#so its not like she just said Suck Your Head totally unprompted and out of context

[loud-whistling-yes]

My mom: Why aren't you eating the cucumbers?

Me: Cause they suck

What my mom probably wanted to say: Suck? She said that cucumbers suck? Bullshit! She's just wasting food, think of all the starving children in Africa! Maybe she needs to go there and experience that kind of famine for a week if I want to make her eat veggies

What my mom actually said: Suck your head and go to Africa!

[quidfree]

prompts,.,, fem tdbk and a date gone very wrong ? ❤️

ohhhh my god anon. pump this shit directly into my veins i love this whole premise let’s go. also all inspired by whatever the fuck horikoshi was doing in this 

just so everyone is on the same page here, it is not a fucking date.

it’s lunch. a singular lunch. people do that shit all the time. even katsuki does lunch, sometimes. she went to that semi-shitty diner place with kirishima that one time when the food hall was shut because some dumbass first year exploded into goo or whatever. and todoroki does lunch, too- her and deku were on some shitty lunch date like a week ago, as evidenced by deku’s even shittier selfie of them having a grand old time doing whatever the fuck they do alone.

fuck, not a shitty lunch date. a shitty lunch. whatever.

the point is lunch is a normal non-date thing people do, and the fact katsuki and todoroki are maybe not the usual suspects for it is just circumstantial. it’s not like they planned it ahead of time, or made some big thing about it. they literally arranged for it in public, so obviously todoroki didn’t think there was anything weird about it. and there isn’t! they’re both going to be in tokyo on the same day, and todoroki’s always happy for any excuse to spend less time with her old man, and katsuki sure as fuck wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to avoid her hag of a birth-giver for a few blissful hours, so when todoroki had very nonchalantly gone ‘oh, bakugou, we could do lunch then”, it wasn’t like she had any real reason to tell her to go fuck herself. like, yeah, maybe a year ago, on principle, she would have, but even katsuki can only take so much trauma-bonding before she resigns herself to the reality that she’s stuck with half ‘n half for life, one way or another, and she may as well suck it up and approach civility because said moron is determined to ignore her open malice until she plays along anyways. they’re... you know, whatever. friends. or something. jesus.

the point being that it’s not a date, and the fact that she’s getting increasingly annoyed at her limited wardrobe is just because she would have packed more shit if the crone hadn’t insisted that they ‘pack light’ so they could get cheaper train tickets for less luggage. it’s just annoying that she can’t wear anything that’s not screaming holiday.

it occurs to her as she sits and scowls at her suitcase that her mother has been watching her from the doorframe for some undetermined amount of time, which is criminal mainly because she’s a goddamn hero-to-be and getting snuck up on by anyone is a blight upon her good name. she tries to disguise the ego damage dealt by glowering murderously in her progenitor’s direction.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“you know,” the she-devil says, cocking a hip, “if you want to borrow something nicer...”

“i wouldn’t be caught dead in your shitty clothes!” katsuki snarls, which prompts the witch to immediately scowl back.

“watch your damn mouth!”

“watch your waistline! no way in hell are we the same size!”

“why you little-”

the interruption at least reminds her that she is obsessing over her clothes ahead of meeting todoroki for lunch, which is so humiliating it kickstarts her brain again long enough to grab some normal shit and get the hell out of there.

on the walk she checks her phone again. the previous day she’d had to bite the bullet and make the first move, todoroki’s infamously terrible communication skills making themselves known once more, and their ensuing conversation had been so mortifying she’d nearly cancelled all-together.

to: Half ‘n half

Yo asshole are we still meeting tomorrow or what

I’m busy as shit

from: Half ‘n half

Yes. TS

to: Half ‘n half

What the fuck is TS

from: Half ‘n half

I was signing off.

to: Half ‘n half

SIGNING OFF ON YOUR OWN TEXT

YOU THINK I DONT KNOW YOUR DAMN NAME

from: Half ‘n half

[Pin attached]

Does here at 12.30 work for you?

to: Half ‘n half

Yeah whatever

Don’t be late

And don’t think I’m forgetting the fucking signing off thing

from: Half ‘n half

Glad you can make time for mockery in your busy as shit schedule.

the venue looks like some rich person shit, which she semi-expected, but it means a lot of people give her weird looks as she makes her way inside, probably on account of the shorts and t-shirt she’s wearing if not her general vibe. some old woman actually drags her purse to her, which makes katsuki sorely tempted to bare her teeth and maybe hiss for effect, though she settles for scowling and shoving her hands in her pockets. it’s 12.27, because she wasn’t going to be late but being any earlier would have given off some dubious impression that she’s eager to see todoroki, except now she kind of wishes she’d just come for 12.30 because if there’s some reservation bullshit she gets the feeling she’s going to start fighting with the waiting staff, and then-

“bakugou,” todoroki calls, from inside, raising a hand with unnecessary formality. “you made it.”

“course i made it,” katsuki grunts, absolutely not relieved as she by-passes the suspicious looking waiter to join her outside. “think i can’t ride the damn underground by myself?”

todoroki is wearing jeans cuffed at the ankles and a white t-shirt on top of which she’s thrown on an open button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and she looks casual and normal and incidentally kind of like they dressed to match, but the important part is that she doesn’t look dressed up at all, so katsuki was totally right about the non-date situation, and also isn’t the only one totally underdressed for the shitty venue.

