#this is inspired by my dad being like ‘do you enjoy the smell of powder smoke just because it reminds you of reenactments’

[iamthemaestro]

reenactment brain will really have you like “ah yes the soothing sounds of heavy artillery in the distance”

[random-imagines-blog]

Coming Your Way {George Weasley x Reader}

Wordcount: 3383 Summary: Your father gets revenge on you, and a prank goes wrong. Inspired by: (x)

It was your first Christmas without your mother. Without the big family dinner in the dining room of your home. Without the smell of all of the Christmas-y candles that she enjoyed lighting despite the fact that it made the room nearly noxious. Without the CD of Christmas carols coming through, Frosty the Snowman and some other stuff. Honestly? You were sort of glad for it. You missed her, she was still your mother, but her stiffness when it came to traditions was always ... obnoxious. The costumes that she forced you and your father into for a Christmas picture each year. It might have been cute the first couple of times, but come on. You were no longer five. But to avoid a hissy fit and to avoid her absolutely ruining Christmas break, you always had to oblige. Your father and yourself would exchange glances, both full of pity to one another as she was put up with year after year. This year would be different. You would come home from Ilvermorny and would just have a simple dinner with your dad. You could stay in your pajamas. He could stay in his. It would all go swimmingly - right?

Apparently not.

You had Christmas morning the way that you wanted it. That was something. You and your dad both slept in, and then would eventually make your way into the living room for presents. You blew a kiss to your mother’s portrait which hung on the wall and she smiled down graciously at you. But of course a moment later, there would be the mumbling and the complaining that you weren’t doing Christmas right so your father covered her portrait with a blanket. You opened up presents while still in your pajamas. You didn’t immediately clean up the wrapping paper or read the cards out loud, all embarrassing like. You lounged around eating sweets for a while before your dad dropped the bombshell.

“Do you remember my co-worker, Arthur Weasley?” Your father asked, drinking some of the powdered hot chocolate he made. Your mother never would have stood for that. It would have to be the real thing, no matter how much time or work had to put into it.

“Sort of,” You said. “He was the one who had all of the kids right? Oh, and didn’t one of his sons take a flying car to school or something? I remember that being in the news. It was the talk of the school for a little while.”

Your father chuckled at that one, nodding. “Ronald, yes. Well - he and his wife have kindly invited us over to dinner tonight.”

“Oh dad - you didn’t,” You frowned.

“I’m not very good at saying no to people,” Your father admitted, which was the understatement of the year. It was the result of having such an over-bearing wife for many years. “Would you be terribly upset if we went?”

“I guess that depends on two things,” You sighed. “Is his wife a good cook? And do I have to dress up?”

“She’s wonderful - for English cooking, anyway,” Your father said with another little laugh. It didn’t have the best reputation for being tasty. Other than fish and chips, you guessed. And Cadbury bars. “And yes, unfortunately, you would have to put on something nice. We want to make a good impression.”

-

You lounged around for a while longer before you got ready to go to the Weasleys. At least you didn’t have to wear the horrendous Christmas outfit that your mother made you wear last year. But you went with your nicest, you supposed, something that fit nice and made you feel rather attractive, which was a weird feeling for a regular, insecure teenager like yourself. You read over the list that your father had given you of the names of all of the Weasley children. There were more than you had anticipated. “Okay, Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill,” You said, attempting to remember them all. At least Ginny would be easy to remember, she was the only girl. You were between the ages of Ron and Fred and George, apparently.

“You ready?” Your dad asked, poking his head through your open door.

“Yeah, I guess,” You answered. “Do I look alright? Fancy enough?” You gave him a little spin so that he could see exactly what you were wearing. Once you came to a stop, you saw that he was dressed rather nice too. He had a nice jacket on, which covered up whatever he was wearing underneath. It was buttoned up all nice and tight. It showed that he did lose a little weight since your mother died but it wasn’t exactly a bad thing.

“Yeah, fancy enough I’d say,” He nodded. “Come on, we’re going to apparate.” You winced, hating the feeling of it. The topsy turvy sensations that took over your stomach and made it feel like you would be sick. Portkeying was almost as bad. Your preferred method was floo but you could see why you didn’t want to risk showing up covered in soot and ash. The fireplace probably hadn’t been cleaned in some time. Your father had freed the house elf after mom passed. You slipped on your shoes and took hold of his arm. The familiar sensation of feeling like you were being pulled apart came and then went quite quickly.

You found yourself outside of a cute house. It looked like it was being held up by magic and perhaps an elevator might be inside to traverse all of the floors but it was adorable. Snow was falling lightly around. There was a glow coming through the windows. The promise of a warm fire. Actually, just the promise of warmth was good enough for you. “Let’s not waste time,” Your dad said, giving you a nudge to walk ahead. You did so, shoes going through the snow, hearing it crunch beneath your feet. It was quite satisfying. You knocked upon the door.

A woman with a wide smile and copper curls opened the doors. She was the picture perfect image of a mother, like something in the fairytale books that you had read growing up. Friendly, pleasant, very welcoming. She looked over you and a little look of confusion went over her face though.  “Welcome, y/n. I’ve heard so much about you. You look very nice this evening.”

And then you noticed that she was hardly dressed up at all. A long skirt and a sweater but they both looked cozy, worn in. You turned to your dad to ask what he had meant by you had to dress nice but you saw that he had removed his own jacket to reveal an ugly Christmas jumper. Oh. So he thought that he was funny did he? He certainly did, because he gave you a big grin and put his hand on your shoulder and lead you on inside.

Once inside, you were re-introduced to Arthur. You had met him a couple of times before. Work parties that you had been your father’s date too, things like that. Your father often said that Arthur was one of his best friends and yet he hadn’t come around very often - but with so many kids, who could find the time? And then all of the kids. Fred and George stood out the most, especially with Molly fussing around and warning you that they had switched jumpers. The one in the F was George, and the one in the G was Fred, according to her. But they were all pretty nice, once they got over the shock of someone so elegantly dressed in their home.

But your main takeaway from those first couple of moments was this was a loved family. They were all wearing what looked like brand new jumpers. And they looked like they were home made as well, not something bought and embroidered by a professional, like your mother would get you if she ever got you anything personalized. They were all so warm. It was the only word that came over you, again and again. Warm. Cozy. Home.

You listened to the family talk amongst themselves, which though they did try to make you feel included, they had a lot to say to one another. They were teasing Percy about being prefect, and what he would do if he didn’t become Head Boy next year. Ginny was teased about still having a crush on Harry Potter, and that reminded me that of course, this was the Ron Weasley, everyone knew that he was Harry Potter’s best friend. That made me listen even more intently. Though Ron did talk mainly about Quidditch, something about maybe trying out for his house team eventually. His older brothers, the twins, they made fun of him for that a bit. All in all, it was a very wholesome setting. That and the smell of food that kept wafting over from the kitchen. Ron kept trying to get up and go in there and sneak a bite but he was shooed out by his mother each time. She finally announced that it was time for dinner though and you all got up to eat, stomachs feeling famished.

Your dad sat next to Arthur, and then you sat beside him, with Fred on your one side. Or at least, you thought it might be Fred, if Molly’s story about the jumper-switching was to be believed. You kept glaring at your father, which he found hilarious. He kept chuckling while side-eyeing you, looking all comfortable in his sweater while you were wearing a rather uptight-looking get up. “This is just my revenge for the restaurant,” He said, eyes sparkling.

“Revenge?” The twins perked up as the word was brought up.

“For the prank that I pulled,” You admitted. “It was brilliant. Fair play, dad, fair play.”

There was instantly a bunch of questions about what the prank was, and while I started to fill my plate up with all of the delicious looking and smelling food, my dad began to tell the tale.

“We were at a restaurant, just casual, out to dinner one night,” He began. “And we notice that a couple of tables down, Troy Duvall is eating with his family.” That got a couple of gasps from the table where most of the people were large Quidditch fans. Only Molly seemed to not get the hint - and her son Charlie leaned in and whispered something to her, probably about the fact that he was a star on the American team. “I kept looking over and well, I didn’t want to lose my cool. I didn’t want to go over and embarrass him while he was trying to eat with his family. But my y/n here tugs on my sleeve and says, hey, I know her,” And points at the daughter of Troy Duvall. They’re about the same age, it makes sense. Y/N says that they’re in the same house. They study together sometimes. Y/N wants to go and say hi,” Your father playfully glared at you. You smiled, cutting into your meal, remembering it very well. “So I finally give in, and say sure, we’ll go say hi to your friend, maybe introduce myself to Troy Duvall, so simple. We finish our meal, pay the bill, go on over, and I say, Sorry to bother you Mister Duvall. My kid y/n here says that they know your daughter, so we just came to say hello.” You started sniggering as the best part was coming up. “So they look to y/n, who looks to me and says, no I don’t. You’re the one who came over here wanting to talk to Troy Duvall. I don’t know why you’re lying about me.”

The table erupted into laughter. Even Molly was giggling. The boy beside you, Fred/George, was laughing the hardest, even putting a hand on your shoulder. You had to admit, that gave you some faint butterflies and you weren’t sure why. The big grin, maybe. He was cute close up.

“You were speechless,” You laughed. “To date, still the best prank that I ever pulled. The war isn’t over just because you won this battle, father.”

The conversation turned back to more family matters. Your dad chattered away with the Weasleys, already looking like he belonged here. It was genuinely good to see him looking so happy. So free. So de-stressed. You felt a little nudge on your elbow from beside you as you were finishing your meal. The twin that was beside you. You looked over and he motioned for you to lean in a little.

“I actually am George. Decided to prank mum this year by wearing the right jumper. And she calls herself our mother.”

You grinned and said, “Brilliant.”

-

After dinner were some family games. Ron set up a chess board and was eager to play with anyone who would. Most of his family refused since he had won some famous chess game back in his first year. But your father was game. Molly settled into what looked like a very loved chair to work on some knitting, and a large game of Exploding Snap started up.

“Oh, dear,” Molly said, looking up at me. “If you would like, I have a jumper in my room that you can borrow. If that would make you feel more comfortable.”

As the only one who wasn’t wearing one, you did feel a bit like the odd one out. You nodded, thankfully. “Yeah, that sounds nice and cozy. Thanks.”

“I’ll take you,” George in his G sweater said, stepping away from the game, much to the chagrin of the other players.

“George - ahh - never mind,” His twin said, shaking his head. That brought Molly’s attention. She pointed at her standing son and then at the one that was still sitting on the floor.

“You’re wearing the right sweaters!”

“Guess the gig is up, George.”

“Yeah, great going Fred,” George retorted. He lightly put a hand on your shoulder and started to guide you to the stairs. “Easy to get lost up here, honestly. Ickle Ronnikins still does.”

“I heard that!” His younger brother called from the stairs.

“Stop coming into our room then!” George called down, snickering. The bedroom of Molly and Arthur Weasley was on the second floor. Probably so they would be able to hear if their children were trying to sneak out at night, very clever. The door was slightly open, a faint yellow light inside. It drew you in. You opened it more and started to step in. George started to call out your name in protest, and grabbed onto your shoulder but you found yourself stuck. Right in the doorway. Unable to move.

“What is happening right now?” You asked, looking to George with wide eyes. He groaned. He seemed to be caught as well. He pointed upwards to the doorway and when you raised your glance, you saw some mistletoe hanging there.

“That’s what Fred tried to warn me about. It’s this thing we do every year, just to be cute with mom and dad.”

“Okay, that’s cute but why can’t I move?” You asked, furrowing your brow. He sighed out, his breath coming upwards to move the bangs out of his face.

“Enchanted. Gotta kiss to get out of it,” He muttered, shyly. Your lips made an o as you realized. You leaned in and then you kissed his cheek. Not a big deal right? You tried to get away then but still, like you were barricaded. You huffed a little and then laughed.

“Guess we gotta do it for real?” You questioned. Your stomach was a-jitter with nerves - this was going to be your first kiss. He nodded, still shyly pulling down on his jumper. You didn’t know him well enough to know that George Weasley, nor Fred, never got shy. That this was a side of him that most people had never seen before. Would never see. But here he was, looking bashful, looking as embarrassed as you felt on the inside.

There really was no choice. It was either be stuck up here for an obnoxiously long time until someone sees you, probably just teases you, or get it over with. There wasn’t much room in the doorframe. You were already standing close. So you stepped a little bit closer and put your hands upon his shoulders. “I’ve never done this before, have you?”

“Never,” George shook his head.

“Okay. Well - on the count of three then?” He nodded, agreeing with me. “One -”

“Two -” He counted after.

“Three.”

Our lips touched. It was soft, tender, gentle. Like rubbing flower petals against skin. Perhaps a little wet but as you were both experienced, it was a miracle that you both went for the lips rather than awkwardly getting the chin or the nose or tongue lolling everywhere. And then it was over. It was simple and sweet and awkward and you were blushing and he was blushing so hard you could barely see his freckles anymore. He found that he could move and he quickly went into the bedroom, opening his parents closet and pulled out a rather large jumper. It was in the same warm colors that Molly was wearing downstairs. It was far too big for you but that’s what made it all the more appealing. I stepped into the room after him and found myself getting stiffled as he literally put the sweater over your head. You managed to wiggle your head out of the top and George started to laugh. You could see why. In the looking glass upon the wall, your hair was standing up near straight thanks to static electricity. Any attempt to get it to back down just made it worse. You pushed your arms through the sleeves which were also quite big, hung down over your hands. She might be a rather short woman but Molly did have some length on her in other areas. George kept on snickering so you slapped him with the end of the sleeve playfully.

“You’re just jealous that I’m M for Marvelous,” You said, sticking your tongue out. Indeed, right on the front in a faded golden color was an M. That’s what you were going to take it as. “I suppose G could be great but Marvelous is still so much better.”

