiled. He could feel Eiji smiling against him too.

“Don’t push it.” Singing was not his strong suit.

It seemed impossible that they could even get closer. But Eiji was, tightening his arms around Ash's neck as though he couldn't bear to ever let him go, burying his nose into Ash’s shoulder. This was a dream. This had to be a dream. He slipped his hands all the way around to the small of Eiji's back, cradling him like he was made of gold. Letting his arms slip up to feel all of Eiji’s back. Strong – he was strong because he had wings on his back. How else could he fly?

Love and forever were heavy words. For this – and yet he half-closed his eyes and imagined a reality where it wasn’t. Allowed himself that possibility.

Found that he was humming along. And that Eiji’s breath hitched as he did, sighing.

And how fitting was ‘when I look at you, all my thoughts get in the way?’ How could he explain everything that was inside him when he couldn’t even sort it out himself?

Maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe this was enough.

Maybe Eiji understood.

The song was over halfway when Ash pulled away slightly, the headphones straining with the distance. He looked at Eiji. Those dark eyes reflected the yellow light like they were full of stars. His lips were slightly parted. Soft, pink lips.

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. It would ruin everything. He'd promised himself he wouldn't.

But it was three in the morning and hard to lie. But he had already broken his promise by getting closer. But Eiji hadn’t recoiled in horror at Ash’s bad lie. And it was hard to think straight when all he was believing the fantasy they were in – could blame it on the song if anything went wrong. When all he could see and smell and feel was Eiji.

So he leant forward, and kissed him.

And Eiji didn't pull away. His mouth moved back and instead it was Eiji kissing Ash. And then they were kissing each other - and then Eiji was pulling away. His cheeks were bright pink and he was breathless.

"I thought you weren't gay," he whispered.

"I thought you weren't gay," Ash replied.

He leant forward again, and Eiji kissed him again, fingers tightening in Ash's hair. Ash's own grip tightened in Eiji's t-shirt.

"No one can know.”

"I know." Eiji leant forward again, kissing him like he was a diver catching mouthfuls of air. The headphones had half fallen off of them now, tinny music playing to itself.  Ash never thought he’d be making out to the ending of I’ll be Loving You (Forever).

“Eiji.” He couldn’t even pull his mouth away to speak. “I lo–”

Eiji shushed him. He opened his eyes just enough to see that Eiji’s were closed – dark eyelashes fanning out and casting shadows on his face. “I know.”

And they were kissing again – Ash’s heart doing a full Olympic gymnast routine. Everywhere they touched tingled, but in a comforting way. It felt as though he was being healed.

Fuck, he wanted to stay like this.

He wanted to stay like this, forever.