“you look nice,” todoroki says then, completely shattering katsuki’s brief moment of reprieve. “i’ve never seen so much color on you.”

katsuki almost chokes on her own tongue, but the worst part is that the asshole seems completely nonchalant about the weird as shit observation, focused on her stool as she takes a seat on the balcony. which- what the actual fuck? since when does todoroki issue compliments unprompted- of the non-professional variety, at that? and what the fuck does she expect katsuki to say now- return the compliment? say thanks? is this whole thing some kind of exercise in psychological torture?

well, fuck it. she can’t look like a little bitch just because todoroki said something inanely positive. two can play that game.

“yeah. you look half decent yourself. did you hire someone to dress you for the occasion?”

todoroki blinks up at her in surprise, which is totally a win and would make her more smug if she could stop feeling so weird and prickly all over. for a dangerous moment todoroki seems on the verge of blushing, but miraculously the world rights itself and the usual deadpan persists, one brow quirking up in completely feigned ineptitude.

“there was a compliment somewhere in there, so thank you, i think. i thought we were past this vendetta.”

“we’ll be past this vendetta the day you burn your piece of shit hero suit,” katsuki retorts, back on familiar ground, and relaxes long enough to squint down at the menu.

this turns out to be a mistake.

“the fuck? is this whole thing in french?”

“oh,” todoroki says, after a beat. “that makes sense. i thought my english had deteriorated.”

“are you- you didn’t know? you recommended the place!”

“it was the nearest place to our hotel,” todoroki defends, now having the decency of looking slightly put out. “coq can’t mean what i think it means, can it?”

“that’s chicken, asshole,” katsuki hisses, flinging the menu down. “great, now we’re going to have to flag down one of the shithead waiters and ask for a japanese menu. excuse me! hey! yeah, i’m talking to- what the hell, did he just blow me off? hey, jackass! you with the shitty mustache!”

“sorry about that,” todoroki interjects, when mustache asshole turns an offended stare their way. “do you have the japanese menu?”

“we only serve the food in its authentic form,” mustachioed asshole says, with frigid self-satisfaction. “might i suggest google translate?”

“might i suggest my foot up your ass, you shitty-”

“that’s fine,” todoroki says, in a flat tone that implies otherwise. “we’ll make do.”

the waiter sniffs pretentiously as katsuki thinks about all the ways she could beat his ass into next tuesday, running an aggravated hand through her hair when the wind rustles it into her face. she’d half expect todoroki to suggest they fuck off elsewhere, but when she looks back her way she finds an ill-boding gleam of determination in her eyes despite the impassive set to her face, and it’s a testament to how fucked in the head ua has made katsuki that she feels a sort of sick thrill of recognition at the sight. todoroki’s in stubborn bitch mode.

“i’ll have this,” todoroki says, sure enough, pointing to the most expensive item on the menu. “and also this. and one of those.”

the waiter’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, and todoroki looks unfazed in katsuki’s direction, tapping pointedly at a sleek black and red credit card in her wallet. “bakugou?”

well, if endeavour’s paying....

“sure,” katsuki says, slowly, and then turns her meanest smile the waiter’s way. “i want the frog legs.”

mustache clears his throat, attempts condescension. “we don’t serve that here.”

“you’re a gastronomique restaurant,” katsuki says very loudly, as other clients turn to stare, “and you don’t have fucking frog legs? is this a joke? does this napkin say authentic french cuisine or am i hallucinating?”

“i can ask the chef,” the waiter demurs, casting a nervous glance at the muttering snobs nearby, and attempts an ingratiating smile. “anything else for you, mademoiselle?”

“what did you just call me?”

once the ordering debacle is over, todoroki slants katsuki what may well be an apologetic glance, vaguely contrite frown sitting pretty atop her usual dead-eyed stare.

“i probably should have read up on the place ahead of time.”

katsuki is well within her rights to chew her head off, she thinks, but food’s on the way and she got to yell at the asshole who gave her the once-over when she came in, so she’s feeling forgiving, even in the face of todoroki’s annoyingly doll-faced apology. the bitch really has to do the bare minimum and she looks like a fucking kpop idol.

“yeah, whatever. i always knew you were a shitty ops planner.”

todoroki, who is an asshole, looks relieved at her generous forgiveness for all of a second before she quirks a brow. “between the two of us, i only count one person who has actually spoken the words ‘shoot first, ask questions later’.”

“that was in a training simulation,” katsuki protests, outraged. “and you know damn well the actors were annoying as shit!”

“i did find them slightly too committed to the role,” todoroki concedes neutrally, which totally means she agrees with katsuki 100% and is being precious about it. katsuki scoffs.

“least the view’s decent.”

“the-“ todoroki starts, in weirdly confused tones, until she follows katsuki’s gaze outward and nods in understanding. “oh, the skyline. yes.”

what else katsuki could have meant she doesn’t fucking know: they’re sitting pretty in the middle of tokyo. the only thing the hellhole of a restaurant has going for it at this point is the cityscape.

todoroki stares out into the distance for a good long moment, and with the breeze her negligently loose hair whips this way and that, red and white blur where the two halves mingle. instinctively katsuki itches to braid it flat so it doesn’t tangle. if todoroki asked her she’d tell her to just cut her damn hair into a bob or something- it’s not like icyhot has any attachment to her princess hair, and she’s got the obnoxious bone structure to pull off any length. not that she’d mention this last part. or that she’s given it much thought. it’s just fucking obvious.

if todoroki could keep her mouth shut throughout the rest of the meal, it could be sort of nice. tokyo skyline, and companionable silence, and presumably edible food. worse ways to kill some time, and way less incriminating than anything that may be said otherwise.

“i think this is the part where we make small talk,” todoroki says instead, sadist that she definitely is, as katsuki grimaces feelingly her way.

“no, we don’t.”