“G as in Gorgeous, actually,” George winked. While you were trying to get the sweater to somehow fit your smaller frame, George slipped out and stood in the hallway, clear of the mistletoe. “Well come on, we haven’t got all night. I might be able to get in on the next game of Exploding Snap.”

He was acting like the kiss had never happened, and you couldn’t blame him. It would be a very awkward thing to explain to his parents, his siblings. To bring up in conversation. It was just a little secret, that would never go beyond the two of you.

You attempted to fix your hair as you followed him down the stairs. You managed to get it to mostly sit down the way that it should when you entered the busy living room again. George was settling back down to Exploding Snap with his brothers. Ginny was out of the game, apparently having lost and was washing up in the nearest washroom, getting the scorch marks off of her face. Your father waved you over to the game that he was playing with Ron - apparently both better than each other thought since it was still going strong for both sides.

“I was speaking with Arthur during the game,” Your father said, stopping to command a pawn to move. “He was already inviting us over for next Christmas. What do you think?”

You inadvertently looked over at George who caught your eye and grinned, no longer seeming as shy as he had upstairs.

“Marvelous,” You nodded. “Great even. Gorgeous.”

[rodeoxqueen]

Cousin Nero! 

Kath on AO3 Requested:

Hello! I hope the world is treating you kindly today.

If you don't mind, could you write something inspired by dante having a baby daughter with his s/o, but the focus is nero having to baby sit the little darling while his family is busy?

“Enjoy, thank you for your patience.” -Rodeo

Contents: Aunt!Reader, Daddy Dante, Dante/Reader in the background, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Slightest of Angst 

Dante’s baby was a lot like him, white-haired and blue-eyed, the powerful Sparda genes still kicking. Nero didn’t think Dante was still gunning for a kid, even at his age. You were older too, not like he had the gall to bring it up ever, and your decision to be a mother was also an added surprise. 

Nero had made himself scarce during the time of your pregnancy, you being ushered away by the protective Dante, his hand always on your swelling stomach. 

You had insisted Nero come over for a little outing, inviting Kyrie to tag along as well. Vergil was obviously dragged in by Dante, having lived with him. 

Vergil was stoically helping to chop vegetables for the tomato sauce, Kyrie instructing him what to do. Her patience and un-prying nature were commendable to Vergil, who enjoyed the peace alone when she hustled about the kitchen with you. 

Sitting on the couch, Nero made eye contact with the baby Sparda. 

The father had his daughter situated with her cheek against his bicep, body supported by his forearm while her limbs hung loosely, little strawberry footies on her tiny feet. Red crochet socks with green leaf-shaped fabric around the pudgy ankles, she was a sight to behold. Precariously held, yes, but with Dante’s reflexes, no way could the baby cause any surprises. 

Awkward silences ran in the Sparda bloodline, Dante not feeling the need to talk and Nero not knowing what to bring up. The baby could simply care less, babbling and smacking her father’s bare arm once in a while. 

His aunt, you, called Dante over. His uncle took a swig of beer and set it on the coffee table. 

“Nero, here.” 

“Whoa!” Nero sputtered as Dante just handed the baby to him. He was quick to cradle the back of her head, her body on his lap. 

“I’m lighting up the grill and there’s no way I’m letting your old man touch it.” 

Dante turned around to wave at his daughter with both hands, animatedly trying to catch her attention. 

“See ya, daddy’s going to flip some burgers.” 

And he was gone. Great. 

Nero held the soft, powder-scented baby girl in his hands, concerned for her every move against him. 

“H-hey.” She stared at him, a binky in her mouth. 

Nero noticed she was rather heavy, despite her small body. Dense, almost. 

The little one gurgled, arms waving about. 

“Buh!” 

“I’m Nero. I’m your cousin.” 

“Abababa.” 

The TV was on in the background, the baby ignorant of the football game. She seemed okay in his lap, staring at him with those complacent blue eyes. 

There was a curiosity to her, lidded gaze at this new stranger. Nero had been around once and a while before she could really remember him. This hesitancy that he wasn’t part of the room, not wanting to intrude on this new family Dante made for himself. 

She was very soft, Nero’s finger stroking her cheek. Her own hand gripped his own, thumb stroking his nail. It was a color unlike her own, black polish chipped on the edges. 

“My girlfriend painted them.” Nero wanted to explain. But what did it matter? She likely didn’t understand. 

She had a sturdy grip for a baby, trying to pick off where she could see his natural nail tone. She clearly hadn’t had her own nails trimmed for some time. Nero let her, not knowing what else to do. 

He noticed there were toys on the sides of the couch, clearly shoved aside haphazardly. Where beer cans once littered the DMC shop, had baby toys replaced its territory. 

“So...what do you do for fun?” Nero asked, stretching over the take a baby rattle. A hollow rattle from inside the plastic toy did a number on the baby’s amusement, the pacifier nearly popping out of her mouth. 

“Ah!” 

She snatched it from his hand, shaking it for herself. 

Nero knows his strength and even though he is more than capable of holding the baby, he also doesn’t want to upset the child in any way. 

Dante’s daughter is like him, very playful and friendly. She’s very clingy to her father but can get along with most folk. 

The older cousin sits not knowing what to do with a baby that clearly wants to play with him, grabbing onto his red shirt and trying to snatch his necklace. 

He remembers one time Dante bouncing his leg with her sitting on it, playing “horse and cowboy.” He copies, the baby delighted in the repetitive motion, gurgling and showing a few pearly teeth. The two younger Spardas don’t notice you and Kyrie popping in from the corner between cooking dinner to watch the bonding. 

Time passed so quickly, Nero finding himself smiling at the few hours he had watching over the little girl. 

Once everything from the grill was brought back in, Dante came back to his nephew cradling his slumped daughter. 

The older Sparda sat down, shaggy hair pulled back with a pink hair tie he happened to have in his pocket, most likely meant for his little girl’s unruly hair. 

“So, I see you and devil girl are getting along.” 

Nero scoffed. 

“Yeah, right after you tossed her at me. She was alright, had a lot of fun before she knocked out.” 

Dante nodded, poking her cheek with his pointer finger. She twitched, white eyebrow jolting slightly. He chuckled, her little chubby hands rolled into fists in her slumber. 

“You know, Nero. It’s pretty fun to be a dad. I mean, I didn’t have to push this little melon head out, that was (Y/N)’s short end of the stick.” Dante gave his daughter a loving glance, who dozed against Nero. 

“I wasn’t really around babies growing up. Wasn’t great with people my age anyways.” 

“Don’t worry, me neither. You know how many times I probably kicked Vergil in the womb?” His uncle elbowed him jokingly, Nero dodging to avoid waking up the baby. 

Nero laughed at the idea of two feuding fetuses. 

“Well, you two aren’t exactly peas in a pod.” Dante shrugged, agreeing. 

“That’s for damn sure. But trust me, I think you and her have a lot in common.” Nero raised an eyebrow at that comment. 

“How so? Besides, you know.” He gestured to his and Dante’s hair. Dante looked at the staticky TV, this honest and genuine stare only a man who finally had peace could give. 

“You two bring the rest of us together.” 

Nero stilled, not knowing what to say. The years of being alone, raised in an orphanage, ostracized and left to believe he had no one of blood, never being warm by the arms of a mother, had left him foreign to this. This belonging. This familial purpose. 

To be wanted. 

Nero watched as the baby stiffened up before slowly stretching awake, yawning to show her teething gums. She rubbed those round hands against her eyes, blearily exposed to the eyes of her adoring father and cousin. 

Just in time before both men had to sit in their respective emotionally vulnerable, contemplative yet awkward silences 

“Hey there, kiddo. Want to come to Papa?” A few wispy strands loose from her headband were stuck to her face, slightly dazed and confused. 

Dante clapped his hands at her, offering to hold her again. She shook her head, nustling her head on Nero’s chest. Either by coincidence or infantile smugness, her two hands rested over each other to cushion her head as she glanced at Dante, almost to say “No, I’m alright here.” 

“I guess I’m her favorite now.” 

“Way to be ride or die, sweet child of mine.” He sighed, shaking his head. 

Nero and Dante played with the awakened baby until they were called for, you taking the baby who reached out for your touch. 

The food smelled amazing, a full spread on the table just enough for everyone to pull a seat up. Dante speed-walked to the last wooden chair, Vergil deprived of a proper seat, sitting a bit shorter than everyone else in a spare plastic one. 

Nero moved to sit next to Kyrie, when the youngest Sparda began to fuss a table across, pointing to him and yelling incoherently. 

“Do you want to sit with Nero?” You asked, your little one shaking her head. 

You looked across to notice Nero had already taken his plate to get up, ready to switch seats with you. 

Dante and Vergil shared a smile over this, pleased their children got along despite the years apart they were. 

Although it took a long time, the Spardas finally got the privilege to sit together and exist as a family. 

[comfortwriting]

Whatever It Takes - F.W

Part 3 of the ‘Call Out My Name’ series, inspired by the song ‘Whatever It Takes’ by Life House. 

Part 1, Part 2

A/N: Ahhh here it is, sorry for the long wait! The finale of my first mini series, I hope you lovelies enjoy and thank you for the support!<33

Warnings: Mentions of sex, smut, fluff, angst, jealously and swearing.

Pulling away from the kiss you couldn’t process what you had done, trying to catch your breath your glassy eyes got lost in Fred's. The last time you kissed him felt like forever ago and just like that, you were back to square one; hungry for him.

You looked at your feet and sighed “meet me at my apartment, go now and don’t let my parents see you” you ordered him “we’ll... talk things through.”

Before you managed to pick up your box and go back downstairs to you parents, Fred grabbed your wrist and kissed your hand “you won’t regret this.”

Once you met him in your apartment, the two of you were up all night talking things through; Fred mostly apologising and explaining that you were the one all along. Although you were seeing someone else, it felt right to be with Fred, the kiss felt right, everything felt somewhat perfectly in place.

You finished writing the letter to your now ex-boyfriend, explaining that you couldn’t and didn’t want to be with him anymore and that you were sorry, you hoped it would be enough for him to accept.

After keeping your re-lighting of an old flame with Fred secret for the first few months, when you finally decided to break the news your parents and your sister weren’t over the moon - and your now ex-boyfriend was heartbroken and hated Fred with a burning passion; cursing the two of you.

The Weasleys on the other hand, were all delighted and so excited to welcome you back into their life and warm home. Molly and Arthur promised your parents that they would do anything and everything to ensure that you would be happy and safe with their son.

George ran towards you and held you tight into his warm embrace, crying with happiness that he could have his best friend back that he wouldn’t need to hide from anyone anymore; you could finally meet up and go out for lunch together every week which you had missed so much.

Fred knew that making things right, fixing things wouldn’t be easy, he had to prove himself to your family, he needed to show you how much he loved you after everything he had done - he also had to deal with the other people you had slept with whilst he was busy playing house.

“Well I still don’t like him.” Your father muttered under his breath sitting with you on the sofa, flicking through the Daily Prophet.

Fred was standing behind the door, listening in to everything that was being said.

“You don’t have to like him dad, but I’m happy with him and you need to accept that.” You defended your boyfriend.

Your dad glared at the paper and flicked the page “as long as you don’t bloody marry the fella.”

Fred’s heart dropped.

You giggled and sighed, standing up to get yourself a drink “maybe I will.”

A strangled smile fell from your face

What kills me that I hurt you this way

The worst part is that I didn't even know

Now there's a million reasons for you to go

But if you can find a reason to stay

Fred took a hold of your hand, the two of you resting beside the fire in your apartment listening to some muggle music.

“What time is it?” You asked, looking through the window, noticing the sunset.

“It’s seven o’clock” Fred replied staring at the clock, planting a kiss on your hand.

You stood up slowly and smiled at Fred “I’ve got to get ready” you replied, walking into your bedroom.

Fred realised that since his absence you had gained quite the following of male friends and a flock of admirers, tonight you were going out for a business dinner with your boss from the ministry to discuss a promotion.

Fred felt quite secure until he realised that Percy and other members of the ministry wouldn’t be there, Fred trusted you, but after the way he had treated you - he felt like you could fall through his fingers.

Zipping your dress up and applying the last of your powder, Fred walked into the bedroom leaning against the door frame.

His eyes searching your body and admiring how stunning you looked and how lucky he was to have you.

You’d by lying if you said you truly trusted Fred, you didn’t, he had a lot to prove and you were giving him a chance.

You learned from your mistakes the many times you put him first before your friends and your future, all because you were dating now doesn’t mean that you had to put everything on hold.

You remained independent and your wariness around Fred often made him feel like you could never trust him again, but you could and you would, all in good time.

“Are you sure you don’t need to me to come?” Fred asked, wanting to protect you.

“I’m sure.” You smiled, then thanking him for the offer.

“You look beautiful.” Fred compliment you.

Pecking Fred on the lips you grabbed some Floo Powder, Fred debated silently in his head whether or not to follow you, but he stayed at home and pondered.

After the successful business dinner you arrived home with a big smile on your face, Fred was laid in bed ‘reading’.

You walked into the bathroom, removing your makeup and made your way to the bedroom, undressing yourself, all the while responding to many of Fred's questions about your evening and the man who was your boss.

Fred searched your beautiful body and couldn’t help but bite his lip whilst watching you strip down to your underwear, you chuckled at him and shook your head. 

Sitting on the bed next to Fred, he started to kiss your neck, telling you how beautiful you looked and for the first time in years the two of you made love. You were a lot more confident than you used to be and Fred noticed, you took control and went wild riding him.

Recovering from your orgasm, Fred held you from behind acting as the big spoon. You could sense that something was bothering your boyfriend and you didn’t want to tip toe around the tension so you asked him directly.

“Is everything okay, Freddie?” you traced circles into his arm that was wrapped around your waist.

Fred hesitated for a moment, but answered “how many people have you slept with?” 

You could feel your face burning up “what does it matter love?” 

“I just always remember being... you know.” 

Letting out a light hearted chuckle you turned over to face Fred. “Yes, I did sleep with other people, Fred. We weren’t together for a long while.”

“How many?” Fred asked, sounding slightly worried.

“Why does it matter? It doesn’t define or change me as a person.” 

Fred sighed “it’s just, I heard a lot of talk from other men.. women.. they were right with their accounts of you, they too had a good time.” 

You stroked Fred’s cheek “I don’t care what they’ve said, you shouldn’t either; I only want and love you - you only get me like this.” you paused for a moment “not that it matters but more than you.” you joked, making Fred laugh.

I'll do whatever it takes

To turn this around

I know what's at stake

I know that I've let you down

And if you give me a chance

Believe that I can change

I'll keep us together

Whatever it takes

Over the years with your promotion, work at the ministry got harder, the hours got longer and the stacks of paper work got higher. You were drowning in the pressure.

Fred and George’s business was doing incredibly well and they were busy too - but you made things work and you were looking to buy a house and move out of your apartment. 

Almost landing on your arse from being spat out the fire place, covered from head to toe in soot Fred chuckled at the sight of you and outstretched his hand, helping you up.

You weren’t expecting him to be home so early, he was always working overtime as you chose to work on weekends instead of the extra few hours on weekdays. You were lucky to get a whole evening alone with Fred, let alone a whole day.

“Follow me, love” he smiled.

Holding Fred’s hand, he walked you into the bathroom. The whole room lit up from tea light candles, the bath filled with warm water and colourful bubbles sitting on the surface and floated in the air.

Fred dragged his hand across the water, moving the bubbles, in the water floated delicate red Roses.

“Oh Fred” you smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling “this is the most special thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Fred felt his heart skip a beat, finally feeling like he had done something right. He helped you get undressed and get into the bath, allowing the warm water to pull you under.

Fred turned around to leave the room but you stopped him.

“why don’t you join me?” You smiled, splashing the water, teasing him.

Fred bit his lip and smiled “the food isn’t going to cook itself”

You let out a chuckle “you’re a wizard–“

Fred blushed, remembering what his mother once told him. “Just because you're allowed to use magic now does not mean you have to whip your wands out for everything.”

Whilst you finished off in your stunning, romantic bath you got dressed into the comfy clothes laid out for you on the sink counter, little did you know, Fred was slaving away in the kitchen finishing up on the meal he had been cooking.

Walking into the dim lit dining room the smell of spaghetti filled the room, the table had your plate of food resting on the mat, with a glass of fire whiskey and a rose resting in a vase in the middle of the table.

You felt incredibly flattered, yet under dressed in the comfy oversized clothes Fred had picked out for you.

Fred admired your look and pulled out your chair.

“Fred, this is incredible—“ you noticed the cooking book on the kitchen worktop. “You did all this without magic!?”

Fred nodded and smiled shyly “I wanted to make an effort, you deserve that and so much more.”

The two of you talked about your day at work, Fred and his brother increasing sales, you talking about Percy and his jealousy towards your promotion.

You both laughed and held hands over the table, you felt like finally everything had fallen into place, you had finally got what you wanted - the love of your life to have and to hold.

“By the way, you’d make a brilliant chef” you complimented, pointing to your empty plate.

Muggle love songs suddenly came on through the radio and rose petals slowly rained down from the ceiling out of nowhere, you couldn’t believe your eyes or the amount of effort Fred had put into this evening.

Fred took a hold of your hand and pulled you into the heart of the living room, holding you close to him, both of you dancing along to the music. You could feel Fred’s heart thump against your ear, pulling away from him you gave him a concerned look.

“Fred, are you okay?” You asked, trying your best not to sour such an incredible evening.

Fred took a deep breath and got down on one knee, pulling out a box from his back pocket. He lifted the top off the box and the most gorgeous ring sparkled against the lights, Fred smiled and looked into your eyes.

“Y/N, from the moment I first saw you, you made me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of. I want to make you feel those things too, I promise. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your eyes welled up with tears of happiness, you couldn’t believe the boy you fell for all those years ago at Hogwarts would be on his knees, proposing to you.

“It took your dad a lot of thought and consideration just to let me do this tonight, Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” Fred breathed out, his heart still thumping.

“Yes, yes Freddie” you cried, holding out your hand “I would love to.”

She said if we're gonna make this work

You gotta let me inside even though it hurts

Don't hide the broken parts that I need to see

She said like it or not it's the way it's gotta be

You've gotta love yourself if you can ever love me

After the wedding there was talk about the two of you, some said you made a big mistake - calling you a mug, saying that Fred was punching above and you were only with him because you felt sorry for him.

The two of you were aware of the chat and often heard it when you were out in Diagon Alley, you didn’t let it bother you because it was only talk - but all of this ‘talk’ was beating Fred down; making him feel insecure and like he was useless.

“Oh Fred please relax, it’s not a big deal” you tried to reassure him, stroking his head.

“It’s a big deal to me, you know how I feel about men speaking to you that way.”

One of the men you had a one night stand with many moons ago spotted you in the leaky cauldron with Fred and approached you, asking why you never called him back. Fred was mortified and felt threatened by this man.

“We’re married Fred, if we’re going to make this work, you need to tell me what’s bothering you so we can work through it.”

Fred put his head in his hands and sighed “I just feel like you deserve better, all these men you were with, they’re so much better than I am.”

You sighed and got Fred to look you in the eyes “Don’t be silly Fred, they aren’t better than you at all. I decided to be with you for a reason - after everything that happened, you need to forgive yourself Fred.”

Fred stayed silent and wiped away his tears with his sleeve. “How can I forgive myself for hurting you?” He croaked.

You sat beside him in bed and rubbed his back “because I’ve forgiven you for everything that happened, I want us to be happy, to not care about what others think.”

Fred cried even more, feeling like a weight had been lifted off him. “You’ve forgiven me?”

“Of course I did, Freddie” You smiled, kissing his cheek “I married you for a reason, not because everyone else was doing it. I want to carry your child one day.”

I'll do whatever it takes

To turn this around

I know what's at stake

I know that I've let you down

And if you give me a chance

And give me a break

I'll keep us together

You took it upon yourself to get you and George to see a muggle couples counsellor, you had read about them in plenty muggle magazines and decided it would be the best - not just for your marriage but for Fred.

Seeing him constantly panic and overthink broke your heart, you wanted this to be a healthy and stable relationship and you both loved one another so much to make it work.

At first the sessions started at one session a week, and then as the months went by it became once every two weeks, and then once per month when you were both making progress.

The first bout of sessions usually started with the counsellor asking questions, getting the two of you to have sessions alone and to talk to one another towards the end.

“I’m just scared that she’ll realise there’s there’s other who are much better than me and they’ll treat her better.” Fred opened up nervously.

“I just wish he would forgive himself, I’ve forgiven him - I did a long time ago - I want him to be able to move forward with me.” You teared up.

After six months you were able to spend sessions together talking to one another, and being able to bask in the progress the two of you had made.

Fred felt more secure and didn’t panic about you suddenly disappearing.

You and George would often talk about it over your lunch dates, you would learn more about your husband and how much he struggled when you were gone, and being able to talk about it made you closer to your best friend who was now your brother in law. You felt incredibly secure and loved by his family.

Through the months of November, December and January, you and Fred had been spending plenty of the winter evenings keeping one another warm; trying for a baby.

Pondering around the bathroom nervously while Fred was messing around in the living room trying to bake some muggle muffins, you picked up and test and smiled widely.

Walking into the kitchen you leaned against the door frame and smiled at Fred, watching him getting frustrated with the cooking book and measurements of ingredients.

“Getting annoyed are you, Mr or should I say Daddy Weasley?” You smirked.

Fred startled by your voice pulled a questioning face at you “Daddy Weasley?”

You pulled the test from your back pocket and waved it in your hand, beaming at your husband.

“Wait...you’re?” Fred’s had a surprised expression on his face, you could see the tears forming in his eyes.

You nodded your head and could feel your tears forming too “positive.”

I know you deserve much better

Remember the time I told you the way that I felt

And that I'd be lost without you and never find myself

Let's hold onto each other above everything else

Start over, start over

“I cannot believe he’s got you up the bloody duff!” Your dad scolded, helping you around your new house.

“It was a mutual decision, we decided we wanted to, together.” You defended your husband, finally sitting down on the sofa to catch your breath.

“Well now you’ve got his kid no other man will want you and you’re tied to him forever now, whether you like it or not.”

You sighed, starting to feel frustrated and angry. Fred could head your fathers cruel words and felt like he would never fit your fathers expectations.

“When will you realise that me and Fred are happy together? I know he hurt me and I know that you’re upset about it, but it’s been years! Please can you just forgive him, dad? I did.” You pleaded, the added on stress causing the baby to kick out inside of you.

Sitting in front of Fred in the bath, he washed your hair for you with a cup as you couldn’t bend all the way back from your big bump.

“He’ll never accept me” Fred muttered in a low sad voice.

You have Fred a sorrowful smile “I don’t care Fred. He wants me to be happy and I am.” You covered your eyes from the flowing water.

Fred felt relieved knowing that your father wouldn’t influence the way you felt about him, knowing that your love for him was pure.

“I love you” he whispered, massaging your scalp.

“I love you too” you smiled, feeling another kick “and this little one loves you too”

I'll do whatever it takes

To turn this around

I know what's at stake

I know that I've let you down

And if you give me a chance

Believe that I can change

I'll keep us together

Whatever it takes

You and your four year old daughter were in the garden potting some beautiful plants in your parents garden, your father was sitting with Fred in the kitchen, the two of them watching you and the little one.

Your father smiled, his granddaughter patting the soil and cheering as she planted some more seeds, her long and beautiful ginger hair flowing in the wind.

“You’ve created a beautiful little family, you and my daughter.” Your father said to Fred, taking a sip of his drink.

Fred shuffled in his seat, the tension in the air was nothing short of awkward but it meant a lot to him knowing that his father in law finally had something good to say.

“You’ve proven yourself to me, Fred. I’m sorry it took so long for me to warm up to you and the idea of you being with my daughter, when your little girl gets older you’ll understand why. Seeing how happy she is, having that little one in my life - you can’t put a price on that.”

Your father extended his hand out to Fred, slowly smiling at him. Fred paused for a moment and shook his hand, smiling back at him.

“Shall we go out there and help?” Fred smiled “they look like they could use some help.”

Your father nodded his head “I would like, Fred.”

The two of them walked outside together, joining you and your daughter. Looking up at your father and Fred smiling at one another you felt your heart flutter, the two men in your life that you loved more than anything were finally on the same page.

You could finally move forward as a family, the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

You were Fred’s girl.

[memes-saved-me]

Five Days

Inspired by (Harringrove mafia au)

Warnings: Mention of heavy drug and alcohol use, angst, mentioned abuse. (Also sorry, there's no "Continue reading" on mobile)

~

Five days. It had been five days since Billy Hargrove had dropped off the face of the earth, again. He'd done this before, disappeared without warning only to be found days later in some back alley drugged out of his mind, on god knows what. Except, this time Steve was involved.

Three days it had taken Steve to search all of San Diego for his boss's spoilt lost son. For three days he drove down every street, down every alley, searched every known drug den before he realised where he'd be. His own god damn apartment.

Being who he is, or rather who he is the son of Billy lived in secret locations throughout the city, all of which he had taken Steve to for secret hook ups that ended in him sneaking out a window and getting the bus home to avoid suspicion.

For four days Steve had covered for the idiot. Doing his jobs, lying for him. He knew how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found out but he also knew what Neil Hargrove, the Boss did when Billy didn't follow orders.

When he pushed open the front door the smell of the inside hit the back of his throat instantly, a small gag escaped Steve's lips. It was dark, so dark he couldn't see anything inside.

As he closed the door behind him he switched on the hallway light to see a pile of sick right at his feet, a trail of dismay leading to the living room doorway. Stepping over the puke, the clothes and the smashed vase he made it to the end of the hall to find a turned over coffee table and broken glass everywhere.

"Billy?". He called out but no one answered. There was a lamp on in the corner, illuminating the mess of a room. That's when he saw it, the kitchen counter. "For fuck sake". He said out loud as he touched the white powder to his tongue. Not recorgnising the taste, which only made him more anxious to find Billy.

"Who the fuck is in my house?". He heard someone slur from the next room.

"Billy?". Steve followed the grunts until he found him. Lying on his back beside the bed, covered in his own vomit and whatever he'd been drinking, by the look of the apartment it had been a lot.

"Oh, it's you. What you doin' here, beautiful?". Billy was smiling but his eyes were barely open. His fingers were gripping some bottle of Bourbon.

"Fucking hell, Billy". Steve exclaimed bending down to help him up. "What the fuck is this?".

"What? Don't like a little party?". He chuckled but it was hallow, a laugh that was there to try and convince himself that everything was fine.

"You've been in here for five days?". Steve was trying to get him to walk but his legs weren't cooperating, in the finish he threw Billy over his shoulder and headed for the bathroom.

"Five days? Broke my record". He didn't fight when Steve pulled off his shirt and socks. "Wanna have some fun, pretty boy?". He grabbed at Steve as he tried to kiss him but Steve pushed him into the bathtub before he could reach his lips.

"You can't be doing this, babe. Your dad will actually kill you". Steve almost couldn't look at the man infront of him. His eyes barely able to focus on him as he pulled off his underwear, threw them straight in the bin and turned the shower on.

"Hopefully". Billy didn't react to the water hitting him. Didn't flinch.

"What the fuck is that suppose to mean?". Steve snapped, pulling the shower curtain out of the way. He didn't reply so Steve took a cup from the sink and threw the water in his face.