“well, we don’t. but this is the part where we should.”

“i don’t even believe you can last a minute of small talk, icyhot.”

todoroki looks pensive, mismatched eyes thoughtful. “...how has your day been?”

“uneventful,” katsuki says, combative, and eyes her watch. todoroki does not give.

“this place seems nice.”

“you don’t even think that.”

“how have you been finding tokyo?”

“noisy.”

“the weather seems-”

“no.”

“you look nice.”

“you said that already, dumbass,” katsuki grunts, palms crackling with sweat, and does not at all read into the way todoroki makes a stupid little movement with her mouth that could ungenerously be interpreted as a pout.

“well, i meant it, so i’m saying it twice.”

“give it up, half ‘n half, just ask me about training.”

“...how is your training?”

“i did this thing yesterday,” katsuki starts, leaning back in her chair, and from then launches into a very technical and barely exaggerated retelling of the batshit insane stunt she pulled off with her quirk the day prior. todoroki’s focused attention is gratifying, in a totally platonic non-weird way- it’s just that her parents couldn’t very well follow why exactly said stunt was as insane as it is, but todoroki obviously can, and also there’s that thing with todoroki where pulling a reaction out of her ice queen act is admittedly more satisfying than most people. it has jack shit to do with the fact katsuki’s got a very minor complex about todoroki paying her her dues, and even if it did then that’s entirely fucking reasonable considering she still hasn’t forgiven her for the sports fest incident. 

it is a little weird having todoroki’s sole focus on her outside of hero shit, though. it’s not like they really hang out one on one outside of school or work. it’s kind of- unnerving. yeah. unnerving, to be making prolonged eye contact, todoroki’s expression intent but not intense the way she gets in fight scenarios, frowning lightly because she has resting bitch face but apparently genuinely interested. it’s kind of a relief that todoroki asks questions- moves them safely into a conversation, so katsuki’s not just sitting there talking and sort of dry-throated. fucking waiter, leaving them water-less.

it’s fine. they talk about training, and quirks, and then todoroki pushes her hair behind her ears and leans forward to demonstrate on a small scale this thing she’s trying to do where she melts her ice and refreezes it in rapid succession so it causes what is essentially ice rain, but there’s logistics and shit that need to be worked out for it to work the way she’s thinking it might, and katsuki knows her thermal shit so they start scrawling maths over the napkins, and then bicker over the finer points of first year chemistry, so when the food actually arrives to interrupt them todoroki’s startled blink is weirdly relatable, like she also forgot where they were.

the waiter’s there and gone before they’re really recovered from the brief misplacement, which katsuki registers only when she looks down at her empty glass.

“goddamnit- how hard is it to bring us water?”

“they only offer sparkling,” todoroki says, gravely, then outpaces katsuki’s disgust by placing her hand over her glass, ice rising before she switches hands and melts it down. “tell me if the temperature’s off.”

intensely mollified and trying not to look it, katsuki sips it. “’s fine.”

“okay,” todoroki says, faintly pleased, and tilts her head to look down at her food. “i have no idea what any of this is.”

“moron,” katsuki snorts, except it comes out way fonder than it has any rights to, and from beneath the convenient curtain of hair todoroki’s smiling a little, so she hastily stabs a frog leg and gets to eating before anyone gets any ideas.

the actual meal goes okay-ish. most of the stuff todoroki ordered is extremely pretentious french cuisine, and todoroki secretly has the culinary adventurousness of a five year old, so it befalls katsuki to impatiently attempt every dish and pronounce it edible before todoroki will deign to brave it. she’s still trying to bully an unyielding todoroki into attempting the weird bird soup thing when there’s commotion nearby. it takes the both of them approximately three seconds to spring into work-mode; katsuki’s on her feet poised for a fight before she’s even consciously thought about it, scanning her peripherals, and she doesn’t even need to look to feel todoroki unconsciously covering her back, cool sting of air signalling her quirk at the ready. 

the commotion turns out just to be some old dumbass choking, relaxing them both out of their stances as she falls back to let todoroki ahead. they’re both uber-qualified for first aid shit, but she’s self-aware enough to know even todoroki’s bland reassurances are usually preferred to her bedside manner. unfortunately, the whole entourage seems to be braindead, because they’re all crowding the old guy in a panic while he chokes, his wife in shrieking hysterics.

“oh, my god, he’s choking! he’s choking! sugar-plum, stay with me!”

“fuck me,” katsuki mutters, unethically thinking that she would personally prefer choking to being married to someone who calls her sugar-plum, but todoroki’s pushing ahead with implacable calm, so she trudges after her anyways.

“excuse me. excuse me. i need access to your husband.”

“who are you? don’t touch him! help! get this woman off my husband!” wailing hysteric yells, bosom heaving dramatically. katsuki is starting to suspect she poisoned him on purpose or some shit, because no way does anyone talk like that in real life.

“she’s a fucking qualified first aid provider, lady, shut up and let her through!”

thankfully, the woman seems on the verge of an outrage aneurysm, which drags her focus away from suffocating her choking husband to dramatically pointing at katsuki long enough for todoroki to duck past her and reach the guy as he turns purple.

“how dare you speak to me that way? who do you think you are?”

“ma,” chinless moron number one says, clearing his throat. “i think that’s one of those future pros from TV.”

“what?”

“you know, ma,” chinless moron number two adds, glancing nervously between them. “the one that explodes things. you know. from UA.”

katsuki takes great pleasure in watching recognition dawn in the old cow’s beady eyes, but in any event there’s a hacking noise and then the old man’s coughing out a bone into his plate as todoroki steps noiselessly back from the table.