"Fuck". He finally opened his eyes and for the first time Steve saw some recognition in them. "Why am I in the bath?".

"Because you're a fucking idiot who goes on five day benders". Steve was pouring more water over him trying to get the stench off him.

"Shit. Shit, my dad is gonna kill me". Billy sat up and wiped his face.

"I had to lie to his fucking face, Billy". Steve helped him stand up, holding his arms as he stood there trying to process it all. "He doesn't know you're like this. I made sure of it. I can't watch him do-. I can't stand there and do nothing like last time. Not again".

"I know. Thank you". Billy was reaching out to rest his wet hand on Steve's cheek but it was shaking. Shaking to the point he pulled it back. "I'm sorry".

"Why?". Steve helped him out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his shoulders.

"What?".

"Why get shitfaced on whatever is on the counter and drink yourself into a coma?". It became quite apparent that whatever strength Billy had left he had used stepping down and staying somewhat steady.

He didn't answer, this time he was staring. Not at anything in particular but his eyes were focused on something that Steve couldn't see.

Steve lifted Billy up again, bridal style into the bedroom and put him down on the bed. He threw a blanket over him and sat on the edge. "He finally made me do it".

Steve took his hand in both of his and looked at the blond's tired expression.

"He said if I didn't he'd destroy everything I care about because if I didn't get made I'd be an embarrassment". Billy finally turned to Steve as he lay looking up at him.

"Shit". Steve looked away but felt Billy's free hand pull his face back to his. "Why didn't you call me?".

"I don't know" He rested his hand on Steve's knee. "All I remember is doing it then I'm shutting the front door and throwing up all over the rug. I think I downed something that kicked in real fucking quick because after that it's blank".

"Jesus Christ, Billy". They sat looking at eachother in the dim light of the cold bedroom for a moment. "You said before that you hoped your dad would kill you".

"I mean, if he'd just done it you wouldn't be dealing with this right now". Billy sat up and pulled his hands back to himself.

"Shut up. I'd rather be cleaning sick off your face than you in the ground, babe". Steve lifted Billy's face and rested his forehead to his. "Don't ever think I'm better off without you. Without us".

Billy smiled. "What did I do to deserve you, Bambi?".

"Get some sleep, we'll deal with all that shit tomorrow". Billy lay back down but this time Steve curled himself around him, curling his hair between his fingers as he fell asleep.

Steve didn't sleep of course, the worry of someone busting through the door to find them like that, to find the apartment like that was too much for him to just drift off. He knew what they were doing wouldn't last, that Billy would either marry to keep up appearances or that his father would find out. Leading to one or both of them dead.

Except in that moment as he felt the familiar heat of Billy against his front, saw the way he curled himself into a ball so tightly and gripped his hand as if he'd disappear if he let go and heard his breathing slow down and soften he didn't care about all that. He knew that in the morning they'd have to face it but right now it was just them, just them in a quiet trashed apartment where they could be themselves. Be them.

~

Part 2

A little angsty I know but if people like this I might continue it properly. Hope you enjoyed!

[gwoongi]

𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗈 𝖾𝗀𝗀 ♡ yoongi

𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗈 𝖾𝗀𝗀 min yoongi / reader genre: mafia + parent au, fluff words: 2907

“Good day?” you ask, pulling back from his neck with your arms still around him. Yoongi settles his hands just below your ribs and looks at you, sweetly pressing a kiss to your mouth. He doesn’t pull away too far, your hands threading in the hair above the back of his neck. “Better now.”

a/n: requested by @slowlyandrogynouskryptonite. thank you for requesting! still working on the other 2 :) if you have a request pls use my ask box + be mindful of my busy school + life schedule!  request: Can i request a scenario with Taehyung, Yoongi, Jungkook or Jimin that the boys (they are very emotional) went to he’s house to visit his wife or girlfriend and his new born child. She is so tired (because of the recently birth) and he would be so protective and be complete in love with his family! Please make that the child is sleeping in his neck or somthing.

warnings: mentions of the mafia. title inspired by the finding nemo soundtrack.

“So what? I want those files on my desk by tomorrow morning, or else you’ll be out of a job and two legs short. Do you understand me?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, something out of a habit he picked up from his father when he was younger. Presumably something was being said on the phone that he didn’t like, something that very few men in Yoongi’s line of work could say and get away with saying. With a long overdue sigh, Yoongi lifted his arm up to the door of the car and stared at the passing scenery, at how the city smudged into flickers of light, twinkling silvers and burnt oranges, the distant burst of colour from fireworks for somebody’s birthday.

The call doesn’t last for much longer; he said what he had to and threatened who he needed to, finally tossing his phone across the leather interior of the black Audi. From the front seat, Pongo glanced in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows. Of course, his real name wasn’t Pongo; it was something of a safety precaution, a hidden identity because once you’re in the Fireflower Mafia of Daegu, you’re never really safe. Just like how Yoongi wasn’t the name he went by during work hours- to his members and his superiors, Min Yoongi was Agust, branded worldwide as Agust D, considering his brother in the Busan branch had adopted the awfully similar Agust B, dependant on location.

“Busy day at work, sir?” Pongo asks. He was old, aged around the eyes with cobwebbed wrinkles strung across his skin. Yoongi admired Pongo’s excessive record of hard work, never missing a day of driving him around like some rich kid, which, in theory, he was. He’d worked for it, debatably, but he was still rich. Comfortable, with a few zeros in the bank for his own pleasure and for-

“Yes,” Yoongi replies tiredly, because now that he’s safe and private in the company of Pongo, he was now Yoongi, Pongo now Jimong. “It’s alright now, though.”

Jimong makes a noise of agreement through closed and thin lips. “Couldn’t agree more, sir!”

“Any plans for this new year?” Yoongi asks conversationally. He knows that his house is coming soon, just past these dense woods and near the private estate, filled with houses he owned secretly, inhabited by people who didn’t know any better. He liked it better that way, it was easier that way. Rival gangs never came looking in unsuspecting suburbs, which is why it works.

“Oh,” Jimong replies, awfully surprised that Yoongi’s bothered to ask. “Oh, yes, sir! Me and the wife are going to the Maldives. Can you quite believe it? Saved some money between the two of us, and we’re finally getting to go. A couple bloody years late, I may add. Ha. Yourself?”

Yoongi smiles in passing, listening but also vacant in his own headspace. Any lingering worries pressing down have suddenly vanished, somehow shifted away as the car rolls up in the driveway of a house near the end of the cul de sac, not directly in the centre of the curve but a little to the right, out of the way. Inconspicuous.

“That sounds lovely,” Yoongi replies honestly with a smile to match. He likes Jimong, likes that he’s happy and getting to do things he previously couldn’t have afforded doing. “As for me...I’ll be spending it quietly. With my family.”

Jimong likes that greatly. He looks at Yoongi like he would his son, a victim of The River Dragon’s crime within Seoul where he had attended University. Behind those thick frames that made his eyes bulge like a fish, he blinked once or twice and nodded, as if approving.

“That’s the way to go,” Jimong laughed. The car pauses, halts forward slightly and Yoongi reaches to grab his phone off the seat before it slides. Before stepping out, he slides his blazer back over his arms and smiles once more at Jimong. He doesn’t expect a payment, but Yoongi always gives extra, slipping a few notes into his hands as money for the Maldives. He pulls open the car door and steps out, turning back to close it when Jimong winds down the window with a fatherly look. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Yoongi bows his head as thanks. He pulls back from the car and steps up onto the pavement and Jimong begins to drive away, the window safely back up and his flat cap twisted forwards, like a disguise, a costume for a fancy dress party. Like always, Yoongi waits until Jimong’s a bit further down the vein of the road before heading inside, taking no chances. Across the street, a neighbour smiles at Yoongi, unfazed by the bitter December wind as they stand wrapped in a cardigan, a cigarette balancing between two fingers with their head tilted up towards the stars. Yoongi acknowledges them, politely, because he can’t afford to make enemies anymore, and he steps backwards onto the grass of his front lawn and towards his front door, a sunflower yellow as promised.

Inside, it smells like humbugs, the faint smell of baby powder from the back bathroom. It’s two in the morning, the clock tells him so, and as quietly as he can muster, Yoongi kicks off his shoes and steps into slippers laid out for him. The kitchen light is still on, but nobody is up; Yoongi doesn’t like when you wait up for him. He likes to get home and unwind in his own way, pouring a mug of coffee and sitting out on the back door step, enjoying the silence that the neighbourhood provides. From where the house is, Yoongi can see the lights of the city but hear no sounds- there are no party cries, or loud sirens, or gunshots. He likes it here, with the sound of cicadas and reckless night birds, the neighbour’s hot tub bubbling with quiet laughter and clinks of wine glasses. He does just that- pours himself a coffee into an obnoxious mug with Iron Man’s face on it, and takes it out onto the back step.

The door pushes open slightly, the breeze smuggling in and blowing out a candle you must have lit before going to bed. He steps out to glance up at the back bedrooms, pleased as always by the sight of closed curtains and the golden nightlight in the room above the kitchen. Yoongi has some time to sit and drink his coffee, crack the discomfort out of his bones, for about three minutes, until a loud cry resonates through the house. Yoongi pauses for a moment, as if debating on what to do. Rising to his feet, Yoongi reaches to pull the door back and locks it when it’s closed. The coffee is too cold to drink, he must have left it to cool for too long and he tips it down the sink, running the evidence away and putting the cup on the windowsill. He hasn’t got the time to wash it up, as he steps out of the kitchen and towards the staircase.

Climbing, Yoongi yawns, feeling the tiredness falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. It was probably the warmth of the house that did it, in contrast to the December bite outside. Once he’s ascended to the top, he walks briskly down the corridor and past the master bedroom, instead heading towards the room above the kitchen, decorated with bees and flowers and a little sign made out of cardboard letters spelling “SUNHEE”. He smiles to himself and pushes the door open gently.

The room smells new, and faintly like piss and shit, the disinfectant smell of marshmallow from a candle lit above her dresser. Yoongi wants to scold the idea of a candle, but he knows it’s safe- it’s one of those candles safe for babies to smell, because he helped buy it, picked out the scent. In the crib, tangled with blankets, Min Sunhee wails for attention, her little feet smacking the air violently. Yoongi wastes no time moving to her crib and peering inside. From the bulge underneath her bum, it’s evident she’s soiled herself, like all babies do, and cried to herself out of pity.

Yoongi coos, seeing her face all squishy and cute in the crib. She looks like him, in the best way, with the round and small nose but eyes like her Mommy, rounder and attentive, almost having the nerve to look like Jeongguk or Taehyung. She fists the blanket with fury, angry that she’s pooped in her sleep! Yoongi smiles.

“Oh, little girl, what are you like, hm?” he asks, in an elevated voice reserved for babies only. You liked to tease him about that, whenever he held her in the hospital and spoke to her in pouts. “Ah, let Daddy help you out of this mess, okay? Okay, it’s okay, don’t cry, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you.”

He carefully collects her from the blankets and hoists her into the air. Now that Dad’s home, she’s not crying as much, just staring at him with sniffles and wide eyes filled with tears. He wants to yell with adoration, but he knows you’re sleeping in the room next door, exhausted from work throughout the day. He respects that, and knows that it’s harder for you, especially since you only gave birth a few weeks ago. She’s just passed one month.

Yoongi holds her so that he doesn’t make the mess worse, with one hand grabbing the mat used for nappy changing and tossing it onto the floor, and it sinks flat ready for Sunhee to lie on. A part of him wants to be nervous, because as of this moment, you’ve always been on poop duty, because babies poop several times a day, he’s horrified to discover. For some strange reason, he had never thought about that, not even when you sat him down with a nervous expression and told him that you were expecting. Regardless, he does his damn best, because he’s Min Yoongi for crying out loud, and he’s not going to let a nappy get the best of him. With wipes and baby powder on the scene, Yoongi cleans around the mess, discarding the nappy and replacing it with a clean one that Sunhee gargles at, her legs kicking wildly just to get a kick out of her Dad’s frustration.

“Just a while longer, angry girl,” Yoongi huffs quietly. “You’re so fussy! I don’t know how Mom does this…”

Eventually he gets the hang of it, changing the nappy within minutes and when Sunhee is finally clean, she curls into herself cutely and kicks her feet again. Yoongi suspects that she’s happy, thanking him for cleaning her, and he picks her up to balance on his hip as he carries the nappy secured in a little bag to the dustbin outside. Sunhee likes to be carried around the house, even at night when it’s scary. She stares at Yoongi’s face the entire time, her mouth hanging open like a little Pikachu. He makes sure to lock the door, and wash his hands, and then carries his daughter back upstairs to her bedroom.

Yoongi holds her for a while, because around work and unexpected phone calls, Yoongi feels as though he doesn’t have a lot of time alone with her. She whimpers, stuffing her face into Yoongi’s neck as he rocks her slightly, his arms wrapped around her and holding her up underneath her butt. As soft as silk, Yoongi finds his voice and whispers to her, pausing when he hears the faint ambience of the Finding Nemo soundtrack playing on a little monitor next to her crib.

“Daddy missed you,” he tells her quietly, his lips to her crown. “Mm, yes he did. He did! He missed you so much. Daddy wanted to spend all day with you and Mommy, but he had to go to work.”

Sunhee, of course, says nothing. Perhaps she is sleeping, buried into his neck, most likely drooling on his Alexander McQueen blazer. Course, he can’t complain. He longs for moments like this, flickers of domesticity that he misses out on when he’s busy at work. He could tell Sunhee everything, because she can’t understand what he’s saying anyway, not just yet. But, he wants to keep her as far away from his work as he possibly can. He tried to with you, too, but one photograph proved that it was no longer possible. The gang only got a glimpse of your hair, short and blonde at the time, and since then, you had dyed it dark, grown it out, wearing your own costume for the public.

Yoongi rocks her for a little bit longer, making the most of every moment when he looks over his shoulder as arms snake around his waist. From there, he sees your face, sleepy, pushed in between his shoulder blades. He can just about make out your hair, see the baby blue stripes of your bed shirt.

“Hi, baby.”

He hears you move behind him and press a kiss on his blazer. He hums quietly, pushing back into your arms as if returning the hug. “Hi, yourself. What’you doing up? It’s late.”

“Heard her,” you reply around a yawn. “Heard you come up and get her. Got impatient, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Yoongi says quietly. “Is she sleeping?”

You move to look at Sunhee, humming with confirmation. “Like a rock.”

“Hm, good,” Yoongi answers, holding her for one moment longer before returning her back to her crib. He sets her down like a delicate thing, because she is delicate, and tiny and light like a bag of sugar, and gently puts the blanket over her feet, because he read somewhere that if your feet got cold then so would you. The windows are shut and the soundtrack loops once more, that strong smell of urine gone with the replacement of a cleansing spray he found on the dresser. Then he turns back to you, inviting you into a hug that you accept. With one face out his neck another is added, as you rise yourself up onto your toes to circle your arms around Yoongi’s neck. He’s warm, and smells faintly like whisky and fire. Nothing unusual, if anything better than the smell of sweat or blood.

“Good day?” you ask, pulling back from his neck with your arms still around him. Yoongi settles his hands just below your ribs and looks at you, sweetly pressing a kiss to your mouth. He doesn’t pull away too far, your hands threading in the hair above the back of his neck.

“Better now,” Yoongi admits quietly. “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

You lead the way, slowly dragging your weight to the bed and sinking down on the sheets as Yoongi b-lines to the bathroom. He looks at himself for a long moment in the mirror, rubbing at his face and brushing his teeth. Yoongi doesn’t stare for too long, he doesn’t like vanity or the way he looks after a day of work. Back inside the bedroom, you’ve settled underneath the white sheets, waiting for him to join you. He does so, after dressing slowly and when he gets into bed, you shuffle close to him, inhaling his warmth. Yoongi likes to be held, and knows you do too. It’s little luxuries like this that he thinks other people take for granted. Lately, these moments and words shared in whispers are the only moments he gets alone with you. Gradually, he learned to live life in gasps, taking what he could when he could.

“You look tired, baby. Try and get some sleep,” you murmur, kissing his chest as you cuddle into his skin. Yoongi grunts as if you’ve said something funny.

“Wanna talk to you,” he insists. “How was your day, good?”

“Mm,” you yawn. “Tell you about it in the morning. You’ll be here, won’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s my day off, I’ll get Namjoon to wear my shoes for the day,” Yoongi promises. “Can finally spend some time with you and the little one.”

A hum is breathed into his chest and he looks down, noticing that you’re not looking back at him and your eyes are closed, your cheek smushed against his cotton tee. “That’s good then.”

He thinks you’ve drifted off, as you say nothing else for a few moments. Yoongi stares intently in the darkness, making shapes out of the little dots when you stir once more.

“I love you,” you mutter. “You’re a good man.”

That’s usually what he needs at night, the reassurance that what he’s done throughout the day was worth it.

“Thank you, baby girl. I love you too.”

Finally, when you’ve drifted off in his arms and the faint sound of snores meet his eyes, Yoongi pulls you closer, as if it were even possible. It’s here that he realises what he has now, and how easy it is for him to lose it. The way he holds you tighter now isn’t out of love but instead fear, fear that one day, his bad mistakes may come back to bite him in the ass, hurting the people he loves most.

He realises what he has and how he’ll do anything and everything to prevent himself from losing it, no matter what it takes.

[nightwving]

i was tagged by @mollyweasly​ to answer these questions, tysm!! i did most of them the other night but got distracted and am posting them now lmao

1. on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now? idk, i’ll say maybe a 7 or so? honestly i’m feeling pretty decent for the first time in a while

2. describe yourself in a hashtag? #ohfuck

3. if you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be? that’s tough... i would never want to actually subject anyone to the horror or doing that with me, but i guess either tom holland or sebastian stan??

4. if your life was a musical, what would the marquee say? “a juxtaposed comedic disaster”

5. what’s one thing people don’t know about you? shit man i usually overshare pretty much everything, but i guess one thing would be that i got hit straight in the head by a golf ball while on a course with my parents when i was in middle school?? it came from way far out but miraculously didn’t seem to crack my skull or give me too bad of a concussion. my dad said it hit so hard that it sounded like it hit the pavement. now i have severe anxiety near golf courses and when things are flying near my head in general lmfao

6. what’s your wake up ritual? i check my phone real quick and then immediately go to pee and brush my teeth. depending on the day and whether or not i’d be late for class back when things were normal, i might shower lol. then either get dressed real quick and go to class or, these days, play video games or get on my computer

7. what’s your go to bed ritual? i’ll usually wrap up whatever i’m doing, make sure my fan is on, lock my door (when i’m at school), strip, take some melatonin, lay down, set my alarm, plug in and then get on my phone for a while until i (hopefully) get sleepy

8. what’s your favorite time of day? i love the evening around sunset or so but i also just love the night in general, especially when things get quiet in the am

9. your go to for having a good laugh? tiktok

10. dream country to visit? ummm... honestly canada 😂 or germany or something

11. what’s the biggest surprise you’ve ever had? last spring i spontaneously won an award in the department that i work for at school because my friends insisted that i get one for all the work i do on the newspaper and for my work study and stuff. they had to work some stuff around because i’m not actually a major and that’s who the awards are for, but they all agreed to give it to me at the ceremony and i was NOT expecting it whatsoever. it was one of the most amazing moments ever especially since i struggle with finding a niche and having faith in myself

12. heels or flats/sneakers? sneakers!!

13. vintage or new? i love vintage but that shit can be hard for me to find

14. who do you want to write your obituary? probably a friend idk i feel like my family would say some dumb corny shit lmao

15. style icon? i have quite a few but slash or duff mckagan from 80s GNR would be a couple ok don’t judge me. and john bender from the breakfast club

16. what are three things you cannot live without? internet, my ps4, and friends

17. what’s one ingredient you put in everything? chili or garlic powder

18. what 3 people living or dead would you want to make dinner for? i don’t even make dinner for myself lmao but if i really had the motivation, probs stan lee, carrie fisher, and my tiny son josh bassett

19. what’s your biggest fear in life? being institutionalized against my will and/or death before i’m ready/feel like i’ve done something worthwhile.

20. window or aisle seat? depends tbh

21. what’s your current tv obsession? i’m not really on a kick with it right now, but i’m slowly making my way through the clone wars in chronological order.

22. favorite app? tiktok

23. secret talent? uhh... i guess a lot of people would assume that i’m not athletic because of my weight but i’m actually naturally pretty sporty and can still be when i really feel like it

24. most adventurous thing you’ve ever done in your life? well i’ve tried to summon spirits in multiple different places, attempted to break into an asylum with my ex, done a pregnancy test with an old friend in a burger king bathroom... idk if those count as “adventurous” but that’s about all i got as of right now in my life

25. how would you define yourself in three words? eclectic, resilient, and real

26. favorite piece of clothing you own? my denim jacket

27. a must have clothing item that everyone should have? also denim jacket lol

28. a superpower you would want? i debate this often... i think shapeshifting would be cool but also telekinesis

29. what’s inspiring you in life right now? movies and stuff i guess

30. best piece of advice you’ve received? probably that it’s okay to do things at your own pace and to not be so hard on yourself when you aren’t doing things the same way as others

31. best advice you’d give your teenage self? wear some better fuckin clothes lmao

32. a book everyone should read? bruh idk i don’t really read anymore, harry potter i guess 😂

33. what would you like to be remembered for? being honest and real but also someone that would’ve been there for you, or to have a good laugh with

34. how do you define beauty? beauty is like something that fills you with wonder and a sense of life or something

35. what do you love most about your body? uh... i have nice legs i guess 😂

36. best way to take a rest/decompress? find something that distracts you and makes you forget about all the shit. get lost in another world in movies/music/etc or just laugh with someone about anything

37. favorite place to view art? i like seeing it in the studios at school when people are still working on it

38. if your life was a song, what would the title be? “somethin’ else”

39. if you could master one instrument, what would it be? ugh i would love to be a full blow pianist but i ain’t got the patience for that. i made it through a few periods of lessons throughout my life and three classes in college but i don’t have the capacity to do more than that. but i would also love to get even better with my voice. i’ve been taking classical lessons for the past couple of years but quit recently because of the anxiety that studio recitals and master classes give me. music major shit is rough

40. if you had a tattoo, where would it be? i have one janky one behind my right ear that i got when i was 16, it’s a bird. but if i wasn’t a fatass bitch, i’d like to get more in different places on my body

41. dolphins or koalas? dolphins

42. what’s your spirit animal? it used to be a coyote according to a quiz years ago lol but it’s probably something different now

43. best gift you’ve ever received? probs my shitty first car that my dad got me last summer. but it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing

44. best gift you’ve given? shit i can’t even remember. i love doing personal little gifts for my friends. ACTUALLY i’d probably say the playlist i made for my friend last christmas because listening to music late at night was our thing

45. what’s your favorite board game? secret hitler is the BOMB

46. what’s your favorite color? yellow

47. least favorite color? probs brown

48. diamond or pearls? diamonds

49. drugstore makeup or designer? drugstore bitch, i’m broke

50. blow-dry or air-dry? air dry preferably but i’ll blow dry if i need to

51. pilates or yoga? neither lmao

52. coffee or tea? coffee unless it’s sweet tea

53. what’s the weirdest word in the english language? all of them

54. dark chocolate or milk chocolate? dark

55. stairs or elevators? elevators bih i got bad knees

56. summer or winter? winter, FUCK the sun

57. you are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat? potatoes

58. a dessert you don’t like? a lot of things, i eat like a picky five year old. but i don’t like anything minty

59. a skill you’re working on mastering? singing. but also design-y stuff and videography

60. best thing to happen to you today? i went on a short walk with my mom earlier and there’s always a man across the street from us who sits on his porch every evening and sings with his guitar. i love it

61. worst thing to happen to you today? sitting through my zoom class lmao

62. best compliment you’ve ever received? idk, just when someone has generally called me beautiful? that makes me feel really nice

63. favorite smell? i love the smell of cookies or brownies in the oven. i’m also weird af and love strange things like basement smell and gasoline. also sharpies

64. hugs or kisses? hugs probably

65. if you made a documentary, would it be about? idk probably something about a niche community/town or some cult-y shit

66. last piece of content you consumed that made you cry? avengers: endgame

67. lipstick or lipgloss? i don’t usually wear either very much but probably lipstick

68. sweet or savory? savory

69. girl crush? ana de armas or margot robbie

70. how do you know your in love? i feel like you’d do anything for that person even if it hurt you, and you think about them all the time and want to protect/be there for them

71. a song you can listen to on repeat? i usually avoid listening to things on repeat, but if i had to choose something... idk maybe africa by toto 😂

72. if you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be? probs someone like elon musk or bill gates to see what it’s like to be that fucking rich and successful

73. what are you most excited for about this time in your life? just enjoying it and maybe honing some skills with all this extra time. also watching some movies on my watchlist

i’m tagging @verafarmiga, @northuldrra, @tmhnks, @spaceoddly, @breaksfastclub, and anyone else who wants to do it!! but feel free to ignore or just laugh at my answers

[iamseeress]

Let’s Stay Right Here (in this moment)

In their third year in UA, Izuku confesses to Katsuki and is rejected. Life moves on. Four years later, it is Katsuki's turn to feel something for Izuku.

A Bakudeku Flower exchange entry. A belated gift for @ardentknight. Fic inspired by the flower Morning Glory, set in canon universe. They signify love unrequited, love in vain, mortality of life. I didn't want to do a deathfic so we get pining instead. Hope you enjoy!

Also in AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715810

Izuku doesn’t touch Katsuki.

They’ve been sharing the same flat for close to 3 years now and Izuku still takes great care not to intrude in Katsuki’s personal space.

Izuku rarely goes into Katsuki’s bedroom and never unbidden. When Katsuki is on the couch, Izuku takes the armchair. If Izuku is already on the couch, he moves to one end, giving Katsuki enough space to sprawl himself in, moving his legs so they don’t accidentally nudge each other.

There are no casual touches over breakfast, no unthinking sliding of fingers over skin as they share the kitchen to cook or wash dishes. Izuku would smile, give an easy laugh and always keep his hands to himself, making sure his shoulders don’t brush Katsuki’s as they pass each other in the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Katsuki thinks he wouldn’t have minded so much except that he sees how Izuku is with his other friends. Uraraka can usually be found plastered against Izuku’s side, Izuku’s arm lightly around her shoulder, looking down at her with a fond smile. He routinely stands beside Todoroki or Iida, close enough to rub shoulders, giving subtle nudges every now and then.

Even beyond his usual circle, Izuku is not stingy with his physical presence. He enthusiastically returns Kirishima’s bro hugs, doesn’t shrug off Kaminari’s arm when he slings it over Deku’s wide shoulders, and blushingly accepts kisses on his cheek from Aoyama and their female classmates.

He shakes hands, clasps arms, bumps shoulders, sits thigh and hip touching whoever hero is beside him.

But he doesn’t touch Katsuki.

Yes, they spar and body contact is hot, fierce and all sweaty. They wrestle on the gym mat and Izuku’s massive thighs would fold around Katsuki’s, Izuku’s crotch to Katsuki’s ass all but grinding against each other as Izuku struggles to pin Katsuki face down on the mat. Izuku’s broad chest firm against Katsuki’s heaving back, holding his body down, Izuku’s breath hot against the side of Katsuki’s neck.