“he’s fine now. enjoy your dinner.”

“god, that was gross,” katsuki says, as they ignore the woman’s sputtering and return to their seats. todoroki tilts her head. 

“not really. if he’d thrown up it would have been.”

“not the choking guy,” katsuki scoffs, casting a glance back his way. “his wife. talk about theatrics.”

“she seemed more afraid of us than her husband dying.”

“for good reason,” katsuki mutters darkly, spreading out in her chair. “i hate civilians.”

“i don’t think she recognised us,” todoroki counters, pensive, and absent-mindedly takes a bite of the weird soup before she screws her face up like a betrayed kid. “oh. you didn’t say it was sweet.”

the look on her face thoroughly distracts katsuki from asking what other reason the pearl-clutcher could possibly have to be so terrified at the mere sight of them; instead, she chokes back a laugh, stifling a grin. “what are you, five?”

“i don’t think i like this,” todoroki says, mournful, which makes katsuki grin harder. she can’t help it- todoroki looking stupid is her kryptonite. 

“then don’t pick a restaurant where you can’t read the menu, next time.”

todoroki’s midway to looking up, but for some reason her expression transforms instantaneously, which makes katsuki reflexively try to quash her amusement. todoroki always gets weird when she’s smiling. 

“next time?”

motherfuck. obviously she didn’t mean next time like next time, she meant next time like- hypothetically, in the future, when todoroki’s on a lunch date with someone else. a lunch non-date. she’s just about stopped sputtering furiously long enough to try and express this sentiment when it occurs to her that todoroki seems- pleased, one eye soft sky-blue when katsuki accidentally meets it, and that draws her up short long enough that she ends up just muttering lamely to herself. fucking todoroki. 

on the heels of this utter embarrassment, she downs the rest of her water, scowls in a neat 180 at everything in sight, and wonders for the first time in her life how the fuck extras get through dates. not that this is one.

it’s fine. they’re done eating, and no one’s died, and katsuki is no longer fifteen and thus mostly trusts her ego to lick its wounds and recover from the ordeal. even if they stick around for desert that’s only another half hour of this to endure. as long as todoroki doesn’t make any sudden moves they’ll be fine.

...the problem is, of course, that sudden moves are todoroki’s modus operandi. katsuki has not forgotten the bitch calling them friends on national television in the same breath that she was vociferously denying them being anything of the sort. in todoroki’s fucked up brain, they’re always ten steps ahead of whatever they actually are- considering katsuki’s come around to privately acknowledging she’d take a couple more stakes through the gut for the asshole, in todoroki’s world they're practically hitched.

platonically. platonically practically hitched. this is not a thing, goddamnit. no matter the weird looks aizawa’s been giving them, or utsushimi’s nefarious schemes, or the alarming cardiopulmonary condition katsuki’s been developing of late. she’s not some shitty yuri protagonist pining over the nearest female bishōnen in her vicinity.

admittedly if she was to pine over anyone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be some guy, but that’s besides the point, since pretty damn near every person on earth is just some guy by her standards, regardless of gender. the fact that todoroki is not one of said people is entirely irrelevant.

her internal irritation is so distracting that she misses the tremors nearby until entirely too late, by which point todoroki’s stupidly perfect brows raise an incremental fraction and she goes: ‘oh’.

when todoroki goes ‘oh’, some shit is about to go down. 

katsuki turns slowly with an impending sense of doom, and sure enough, the sight that greets her is so nightmarish she seriously reconsiders whether the entire day has been just that. 

“don’t freak out,” a giant building-sized deku booms, apologetically, as his hideous giant face stares at them. “it’s just a quirk thing.”

it’s probably a good thing katsuki has gone speechless with outrage, since it permits todoroki’s constantly composed ass to ask useful questions katsuki probably would have coated in a fair amount more threats and cursing.

“midoriya. i didn’t know you were in tokyo.”

“well, i wasn’t meant to be,” deku says/booms like a foghorn, as the restaurant clientele shrieks and stampedes behind them. his sheepish expression is even more punchable when magnified. “it’s a long story. it’s almost sorted out now, though. i just saw you guys from over at the NPA office and thought i’d come ask if you maybe wouldn’t mind lending a hand? i wouldn’t ask but there’s going to be a lot of cleanup and your quirks would be really helpful to-”

“we’ll do it as long as you shut the fuck up,” katsuki yells, to cut him off, massaging her temples. “the monologuing’s bad enough when you’re not about to burst my fucking eardrums, jackass.”

“oh, sorry! i’m trying to be very quiet but this body’s just hard to get used to- thank you so much for helping, i didn’t mean to come bother you on break...”

“it’s fine,” todoroki says, and then seems to realise that her monotone doesn’t reach midoriya’s giant-ass ears and clears her throat, raising her voice to a shout. “it’s fine. let me go deal with the bill and then we’ll go.”

“sorry?” midoriya whisper-shouts, craning his monstrous head closer to them, the sight of which will haunt katsuki for the rest of her life. “i can’t hear what you’re saying!”

“she said she’s going to go pay for our nice fucking lunch,” katsuki hollers, with no small sense of satisfaction, as deku winces and todoroki slinks off. “since you want to come crashing it like a dipshit.”

“sorry, kacchan!” deku begs off, flapping hand gestures creating enough wind to knock over a nearby umbrella stand. “i just thought it would be a lot of help if you came to oversee the fall-out- especially with the building damage-”

“we’re good,” todoroki announces, to katsuki, apparently having given up on matching her in decibels. she’s got that classic hero look on her face, already in work mode, but just when katsuki’s about to do the same and jump into action, the look wavers a little and she frowns vaguely awkwardly. “thanks for doing lunch.”