After, depending on who got up first, Izuku would reach down to help Katsuki up or accept Katsuki’s outstretched hand. But that would be it. No congratulatory pats on the back, no playful slaps on the butt, no brushing of arms as they strip off their sweaty clothes and head naked to the shower.

Sometimes, instances that Katsuki could count in the fingers of his one hand, Izuku would scrub his back for him. These would be days when Katsuki was feeling particularly lazy and self-indulgent and he’d say something like ‘wash my back, nerd?’ and Izuku would smile and nod and join him in the bathroom fully clothed and do so.

He always left before Katsuki moved to soak in the hot tub and he never asked Katsuki to return the favor.

Katsuki knows why Izuku doesn’t touch him. What he doesn’t know is when he began to be bothered by it.

One spring morning, during their last year in UA a lifetime and a half ago, Izuku had confessed to Katsuki. They were at the rooftop of Heights Alliance, by the wall where a trellis of morning glories grew, the red purple flowers in full bloom.

‘I like you, Kacchan. Really like you. Will you go out with me?’

The words surprised Katsuki, which irritated him, and the open mouth of surprise was soon replaced by a scowl.

Katsuki’s ‘Fuck, Deku. I don’t feel the same way’ was snarled instead of the polite but firm response that their course on public relations advised their class to use.

Katsuki should have left, to avoid the messy bits and give Izuku privacy. But he didn’t. This was Izuku. He owed it to him to acknowledge his feelings, even if he couldn’t accept them.

Izuku had cried as expected but also laughed through his tears, which was unexpected. Six feet tall and brawny, and he wiped his tears and snot away using the sleeves of his shirt like a 4 year old, sniffling and chuckling at the same time. Katsuki never quite understood why Izuku was laughing then. He didn’t find anything particularly amusing in their situation.

‘I didn’t really think you’d say ‘yes’, Kacchan,’ Izuku said softly after the initial bout of crying had tapered off.

‘Then why the fuck did you even ask?’ Katsuki asked, honestly confused and a bit irritated.

‘So I can know for sure. Now I can give up on these useless feelings. Thank you, Kacchan.’

Izuku’s smile wasn’t quite as wide as Katsuki was used to, and his green eyes were still wet with tears, but it was genuine all the same.

Katsuki would never admit it but he had been nervous the next day. He wasn’t sure how Izuku would react once the tears had dried up and the rejection and heartbreak settles in. He didn’t know how he himself should behave.

And because he is Katsuki, the nervousness bled to irritation. He had only just gotten used to them being friends again, only been a year since he had overcome the reflex irritation he feels at Izuku’s presence. He likes where they are now and was both anxious and irritated at the idea that they may be back to ignoring each other because stupid Izuku needs space to deal with his unreciprocated feelings.

But other than being unusually subdued for some days - less fidgeting, quieter, smaller smiles - Izuku hadn’t changed their routine. Katsuki still got his good morning, Kacchans (albeit less exuberant), they still ate lunch on separate tables, partnered for training drills, went to All Might for tea and spar, shared notes at the common room.

Yaoyorozu and Uraraka both commented on Izuku’s subdued demeanor but that had been it. No excessive crying, no scenes, no drama.

Katsuki wouldn’t notice that Izuku had stopped touching him until a couple of months later. He would note it but think it unimportant. They still spent time together, still worked well together. If this is how Izuku chose to cope, Katsuki will not call him on it.

Izuku had confessed, Katsuki had rejected him, and life moved on just the same.

Katsuki hadn’t immediately moved out of his parents house right after graduation. His dad was an excellent cook and it was nice not to worry about running a household while he got settled into pro hero work.

But living back home as an adult after 3 years of living away chafed. And when he comes home at ass hours of the morning all singed and battered, he could do without his parents’ cloying concern and worry.

A weekend of looking at apartment listings and he came to the conclusion that he will need a housemate. Everything was either too small or too expensive.

It wasn’t a problem. Katsuki had liked the set-up in the UA dorms. Common areas but separate bedrooms. People who knew what he was going through and wouldn’t bat an eye at any of his injuries because they probably had one too. He won’t come home to an empty apartment but won’t be forced to socialize because everyone knows he’s in bed by 9pm if he can help it.

Katsuki really only considered one person. While he had graduated from UA with 19 other people claiming to be his friends, he knew he would only be able to tolerate living with one other.

They had come a long way, it took time to get there, but by the time they were 18 years old, between sharing dorm space, classes, internship, and train rides to go home some weekends, Katsuki is more likely to be disoriented that Izuku is not anywhere near him than be irritated by his presence. Now that they are pro heros, not seeing Izuku everyday was something he was surprised he had to get used to.

He spared a thought to Izuku’s confession not quite two years ago and shrugged. Izuku can always turn him down if he wants to. But the exercise was perfunctory. Katsuki never really thought Izuku would refuse.

And he didn’t.

Izuku was a near ideal housemate. He cleaned up after himself, he did his share of the chores. He’s mostly pathetic in the kitchen but effusive in his praise of Katsuki’s cooking.

Katsuki didn’t mind the muttering, the pro hero documentaries, the amount of hero merchandise that slowly filled their home.

He realized that living in the same dorm with 19 other people is different from sharing a home with just one. There is a forced intimacy in living together despite that they do not share bedrooms. Katsuki can now honestly say that no one knows him better than Izuku does. And he would bet even odds that he knows Izuku best as well.

There is a whiteboard in the kitchen detailing their patrol rotation schedule. Katsuki knows when Izuku is out with Yaoyorozu or Todoroki, Izuku knows when Katsuki is sparring with Uraraka. They text each other when one will be late getting home, when they land in the hospital. They are each other’s person to contact in case of emergency. They have fully executed powers of attorney to deal with matters, just in case.

Over time the lines blur. Izuku’s green curls now smelled of Katsuki’s shampoo, his tolerance for spicy foods higher than the average Japanese but still not quite Katsuki’s level. Izuku is a bit wider across the chest but their hoodies get interchanged anyway, smelling of the same powder fresh scent of their fabric conditioner.

They both still have bedrooms in their parents’ houses, kept tidy, ready for their return. But this two bedroom flat he shared with Izuku is now home to Katsuki more than the house he grew up in.

Izuku has a hickey.

It’s on the left side of his neck, on that sweet junction between neck and collar bone, directly below Izuku’s shy dimple. It’s a dark red purple blemish, the color of the morning glories that were in bloom when Izuku confessed to Katsuki those many years ago.

Katsuki can’t take his eyes off it. Can’t stop thinking about it.

Izuku had gotten in late last night. Katsuki had been asleep, but had awakened long enough to register that Izuku was now home, hearing steps on the hallway and water running in the bathroom, before allowing sleep to reclaim him.

Katsuki had been in the kitchen eating breakfast when Izuku came out of his room, yawning, hair a mess of green curls, one hand absently scratching his tummy under the soft thin shirt that had once been blue but was now more gray from years of washing.

And the hickey was there. Loud, lewd, lurid. A lascivious contrast to the sleepy sweet smile and morning, Kacchan.

Izuku headed for the pot of coffee on the kitchen counter, taking the hickey with him, giving Katsuki’s stalled brain time to restart itself.

If they had been back in UA, if it had been anybody else but Katsuki sitting there, Izuku would have placed a friendly hand on his shoulder as he passed by. But they were at home and it was Katsuki. Izuku went the long way around the island, navigating around Katsuki’s bulk.

Obviously, Izuku didn’t mind it if other people got close enough to touch him, close enough to suck long and hard, leaving marks on his smooth freckled skin.

As long as they’re not Katsuki.

Katsuki has never really thought about Izuku’s sex life.

Pro hero Deku is like one of those sculptures depicting Greek gods in their element. Powerfully muscled, broad at the shoulders, brimming with confidence. That was attractive enough in itself but topped with soft green curls and a megawatt smile and it was simply devastating.

Katsuki has seen thirsty fans literally throw themselves at hero Deku.

Except that Katsuki knows that one-night stands make Izuku feel nervous. Anxious. Unsatisfied.

More than anyone, Katsuki knows that while pro hero Deku might stand like a Titan that will not be moved, Izuku himself is a mass of insecurities, always trying to do his best because he thinks that he is not good enough. Katsuki tries not to think how much of that can be laid at his metaphorical doorstep, tries not to think how ironic it is that he now shares his literal doorstep with the same man he used to make fun of and belittle.

Izuku grew up in a loving, affectionate household but without the solid presence of a father. It was a combination that made him want to seek that same loving atmosphere with someone.

Every now and then Izuku would go on dates. As far as Katsuki could tell, none ever lasted longer than a handful of evenings out, Izuku claiming work stress as the culprit, extinguishing whatever initial interest there may have been.

If Katsuki sometimes had suspicions as to why Izuku’s dates never went anywhere more permanent, he kept it to himself.

In contrast, Katsuki doesn’t want a relationship, loving or otherwise. While he knew his parents loved him, and he could now see as a grown up that his parents personalities suited each other well, life with them growing up had been volatile, noisy, stressful.

Pro heroing is hard work and he only has enough time and energy in a day, none of which he intends to spend maintaining romantic ties with some extra. Every so often, he would cruise the bars and take his pick of willing participants for a couple of hours of sex at the nearest love hotel. Simple, uncomplicated.

He has never brought anyone back to the home he shared with Izuku, never talked about it. Through years of breakfast topics and lazy evening chats, he has never brought it up.

Except now, Izuku has a hickey.

It happened one night.

Their class got together for dinner and drinks at an izakaya, celebrating Kirishima and Ashido’s engagement. 12 of the original 20 were able to make it, a good turn-out for the event.

Katsuki had a good beer buzz going on. Izuku, as always, was barely tipsy. Unless he drinks fast enough to court alcohol poisoning, his accelerated metabolism will generally process the alcohol out of system as soon as he ingests it.

The hickey was long gone now. Izuku had gone to work with a plaster on his neck to hide it but it’s been several weeks and Katsuki knows that the mark has already faded.

Except in Katsuki’s dreams where they continue to bloom like morning glories.

Katsuki spent the evening watching how Izuku sat with one side pressed close to Todoroki. Every now and then, Izuku would look to his right and give Todoroki a beaming smile which would be returned with a slight shift of Todoroki’s lips that Katsuki knew passes for a smile.

Katsuki wonders if those same inexpressive lips could have been the ones to give Izuku the red purple marks, the idea souring the beer in his mouth.

He doesn’t question why it matters now when it never mattered before.

When they got home that night, Katsuki had alcohol in his veins for courage, an angry territorial beast growling in his chest, and a fire burning low in his belly that wanted, needed to know what Izuku’s skin tasted like.

He followed Izuku into the kitchen and crowded him against the counter, pressing his body close against Izuku’s. He looked into shocked green eyes and leaned in.

‘I’m gonna kiss you, Deku.’ It was a low growl of arousal, of possession. He waited, giving Izuku the chance to push him away. He didn’t. Katsuki saw the green pupils blow with arousal and dove in, swallowing Izuku’s moan for himself.

He kissed him deep, hungry for contact. He swiped with his tongue and felt Izuku’s whimper even as he sucked Katsuki inside his mouth. It was hot, heady. Katsuki never wants this to stop and at the same time he wants more.

They broke for air and Izuku was a frazzled mess, his curls tousled from Katsuki’s wandering hands, lips bruised from kissing, the green of his eyes mere rings around dark dilated pupils. Katsuki wanted to see him like this all the time.

‘Bed?’ he growled the question out, punctuating it with a press of his hips against Izuku’s, rubbing their erections together through their jeans.

Izuku’s moan went straight to Katsuki’s cock, clouding his brain.

‘Please, Kacchan. Just this once.’

They went to Katsuki’s bedroom which was nearer and had a slightly bigger bed. Katsuki was all for hastily tossed clothes and frenetic groping but Izuku slowed them down.

‘Shhh. We’ve got all night.’

Katsuki woke up to see Izuku fully dressed in street clothes, standing by his bedroom door.

'Ah, you’re awake, Kacchan. That’s good. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

Deku had been called to be part of an emergency rescue mission up north. A series of avalanches had trapped remote villages. Katsuki checked his phone but wasn’t surprised that he didn’t get the call. Ground Zero’s abilities are not well-suited for rescue work and the cold would only put him at a disadvantage. He’d be better suited to hold the city in the absence of other pro heroes.

Katsuki sat up in bed, still naked, a sheet over his hips but leaving his chest bare. Izuku came over, sat on the edge of the bed. He touched a red purple mark on Katsuki right chest, a match to the one on Izuku’s neck.

'Thank you for last night, Kacchan. But let’s not do it again. It’s not good for my heart.

Izuku’s smile wasn’t quite as wide as Katsuki was used to, and his green eyes were bright if a bit sad, but it was genuine all the same.

Katsuki sat in bed a long time, long after Izuku had walked out the door.

Izuku was gone for almost three weeks. The disaster was big enough that some international pro heroes had arrived to provide assistance. He came back exhausted, a tired smile and hi, Kacchan on his lips, before he fell into bed and stayed there for almost 24 hours. He woke up once to eat the soup Katsuki prepared and promptly fell back asleep.

Katsuki didn’t know what to expect now that Izuki is back for the first time since that night of mind-blowing sex.

What he didn’t expect was for nothing to change.

Izuku still laughed, still gave him sleepy sweet smiles with his good morning, Kacchan. Still didn’t touch him.

If Katsuki hadn’t lived it, if he hadn’t spent days looking at the red purple mark on his chest, if his dreams hadn’t been filled with images of Izuku moaning beneath him, Katsuki would have believed that nothing had happened between them.

He went to a bar and picked up a pretty girl with a bright smile. Two weeks later he was with a young man with deep red purple eyes. While Katsuki pounded the man on the mattress, all he could think was how his eyes were the color of the mark on Izuku’s freckled skin. Sex with strangers had become satisfying in an unsatisfying way. It relieves the itch without making it go away.

Throughout this, Izuku remained the same, unbothered by Katsuki’s presence when it was all Katsuki could do to stop himself from claiming Izuku’s lips and keep his hands to himself.

Six months later, Izuku had gone off on an international conference for pro heroes. Katsuki had been invited as well but his left leg was on a cast, an injury sustained in a villain attack. Izuku had been taking care of him and to his irritation, had conscripted Uraraka to check in on Katsuki while Izuku is away.

He was gone for 2 weeks. Their home felt empty without Izuku’s laughter. Uraraka thought he was bored with his forced inactivity. Katsuki didn’t bother to correct her.

The conference led to an invitation for pro hero Deku to come to the the US. A sort of mash-up between good will mission and training exercises. 4 months after he arrived, Izuku left again. He would be gone for a month this time.

Izuku texted, video called sometimes, always chirping happily about the amazing people he meets.

Katsuki thinks back to the time right after they graduated from UA, back before they began living together. He had felt Izuku’s absence then, disoriented at not seeing him everyday.

It was nothing compared to what he feels now. There is a hollow in his chest that only eases when he sees Izuku’s smiling face in a video call, only to return tenfold when they say goodbye.

Izuku unexpectedly extended his stay in the US for another 3 weeks. He called his agency and used up all his vacation days, accumulated through all the years that he didn’t use them.

Katsuki was fit to burst, pissed off, feeling betrayed. Izuku had apologized, laughing, but offered no real explanation. Only that he wanted to stay and explore the city more, now that the training exercise was over.

He still called, still texted but Katsuki could feel something was happening behind the happy smiles.

He wanted Izuku home.

One Thursday night, Katsuki arrived home to Izuku’s half scattered luggage and a note that says Izuku will sleep at his mother’s house and he will just see Katsuki the next day. Knowing that Izuku was back in the country, close enough to see and touch and just a train ride away, made Katsuki feel both better and worse.

The lease to their home was up for renewal. They had been thinking of moving to a bigger place. They can afford better places now but neither had brought up the idea of living separately. Katsuki had spent the last few weeks looking at apartment listings. They could view them together now that Izuku is back.

Katsuki wanted a place on a higher floor. Izuku wanted space to raise plants. A balcony would be a good compromise. There’s one that Katsuki thinks would suit them well, the balcony already has red purple morning glories crawling along one wall and there is lots of space for plant boxes.

When Izuku arrived the next day, chirping ‘Hi, Kacchan!', Katsuki wasn’t prepared for the burst of emotions in his chest. When did Izuku worm his way into his heart like this. How did Katsuki not notice?

It wasn’t quite right though. Izuku looked happy, really happy, in a way Katsuki has not seen him in a long while. But he was nervous as well.

Izuku ran his fingers through his green curls in a familiar, nervous gesture and Katsuki saw it.

A ring on his finger.

Izuku had met someone. Met him at the rescue mission up in Hokkaido almost a year ago. Met him again at the international conference. It was his agency that invited Deku to the US. He spent the last 3 weeks with him.

They were madly in love and before Izuku left for Japan, had asked Izuku to marry him. Izuku had said yes. They plan to marry in the spring in the US. He had an extensive family and relations, while Izuku can just as easily fly his mom in for the wedding.

This changed things. Instead of going back to work, Izuku is just back to coordinate with his agency, fix the paperwork. There is a job waiting for him back in the US. He plans to live there.

Katsuki listened through it all, not interrupting the flow of ‘he’s so AMAZING, Kacchan! I’m not sure why he likes me. Me! Deku! But Kacchan, he thinks I’m amazing too! And I’m so happy!’

And Izuku was happy. Katsuki could see it. His green eyes glowed they way they did when Izuku looked at Katsuki, back when he still loved him.

Izuku was crying, sniffling and laughing at the same time saying ‘I didn’t think I’d feel this way about anyone again. All these years it’s only been you, Kacchan. I’m so happy. He makes me so happy!’

Katsuki moves out of their apartment when the lease expires. It’s too big for him, now that he’s living alone. He moves to a large single bedroom unit, on a higher floor, with no balcony for flowers. It feels good to move, away from memories that haunted him in the old place, full of Izuku’s laughter.

He needs no reminders in any case.

In his mind, he carries an image of a young Izuku on a lovely spring day, against the backdrop of morning glories in full bloom, crying, smiling at him even as Katsuki broke his heart.

[heirs-of-prythian]

A Night Of Thunder and Cuddles Part 3

Or "ANoTaC Bonus part"

Hi everyone! Anotac is finally done. Yesss! This is just a little "fluff" in Cadan's perspective. I mostly got inspired by @thelaziestgeek question about Headcanons for Cassian and Cadan, so you need to thank her for this chapter, otherwise it would have ended with part 2.

But nevertheless enjoy part 3.

__________

Cadan was awoken from his deep and peaceful sleep by a strip of sunlight directly falling into his eyes. Groaning a little, he blinked his blue-gray eyes open and turned his head to the side to escape the sunlight. Mother, he had slept good, but his mind told him that he is forgetting something. Something did happen last night. Stretching his legs out, he buried himself deeper into the pillow and opened his eyes, scanning his surroundings. And then it came to him.

The thunderstorm!

Last night it had stormed and thunder and lightning had been raining down from the sky. And he was so scared again, that he ran to his parents crying like a baby. He was six years, 9 monthly and 5 days old, not a baby like Artemas.

But for a baby Art didn't cry as much as it was apparently expected by babies, at least according to his parents, aunts and uncles. But his baby cousin Art wasn't normal. Cute and adorable, but not normal. And Cadan loved him like a little brother.

Heck yes, he was going to have a playdate with him and Hemy today. It's going to be so much fun.

Yawning, Cadan looked as his parents hugging him from both sides closer to them. His father's wings were still around them, but the light filtered through them a little, creating a beautiful pattern on the wings. His Mom and Dad are still fast asleep, there foreheads touching over his head. Cad had needed to craning his head see that. His Mom's hand was on his side, drawing him closer to her chest, while his Dad's arm was snaked around his Mom's waist, drawing both him and her closer to his Dad.

Cadan felt warm and happy cuddling with his parents. Cuddling Minnie to his chest, Cadan stared at the wings over him, studying their pattern.

But after a while he got to bored and actually needed to go somewhere very, very important. And he couldn't hold it much longer, so he turned to his Dad. Patting Cassian's cheek with on small hand, Cadan whispered: “Dad! Dad! Dad! Daddy!”

Cassian stirred at the first “Dad!” but only awake by the last one. Making a grunting noise, Cass jolted out of his sleep and opens one eye to look at the disturbance that woke him up.

Seeing his father waking and looking at him, Cadan squirmed and whispered softly in a rush. “I need to pee! Put your wings away please!” Cass just made humming noise, closed his eyes again. Then he retracted his wings and rolled into his back. Falling  asleep again. Cadan meanwhile shimmed out of his mother's embrace and silently climbed across his Dad, who didn't acknowledged the weight on him, and out of bed. Racing like the devil was behind him but without making any loud sounds, Cadan went downstairs to relief himself.

After all was done, and Cadan had decided to brush his teeth, since he was already in his bathroom, he climbed up the stairs to his parents bedroom. He stopped in the doorway to see his parents now cuddling each other, still asleep. His Dad, apparently hadn't been as half awake a mere few minutes ago as Cadan thought. His Mom, it seemed had missed the warmth of his tiny body and had started hugging her mate's arm, pressing her face into it. His Dad hadn't moved at all.

Crossing his arms with Minnie, Cadan huffed. He was bored and it was already way after dawn. He needed to check a clock on how early it is. He was also getting hungry. As if agreeing, his tummy rumbled a little. It was also Waffle Weekend. Which normally was  just every weekend, because he and his Dad were making waffles for breakfast then. But Cadan found it more interesting if he called it “Waffle Weekend”. It had a nice ring to it.

Frowning, Cadan debated it in his head. Either he would wake up his parents - or at least his Dad, so they could make waffles for Mom -, or he could try to make them himself. He did know where all the ingredients were and how to put them together. But he wasn't allowed to touch the waffle iron. He didn't even know how to use it. Biting his inside of his cheek, Cadan's frown deepened. Or maybe he could just make the batter alone and than wake his Dad for the actual making part. It would be a win-win situation. He could start making breakfast - and have something to do - and his parents could sleep a little longer.

The tiny Half-Illyrian pondered over this a little longer. Than he nodded to himself, he made his decision and turned and closed the door softly behind him. He stopped in his room to change into other clothes, so he wouldn't dirty up his pajama, and to make his bed, which had pillows strewn around and the blanket was twisted up.

After all that was done, Cadan went to the kitchen with Minnie. He needed flour, sugar, milk, eggs, the already melted butter, vanilla extract, baking powder and a little bit of salt. And he knew exactly where every of these items were. With a determined face, Cad found and placed every item on the table. He also set two bowls and a wooden spoons and whisk on the table in front of him. Putting on his deep red apron and climbing up his special cooking stool, Cadan rolled up his sleeves and began.

After he separated the dry ingredients from the liquid ones and put them in separate bowls. He knew the exact measurements, he did this every weekend after all. It wasn't that hard. Humming to himself, Cadan now mixed the liquid ingredients slowly into the dry ones. He was being extra careful. He didn't want to ruin this. Oh how he didn't want to ruin this.

Finally after minutes of mixing and stirring, the batter looked, tasted and felt like it should. Sighing in relief and puffing his chest up in pride, Cadan smiled a big toothy grin with his hands on his hips. He looked absolutely pleased with himself. Putting the bowl of batter beside, he started cleaning up the kitchen as best he could manage as a tiny youngling.

After that was done, Cadan went to his parents bedroom again. He came to a stop in front of the closed door, pressing his ear against it, listening in. All he heard is deep and rhythmic breathing. Good, they're still asleep. Smiling, Cadan opened the door and tiptoed to his dad. His parents hadn’t moved even a little, laying there, just as he left them. Stopping in front of his Dad's head, Cad poked his Dad's cheek repeatedly while whispering: “Dad! Dad! Wake up! Dad! Daddy! Dad!” And so on. At the sixth “Dad!” Cassian stirred and groaned. Opening one eye, Cassian looked at his son and smiled.

“Good morning, Cadan.” He whispered sleepy, rubbing one eye with his fist. And then he yawned into his hand. “Good morning, Dad,” Cadan whispered back, gripping the edge of the bed, “you need to make the waffles with the iron right now!”

“Right now? Little Hero, we need to make the batter first and -” Cass got interrupted by a very proud sounding Cad. “I already made the batter!”

A beat of silence, in which Cassian blinked at his son. “You made the batter already?” “Yup! I was bored and you and Mom were still asleep, so I decided to get started. It turned out pretty good, if I can say so myself!” Cadan puffed his chest up in pride again, while Cassian lifted an eyebrow at his son. “Well, that would explain the smell of flour and batter on you, Cad,” Cassian ruffled Cad’s hair. “I'm sure it's perfect if you made it.” Father and son smile at each other. “How about you wait in the kitchen while I get ready?” Cassian asked, giving his son a kiss on the temple. Cadan kissed his Dad back and agreed with a nod and a smile. Then he tiptoed out of the bedroom as his Dad tried to free himself from his mate without waking her.

In the kitchen Cadan sat down on a chair at the table and stared at clock, already bored and impatient for waffles. Waffles were his favorite food of all time. He had been excited for waffles all week. Kicking his legs, Cad stared at the clock like it holds all the answers to his question, his chin resting on his hands, elbows in the table.

After 7 minutes and 34 seconds after Cad sat down - yes he counted -, his Dad walked into the kitchen. Cadan shoot up from the table. “Now show me the batter, little Hero!” Cassian told his son with a grin, while he put on his own deep red apron, that matched Cadan's. The little Hero grabbed the bowl and pushed it in his Dad's direction. Taking the whisk, Cassian stirred and tested. “Oh Little Hero, this batter is perfect. And the kitchen is clean! Maybe we should let cook more often!” Cassian kissed Cadan's forehead and went to the iron. “Maybe!” Cadan couldn't had looked more proud. “And thanks! I did my best!”

“Good morning!” Came it with a yawn from the doorway. The males in the kitchen whipped their heads around. Nesta was leaning on the doorframe, smiling lovingly at them. Her blue-grey eyes glittered. She looked tired but content.

“Good Morning, Mom!”

“Good morning, Sweetheart! Did I wake you?”

Yawning into her hand again, Nesta shook her head and went to Cassian. Getting on her tiptoes, she gave her mate a little kiss. “Not really, don't worry about it.”

She turned around and dropped a kiss a top of her son's head. “I heard you made the batter on your own, little hero.” “Yup! And Dad says it's perfect!” “And now your father needs to make the waffles perfect!” Nesta said to Cadan, but gave Cassian a challenging look at the end.

“I'm making the perfect waffles out of this perfect batter!” Cassian proclaimed and accepted the silence challenge from his mate. “Because both of you only deserve the most perfect things!” Cassian finished with a wink. Nesta snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. While Cadan giggled. Their blue-grey eyes full with love. Cauldron the waffles were going to be amazing.

And later, after Cassian was done, the Archeron family enjoyed their indeed perfect waffles. Because that was what they all deserve

________

I hope you like it.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. I would love to answer them.

Tagging: @thelaziestgeek @lux-et-tenebra @mindnumbmikey @starlightheir @guthiix @iamthebonecarverr @tswaney17 @feyres-painting-studio @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

[lewispandawrites]

Christmas cookies

Jaia, 2411 words, T rated

Huge thanks to my beta - @wewalkadifferentpath <3

It was barely after 5pm, when Maia got home. It had been an eventful day at the Youth Centre where she worked, so she felt as if she had been on her feet for 20 hours, instead of 8. Christmas was a tense period for the kids from dysfunctioning families who went there, so her service as a psychologist was needed more during that time. She just wished she could help all of them, but her abilities were limited. Were it not for Luke, who had ordered her to go home, she would probably have stayed at work until the late hours of the night.