“huh?” katsuki stutters, thrown, and then scowls at nothing in particular, stalling. todoroki’s the one who paid, albeit indirectly- it’s typically weird of her to be all formal about it all of a sudden, leaving katsuki to attempt to wriggle them out of the awkwardness of the moment. “i didn’t do shit except show up and eat, weirdo.”

“it’s been abnormally hard to show up and eat in the circumstances,” todoroki replies, a little wryly, and more concerningly a little resigned sounding. which is just unnatural, because todoroki may have expanded her range of emotions considerably since first year but resignation is not on her usual roster, and there’s nothing to be resigned about unless she had some kind of vested interest in this whole fiasco playing out any better than it did.

which she didn’t, obviously. katsuki’s been through this. she chose the nearest possible venue and rocked up in jeans and a t-shirt, and- and why is the fact that todoroki never dresses so normally out of class only now occurring to her, again?

she’d said ‘i think this is the part where we do small talk’. the part of what?

“yeah, whatever,” katsuki says, automatically, as her brain plays catch-up, which is the excuse she will forever stick to for what leaves her mouth next. “should have known you’d be a lousy date.”

todoroki goes ‘what?’ at the same moment deku does, ten times louder and more bug-eyed, which reminds katsuki that 1) deku is still there, 2) deku is still as big as his martyr complex, and 3) deku is the fucking worst, and allowing him to trap her into friendship is somehow responsible for this, she’s sure of it. 

“can we go handle this fucking mess or what?” katsuki snaps, instead of screaming or breaking deku’s very large nose or maybe self-immolating in abject humiliation, hands erupting into explosions as she jumps onto the balcony railing. maybe if she throws herself headfirst into the debris she’ll concuss herself and turn amnesiac. 

“um,” deku is saying, when she turns a withering glare his way. “um, yes! yes! yeah! let’s go do that!”

so she jumps skywards, explosions blasting her high into the air, and very scrupulously does not look towards the sounds of slick ice forming just behind her until todoroki skates into her peripheral vision, hair waving flag-like behind her. ahead there’s a building with a crater clean through it where deku must have erupted from, though when she turns to comment she finds him a fair deal behind them, lumbering pace slowed further as he avoids stepping on anyone or anything along the streets. instead her eyes lock on todoroki’s where the latter is staring at her, face unreadable, and she bristles hard enough to disrupt trajectory, correcting course rapidly before she plummets into an office.

“what?”

“i’m a lousy date,” todoroki repeats, neutrally, over the wind. katsuki grits her teeth.

“and what about it?”

she’s bracing for a lot, but not the horrible, sickening eye-crinkle thing todoroki does, dark eye twinkling even as her expression stays carefully impassive. “you think you can do better, then?”

“hah?”

“next time,” todoroki intones, very precisely, and then dips ahead like a complete coward as katsuki goes a color never previously visible to the human eye, sifting through about fifteen emotions before she decides to stick to outrage.

“what the hell? you suck at asking people out, icyhot!”

“you don’t have to say yes.”

“what, you think i can’t do better than this mess? you’re on, asshole.”

“i look forward to it,” todoroki says, gravely, and then there’s a collapsed building to handle and shit to do and if anyone wants to ask why katsuki is so especially gleeful in blowing shit up they wisely keep their mouths shut. she just likes the job, all right.

(for the record, it’s still not a date until katsuki says it is.)

[twitchesandstitches]

first sight for the femboy squad

It wasn’t exactly clear how a monster woman moonlighting as a guardian kaiju and a counselor with a taste for bar room brawls had met each other, exactly, but Tiashar and Sehkma, however they’d met, had hit it off really well.

And they’d hatched an idea; an adorable, cute, wonderful idea.

(“Man,” Sekhma had said one night, through a haze of alcohol and a belly full of the contents of an entire buffet. “You know what would be SUPER cute?”

“Mmph?” Tiashar had mumbled, her voice understandably muffled with Sekhma’s right breast lodged into her mouth, her pillowy lips suctioning on an engorged nipple like an industrial pump, her throat visibly swelling with milk gulps bigger than her head. Against all the odds, it was having an alcoholic effect on her.

“We should get our boytoys to have a little date together. A little get together. I want ‘em to be friends, ya know?”

“Mmph!” Tiashar sucked harder, the milk seemingly flowing forever, with a renewed vigor that suggested extreme excitement at the idea.

It was at this point that they toppled over, one onto the other. Sekhma squealed in delight, hugging the larger woman and pulling her tighter, her hands sinking onto her massive butt, and the two began gently kissing then and there.

...But that’s another scenario altogether.)

So, some days after that, Odina heard a knock at the door, yawning and opened the door, half-slumped over and wearing only a t-shirt. She peeked out, scowling. “Whaddaya want?!”

She looked up, and up, and up. Mostly she saw super-huge thighs that made the impression of a wall to her. Above that, a big and firm belly any true matron would be proud of, topped by some seriously massive breasts. Between then, she just barely glimpsed a grinning face and sparkling glasses. Tight leather jeans, a white bikini mostly covered up by a super badass red leather trenchcoat; a ton of tattoos on the visible black skin and armored chitin…

She looked cool as hell. Odina didn’t really do sexual attraction as a rule, but she felt a faint stirring, all the same. Her grip froze on the door.

“Sup,” said the towering monolith. “You must be Odina. Tia’s told me all about you!”

“Tia…? Oh.” Odina gulped. Goddammit; company. “Uh. Give me a second to find pants.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said a meek voice. Odina did a double taking; peeking behind those enormous thighs was a face significantly taller than herself, and a very cute one at that; big wide eyes that were nearly a solid shade of green except for rounded pupils, a short and rather cute snout, a very delicate jawline that looked designed for stroking, and thick lips painted green, a pair of fangs poking out. Something about it said ‘vampire’ to her.

“Ma’am?” Odina said, incredulously, raising an eyebrow. “Buddy, no one’s called me ma’am since I got my doctorate.” She paused, frowning. “Actually, could stand more of that.” She shook her head. “Look, I’ll be right back.”

Odina left, and came back wiggling herself into a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt; they didn’t fit, since it was hard to find pants that fit hips that were almost six feet around for a dwarve barely four and a half feet tall.

By now the stranger and her companion were in the room, where Charcoal was entertaining them.

He grinned, his oversized sunglasses gleaming mysteriously. “Odina, babe! You gotta tell me when you meet such fine, handsome friends! You’re hogging all the hot to yourself!”

On the couch, the woman grinned; she was definitely a purpleblood troll, and a gorgeous one at that; she was so big, and so stacked, that her enormous butt filled up every inch of the couch. Odina found her eyes being drawn to her soft, bulky muscles.

Sitting on her lap was the person she’d seen earlier. “This is Hivluk,” said the bigger troll, gesturing to him and patting him fondly on the head; he nuzzled into her grip, even as he looked very nervous and reluctant to leave her side.

“Um,” he said, fidgeting and clanking. “Hi…” He looked down, his dark skin shimmering from within and glowing faintly; definitely a troll vampire, Odina decided. Long hair flowed down nearly to his waist, a pair of brambling horns sprouting from deep in his hair, though one was broken off near the base. He was short for a troll, but still taller than anyone else than the room, his shoulders narrow and his body wide, and his hips shockingly wide with a butt to match.

The pear shape combined with his beautiful appearance to make him look very feminine. He twiddled his claws together, one arm clearly mechanical in nature, and the other had its fair share of seamlines indicating an artificial origin.

“I’m Sekhma,” the bigger troll said, smiling sweetly, gazing at them with a powerfully attractive air. “I’m a buddy of Tiashar and she had the idea that I bring my buddy here to meet up with her little buddy.”

Nevnir gazed adoringly at them both, smirking faintly. “Gotta say, Mama’s got a real talent for finding absolute babes.”

Hivluk fidgeted some more, and smiled briefly at her. Sekhma blew her a kiss; Nevnir looked about ready to fall over in a mock swoon at that moment.

“Hey guys!” Bonnie entered the room in his usual sashay that threatened painful hip checks if he wasn’t so short; lacy shorts encircled his thighs and hips, a slender crop top wrapped around his chest, all very flowery and covered in cute lacey things. “What’s going on down-”

He and Hivluk caught sight of each other.

“Down… here…” Bonnie tried to finish, trailing off, slowing in midstep.

Hivluk gulped.

The two shortstack (by the standards of their species, anyway) boys stared at each other, seemingly transfixed.

“Um,” Hivluk said.

“...Hi,” Bonnie said, almost wonderingly.

Hivluk slid off Sekhma’s lap; she gasped softly at this totally unprecedented moment, and she put a hand to her mouth in delight as he approached Bonnie. Sekhma sat back, trying to process him doing this completely unprompted, all on his own…

Bonnie peered up at him, smiling. “You know,” he said, tilting his head so his pigtails fluttered. “You’re very cute.”

Hivluk giggled, and extended a hand out. Bonnie put his hand on his own questioningly, and Hivluk expanding the casing on his arm with a professional interest. “You have such an interesting design aesthetic!” he gently pressed down, thumb rolling against the elbow, unaware of Bonnie’s blush rising, or the slowing of his own pressing.

“Your arm…” Bonnie said, rather flustered. “Has its own nice aesthetic…” he gulped. “Would you like to talk? In private?”

The two boys hurried off, hand in hand and oblivious to it.

“...Did Bonnie just take initiative?!” Charcoal said.

Nevnir whistled. “That’s new. I’ll give you that.”

[freaoscanlin]

Given Unsought, Part 4

Jemma came back from Maveth with a little something in tow. She and Daisy attempt to deal. Part 1 | 2 | 3

A/N: It’s time for the prenatal appointments to begin, and Daisy’s totally not going to miss that. Just one week and it’s smaller because Week 15 is a beast. Rated PG-13, 2419 words. 

Week Fourteen

The first trimester of pregnancy had raged through Jemma, bestowing bouts of morning sickness at all hours of the day, coloring in sunken circles beneath her eyes, and making her generally testy and out of sorts. Returning to earth, being around people, and dealing with the new gravity after months of harsh survival hadn’t helped, no doubt. She’d grown snappish with Fitz and Daisy above all else, grumbling over the jasmine lotion Daisy used and reminding Fitz to change his razor blade when it had gotten too old. Her sense of smell grew so strong that Daisy made it a policy never to drop by the lab on her way back from working out. The first time she’d tried, Jemma had raced for the bathroom, looking distinctly greener than any human should.

Honestly, Daisy was learning so much about pregnancy, but only from observing Jemma or from reading the books. Her friend never brought up her condition unprompted. When others mentioned it, she changed the subject. Normally Jemma shared everything with her friend, down to the very mundane details, but spending time on the deathworld had made Jemma a complete sphinx.

Which was why Daisy was surprised to stroll into the lab to raid Fitz’s stash of dwarves for a recon op and see Jemma standing in front of the full length mirror in the back. She’d pulled her shirt up to reveal the slightly round slope of her abdomen. Her head tilted, a thoughtful frown in place. It turned to shock as she looked in the mirror and saw Daisy approaching. She whirled.

“Daisy! Hi, I was just—”

“I do that when I’ve had a really big burrito.” Daisy pulled down the pelican case of drones from the shelf.  “Not the same, I know.”

“Not quite.” Jemma eyed her as Daisy began to critically inspect the dwarves. “He hates that you get into his stuff, you know.”

“That’s half the point. So, how’s the bump?”

“Rather bumpy, I’m afraid.” Jemma frowned.

“Looks about average for this far along.” Daisy pulled out a dwarf and inspected it. After leaving behind the Disney naming scheme, Fitz had gone on to one of those nerdy books that Daisy hadn’t read. She wasn’t sure who ‘Thorin’ was, but he looked like a pretty good dwarf.

She looked up to see Jemma gawking at her, and immediately wanted to make sure her hair wasn’t sticking up or something. “What?” she asked.

Jemma’s mouth snapped shut.  “N-nothing. I just hadn’t realized you’d done the research.”

“I Google-image searched baby bumps, Simmons, it’s not a big deal. And,” she eyed Thorin’s line of sight and tested its weight, “all the baby books had, like, these calendars about what happens when. This is week fourteen?”

Jemma nodded.

“Cool. That’s when facial muscles start moving, I think. I bet Simmons Junior’s already learning to frown at whatever Fitz says.”

“You think it’s a boy?”

“I think it’s a blob.” Daisy set Thorin back in its case and tucked that under her arm. She skirted around the table and laid a hand on Jemma’s shoulder since her friend still looked uncertain. “But given that the DNA swimming around in that thing belongs half to you and half to a literal astronaut, it’s a very, very smart blob. And a lucky one.”

“There are actually several studies that link intelligence not to genetics but to—”

Daisy made a blah-blah-blah hand gesture. “You can quote all the studies you like at me, but I highly doubt Simmons Junior’s going to be the kid eating paste in the corner in kindergarten.”

“Eating paste could be a sign of curiosity, I’ll have you know.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows, but Jemma didn’t disclose any further details. “All righty then,” she said, heading for the door. “On that note, I’m going to take my purloined dwarf before Fitz catches me.”

“Hey, Daisy?” Jemma’s hesitant voice stopped her in her tracks and made her swivel in place. Jemma twisted her hands together. “I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes, unless there’s an emergency. Why? Did you need something?”

Jemma took a deep breath. “I have an appointment and I was wondering if you might tag along? Fitz went to the first one with me, but he started arguing with the doctor and it was a bit of a nightmare, actually. It’s off-site, but it’s not far, and it won’t take long, I swear, you can come right back. You’d be doing me such a big favor—”

“Simmons—Jemma.” Daisy smiled. “Of course I’ll go with you. Come get me when you need to leave, okay?”

“Will do. Thanks, Daisy.”

“Anytime,” Daisy said. She glanced over at the unmistakable sound of Fitz’s footsteps approaching the lab. “Crap, that’s my cue. See you tomorrow!”

And ignoring Fitz’s “Wha—hey!” she scampered out of the lab with her stolen tech.

“Fitz is very cross with you,” Jemma said as Daisy adjusted the height on the little wheely stool they’d given her while they waited for the doctor to join them.

Daisy plopped down. “If he stopped being a perfectionist and released the super-useful tech that’s going to teach us all about what nefarious schemes the ATCU is doing, he’d live a much happier life. He holds onto those things forever.”

“He’s a bit fussy, yes, but that’s hardly—”

“We need that stuff, Simmons,” Daisy said.

Jemma held up her hands in an ‘I’m staying out of this’ gesture. “I’ll let you two work it out.”

“He’ll come around.” Daisy poked around the little table behind the ultrasound machine, grinning when Jemma waspishly slapped her hand away. “You never showed the pictures from your first ultrasound. It didn’t look like a squirrel, did it?”

“No, I can assure you, it did not look like a squirrel because there wasn’t a clear shot of the baby then. And I know what you’re doing.” Jemma took a deep breath and scooted back so she was sitting up on the hospital bed. “I appreciate it, but there’s no need to try to misbehave and distract me from my nerves. I’ve accepted my lot in life and that this child is coming.”

Daisy, about to reach out and pick up the wand, abruptly drew her hand back. “Um, yes, that’s exactly what I was doing,” she said, hoping the lie didn’t sound as fake to Jemma as it did to her.

A brief knock on the door made them look over, and Dr. Collins stepped in. Or at least, Daisy assumed that was Dr. Collins. Jemma had rambled on about her OB/GYN all the way over to the clinic, mentioning that she looked like a shield-maiden, and Daisy completely understood. Even though she wore pressed trousers and a crisp shirt under her lab coat, Dr. Collins could have joined Lady Sif in battle and Daisy wouldn’t have even blinked. She stood up when Jemma introduced her and immediately felt dwarfed.

“I’m here as a friend, honorary aunt, that sort of thing,” Daisy said, sitting down as Dr. Collins crossed to the stool on the other side of the hospital bed.

“Dr. Fitz wasn’t able to make it? I did look forward to another lively debate.” Dr. Collins logged into the computer.

“Fitz won’t be back until he promises to be on his best behavior,” Jemma said with a fond eye-roll. “Daisy’s been through a lot with me. You can speak frankly in front of her. She won’t be nearly as grossed out as Fitz.”

“Sure I will be, I’ll just hide it better,” Daisy said. She stayed quiet during the routine parts of the check-up, while Jemma answered questions and had her blood pressure checked. When Dr. Collins drew blood, Daisy merely tilted her head at Jemma. ‘Payback,’ she mouthed at her friend.

Jemma stuck her tongue out at her.

The conversation grew too scientific for Daisy to follow, so she spaced out. Was it always like that when doctors examined other doctors? If she hadn’t been exposed to years of Fitz and Jemma talking about science-y things way over her head, Daisy would’ve been intimidated. Now she studied the seriously outdated computer that ran the ultrasound machine. It’d take her about thirty seconds to hack it, she decided, if she was feeling slow.

She jolted and brought her attention back to the present when Jemma laid back on the bed. “Huh?”

“She’s doing the ultrasound now,” Jemma said. She correctly pegged the source of Daisy’s distraction when she informed the doctor, “Daisy’s the smartest computer person I know. She’s just brilliant at all computers. She was admiring your system, I think.”

More like cringing at it, but she let Jemma have that. She wheeled herself closer. “Time for the money shot? The books said the sex could be determined this week, maybe?”

“It’s possible, but the position of the fetus might make that difficult.” Dr. Collins gave them both a smile. “Some babies are shy about that sort of thing. You might not know until the day of the delivery. In addition, fourteen weeks is a little early to tell. We can confirm better at twenty weeks.”

“Well,” Jemma said with one of those forced smiles, “it’ll be an excellent surprise, whatever we discover.”

“You can paint the nursery gender-neutral colors. What do they put in nurseries? Baby ducks?” Daisy asked.

“Fitz has already insisted on monkeys.”

Daisy conceded to that with a thoughtful tilt of the head, surprised that she’d already discussed it with Fitz. But it made sense: Jemma would have to find a place off-base soon so she could start nesting, or whatever. That sucked. Daisy would miss being two doors down from her best friend. But also with Ward still out there plotting revenge, it wasn’t exactly safe to move off base yet, so maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while after all.

But Daisy didn’t want to think about Ward, so she said, “Monkeys would be cute.”

“I’m considering my options.” Jemma grimaced as the gel was applied to her abdomen. To Dr. Collins, she said, “Fitz has always wanted a Capuchin monkey.”

“It’s kind of a thing with him,” Daisy agreed, watching the image on the screen shift between blurry black lines and equally blurry gray lines. “How long does it take for—ooh.”

The lines on the screen gave way to a grainy ultrasound of an impossibly tiny fetus in the middle of the screen. Daisy heard Jemma’s gasp and felt something punch through her chest, but in a good way. Unconsciously, she leaned forward to get a better look. Online, the sonograms had looked vaguely like creepy little octopuses. Here she could actually see the line of a face, an upturned nose and chin. The belly was almost comically distended, the little legs curled up. Not so much a blob, but a minuscule and perfect human.

“And there’s your baby,” Dr. Collins said, typing something into the keyboard with her free hand as she continued to move the ultrasound wand over Jemma’s abdomen. Measurements began to list out on the screen. “Little easier to get a clear shot this time, I think. Now let’s see if we can get a heartbeat.”

Daisy’s hand hurt. Looking down, she realized that Jemma had grabbed it at some point, linking their fingers together and squeezing hard. She had a look on her face that was impossible to decipher, her eyes glued to the screen.

“Aha,” Dr. Collins said, and an EKG line began to beep at the bottom of the screen. She hit a button on the keyboard. “Sounds like a good, strong heartbeat to me. At this point in time, Dr. Simmons, we don’t have any reason to believe there’s anything but a very healthy fetus in there. If you look here, you can see the fingers…” She began to point out parts of the sonogram, endlessly patient as she answered Daisy’s questions.

Jemma remained silent, clutching Daisy’s hand. She reached out with her free hand, wonderingly brushing her the tips of her fingers over the moving image of the fetus. Then she blinked and seemed to snap herself out of the spell. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I’ve smudged up your screen—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dr. Collins handed her a tissue, which she used to dab at her eyes. Jemma started and looked down at her hand, as though surprised to find it holding Daisy’s. Daisy merely squeezed reassuringly, not letting go.

Dr. Collins smiled at them, glancing down at the handholding briefly. “I’ll just print you off a copy, if you don’t have any other questions? Do you want a copy, too?”

“Uh, sure,” Daisy said. “I’ll consider it the start of my career as one of those people who carries around wallet photos.” She couldn’t wait to text it to May, actually.

Ten minutes later, she climbed into the driver’s seat of the borrowed vehicle—mercifully one of their SUVs without their logo on it, as that would look super conspicuous at the doctor’s office—and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Jemma had been eerily quiet. She sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting on her abdomen and the other holding the folder of papers Dr. Collins had given her, lost in thought.

Daisy nudged her. “Wanna play hooky for a bit? We could go get milkshakes.”

As she’d expected, that drew Jemma from her reverie. “You heard her in there, I’m supposed to be practicing healthy eating habits. Milkshakes are nothing but sugar—”

“And deliciousness. Think of it as a good source of calcium or something. She said you’re healthy, the baby seems healthy. Why not cut loose a little?”

Jemma looked tempted.

Daisy nudged her again. “Do you know how rare it is to get out of the base these days? Let’s go be irresponsible for, like, half an hour before we head back.”

“You’re such a bad influence.” Jemma reached over and brushed some of Daisy’s hair back. Must be a pregnancy thing, Daisy determined. Like nesting, or something. Jemma had never been this hands on with her before. “But yes. Let’s go get milkshakes. But you’ll have to bring one back for Fitz, too, to apologize for stealing Thorin.”

“Fair,” Daisy decided, and started the ignition.