Once she opened the door, she was greeted with the smell of freshly-baked cookies and the sounds of laughter and christmas songs. She smiled, taking off her coat and hat, then followed the music.

“Mmm. And what is that smell?” Maia said over the tune of ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’.

“Mommy!” an excited voice shouted, then two tiny arms wrapped around her middle. The woman chuckled, petting her daughter’s hair, then looked at her younger child, who was wiggling in Jace’s grasp.

“Zoe! Let go of mom, your hands are dirty,” Jace chastened, while trying to keep Aisha firmly in place.

“It’s okay. Those clothes need to be washed anyway,” Maia replied, and only then did Jace put Aisha down on the floor so the girl could run up to join the hug.

“We made gingerbread cookies!” Zoe proudly announced, looking up at her mom. Her own clothes were protected by a linen apron, that stated ‘best cook in the universe.’ Aisha, on the other hand, was clinging to Maia’s pants, and jumping excitedly up and down, singing along to the song. The words were barely understandable, since she was a little breathless from all the jumping, but she was having fun anyway. Her own apron had ‘unicorns are real’ embroidered at the front, and was a present from granny Maryse.

“So soon? We may eat all of them before Christmas.” Maia looked at Jace in a silent question. She was glad the girls had so much fun, but it was indeed a little bit too early for doing any Christmas preparations.

“Not too early. Cookies are good all year,” Aisha chimed in, then licked the rest of the icing from her tiny hand - most of it had already been transferred to Maia’s shirt.

“Girls. Why don’t you wash your hands, then find another Christmas playlist? This one doesn’t have Ariana Grande on it,” Jace suggested.

Aisha immediately bolted towards the bathroom. Both of her parents knew that she would only wipe her dirty hands on the towel, skipping the washing part altogether, but it was a still a small victory - at least there would be no red or green icing on the keyboard.

“Wait!” Zoe called after her sister, running after her.

Once they were out of earshot, Jace turned to his wife to finally answer her question. “Aisha’s class was baking gingerbread cookies today.” Maia already knew where it was going, and her tiredness came back with a renewed force. “I told her teacher that I could bring carob, so she can enjoy some cookies with her classmates, but her teacher thought it would be ‘too much fuss.’” Jace huffed angilly, while arranging the already decorated cookies on the tray.

He looked up and saw anger and resignation battle on Maia’s face. “Hey.” He wiped his hands clean on the kitchen towel, then walked to her to embrace her from behind, careful not to dirty her clothes even more. “We made more than enough cookies to last us through the whole month. The kind of cookies that you can enjoy.” Both Maia and Aisha were allergic to cocoa, so the family used carob in their recipes instead - it was a safe substitute for the brown powder. But, clearly, baking a few cookies without cocoa had been too much to ask from the school. “And I can always go there again and make a scene. I didn’t want to make one with her present, or take her back home for the day. She was excited to bake with her classmates and she is a smart girl - just like her mom.” He emphasised the statement by kissing Maia’s cheek, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I knew she wouldn’t try to eat them.”

“There’s no need for a scene. But I will have a conversation with her teacher next time I’m at school,” Maia replied, then turned around in Jace’s arms. “Hey.”

“Hello.” He leaned in to kiss her again, but they were interrupted by the shriek coming from the living room. Jace buried his face in Maia’s neck with a smile, while she chuckled.

“That’s what your day is like, when you have kids,” she told him, then pushed him back gently. “Go check what happened and I’ll get changed. Did you leave me some cookies to decorate?”

“Some? Honey, we still have 50 cookies to go through.” Her eyes widened as he showed her the amount of cookies that were on the various plates on the counter.

With a smile, Jace went to check on the girls, who, apparently, had decided to have a throwing contest. Aisha was climbing on a chair, clutching her plushie bunny, while Zoe was measuring the distance between the chair and her own plushie using her steps.

“You are cheating!” Aisha shouted while giggling. “You are making smaller steps!”

“I’m not!” Zoe yelled back.

“Girls.” Jace picked up Aisha before she could stand on the chair again. “You were supposed to pick a playlist, not try to break something.” The little girl giggled again, while her sister crossed her arms.

“We won’t break anything. We’re throwing soft objects, and all the glass things are in other direction.”

“We won’t!” Aisha agreed loudly, then threw the bunny-bun in a random direction, barely missing the lamp.

“Alright, enough of that,” Jace told them. Before any of the girls could object, he motioned towards the kitchen. “Don’t you want to decorate cookies with mom?”

Aisha squeaked in delight, clasping her hands around her dad’s neck tightly, while Zoe reluctantly followed them to the kitchen. Jace felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, so he put Aisha down on the kitchen stool, then checked his texts.

“Anything interesting in there?” Maia asked him, while eyeing Zoe pour sticky green icing over a few cookies, unsupervised. Her husband seemed to be completely elsewhere, while their kitchen turned into a warzone.

“What?” He glanced up from his phone, just in time to see Zoe drop a huge dollop of icing on the counter. “Shook.” He pocketed his phone quickly, then reached for a rag. “The icing should go on the cookies, Zo.”

Maia watched in amusement as her husband and her eldest daughter had a silent staring contest, the little girl still mad that her dad interrupter her fun. All that time, Aisha was drawing eyes and buttons on the gingerbread men, and singing under her breath.

“Stop you both, or no one will get presents this year.” Maia was met with three sets of eyes, one amused and two pleading. Aisha was the one being amused; Jace might be in his 30’s, but he still enjoyed the thrill of unpacking gifts on the Christmas morning, and a threat of not getting to do so was a serious one in his book .

“So.” He glanced down, slightly embarrassed that he had gotten into a staring contest with his kid. “Grandpa Luke has texted me. He and granny Maryse want to take kids out tomorrow, then keep them for the night.”

Out of the corner of his eye Jace could see Aisha getting ready to jump high in joy, so he wrapped his arms around her waist, to ensure that she would land on the stool safely. Zoe’s eyes were shining, the short feud with her dad already forgotten.

“Wow. He didn’t tell me anything at work today,” Maia replied, joining them by the kitchen isle. She reached for a plate full of cookies and a confectionery sleeve, filled up with yellow icing.

Luke was Jace’s adoptive dad, and all three of them had met in the Youth Centre years ago, where Luke had been working. She had been one of the kids who had gone there to escape their families, and then had stayed to work there, inspired by Luke and his heart of gold.

“Maybe it is their Christmas surprise for us, Magnus, and Alec. Baby Max will also be there.” Jace replied, and Maia’s face softened.

“Awww. He is such a cute baby. His eyes are sooooo blue.” Maia slobbered over the little boy. “And he is already sleeping through the whole night. I have no idea how Magnus and Alec managed to find him.”

“Uncle Magnus is a warlock,” Aisha said from her place by the kitchen isle. “He showed us magic tricks last week. And Maxie was helping him.”

“That explains a lot,” Jace replied, amused. “Hey, Zo.” The girl turned towards him. “Wanna finish my cookie? I think pink and purple would go great together.” He showed the girl a huge gingerbread heart, already done in pink icing by him, and she nodded eagerly.

“Those cookies are really good.” Maia commented, after biting into one. She hadn’t eaten anything since early lunch, and was now growing hungry. Jace’s eyes landed on her, concerned, and she tried to brush off his worry. But he knew her too well.

“How about the three of you finish decorating, while I make dinner?” he suggested, putting down his confectionery sleeve. The three girls nodded, so he went to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Mom, look!” Aisha held up her cookie proudly, her tiny hand messing up the icing work. A cookie in a shape of a dinosaur was covered in a checkered pattern of white and silver lines, decorated with pale pink sugar pearls.

“It’s a beautiful cookie,” Maia praised her daughter, and the girl beamed.

“Can I add pearls to your cookies?” The youngest girl asked, pointing out to a plate of gingerbread snowmen, decorated by her mother.

“Of course,” Maia replied, then glanced at Zoe’s workstation. “Those little hearts are very pretty. We could gift some to granny and grandpa.” The girl smiled, then nodded, and started to pick out the most beautiful cookies for her grandparents.

Jace made it back to the kitchen, just in time for ‘Last Christmas’ to come through the speakers. “Daaaaaad,” the girls pleaded, and Jace rolled his eyes, already knowing what they wanted of him.

“I’m only doing it one last time,” he warned them with a smile, then quickly grabbed for a rolling pin and started to sing. “Laaast Christmas, I gave you my heart. But the very next - Aisha, stop jumping - it away.”

Maia laughed, as she saw her husband wipe the invisible tears from his eyes, then reach for a heart-shaped cookie and hand it to Aisha. He then put the rolling pin down, picked up Zoe and twirled her around, while she giggled.

“Once bitten, and twice shyyyyyyy.” Jace dramatically bent over the only clean surface on the kitchen island, lamenting loudly with the singer. When ‘but you still catch my eye’ line came up, he glanced at his wife, and sent her a wink, which made her shake her head in return.

Both girls shouted “Merry Christmas!” when the line came on, as their father walked around the kitchen, dancing and singing to the song. He stopped next to Maia, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“”I love you,” I meant it. Nooowwww, I know what a fooool I’ve been. But if you kiss me now…” Maia didn’t even let him finish - she tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him down for a kiss. Zoe’s ‘ewww’ could be heard over the lyrics, but the two adults only smiled into their kiss.

“Thank you all for listening to my amazing performance!” Jace bowed down, after breaking the kiss, then pecked Maia’s lips again, before going to the fridge to fetch some ingredients for dinner.

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

Long after the girls had gone to sleep, Maia and Jace found themselves cuddling on the couch, two empty mugs left on the coffee table. They didn’t have the christmas tree yet, so they took out one set of christmas lights and drapped it over the tv, to create the mood.

Jace was slowly dozing off - the soft lights, the weight of his wife against his chest and the warmth of the blanket wrapped around them lulling him to sleep. His stomach was full of delicious veggie couscous and hot chocolate, that he and Maia had finished a few minutes ago.

“I don’t think leaving the kids with Maryse and Luke is a good idea,” Maia spoke softly, and Jace pried his eyes open, trying to make sense of her words.

“Uhm?” he hummed quietly, careful to not wake up the girls.

“Remember the last time we were left alone, unsupervised? The Bali vacation?” she continued, with a small smile.

“That was 6 years ago. And we behaved nicely - we just had a head start on our second baby,” Jace replied, the corners of his mouth quirking up at the memory.

“Yes. A head start 2 weeks before we’d even started to consider when to have our second baby.” Alec liked to tease them that it was their fault that Aisha was such an energetic child - how could she not be, if she had been conceived during an exotic vacation, where Jace had broken his arm. “I’m afraid we may eat all the cookies while the girls are gone. You have really outdone yourself with them this year.”

Jace looked down at his wife. “If that’s the case, then we will have enough time to bake a new batch. And the girls won’t mind decorating again. We could have them for every meal tomorrow,” he replied, then wrapped his arms tighter around Maia. “I propose that we start celebrating our off day by falling asleep here, just like we did all those years ago.” He was referring to their first Christmas spent together in their first apartment, where they only had a couch - no bed - and a tiny tree, decorated with the cheapest set of lights.

“I knew there was a reason why I married you,” Maia said, then closed her eyes.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | iii

Pairings: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Summary: The boys try to surprise you. Things…don’t work out as planned.

Warnings: Fluffiness and implied sex. (Brief) mentions of throwing up.  

Notes: YESSS! We’re finally getting an update on this fic! *does happy dance*

I’m sorry it’s been so long, y’all. Life has been busy, my inspiration dried up, and I kinda wasn’t loving this particular series so…I left it alone, for a bit. Still probably not gonna update it very regularly, but I will finish it. Anyway, I hope you like the floof :)

Title is from ‘Still Falling For You’ by Ellie Goulding

[BML Masterlist]

~ this love is like sun on the rise ~

Waking up is a hit-or-miss type of experience.

Sometimes, it’s a cruel and unforgiving yank into reality, a harsh slap to the face delivered by the persistent blaring of Steve’s alarm clock. Until you’ve got some food in your system and downed no less than a gallon of coffee, all you are is a crusty-eyed and enormously cranky shell of a human being.

Other times, waking up can be a little less harsh of an experience (though, no less reluctant, on your part). These mornings consist of you burrowing deep into the covers, whilst someone — usually Bucky — pokes and prods and gently cajoles you into getting out of bed. His strategy often involves bribing you with the promise of — yep, that’s right: coffee.

Today is unlike either of those days.

Today is a slow and gentle return to consciousness, pieces of the world sliding into focus, one after the other. You’re not exactly sure what pulls you from your sleep, but you gradually become aware of the textures and temperatures and sounds around you.

First, it’s the feel of your pillow beneath your cheek, the brushed cotton pillowcase a soft and silky-smooth texture on your skin. Next, it’s the weight of your duvet above you, the marshmallow-like mountain protecting you from the chill of the cold winter morning. Other elements of the world slowly trickle into focus, from the general creaking and whirring of your house, to the distant noises of the city waking up.

A loud crash destroys all semblance of peace you’d been enjoying.

“Wha’ th’ hell?” you mumble, your words muffled due to the fact that your face is buried in your pillow.

It is at this point that you realise that the bed on either side of you is empty. Your legs aren’t tangled up with Bucky’s, nor is Steve’s arm slung over your waist. The sound of your boyfriends’ steady breathing is also, distinctly missing.

You are immediately suspicious.

Or, well. As suspicious as you can be, this early in the morning.

Which is to say, not that suspicious at all.

With a grumble, you push yourself up onto your elbows and squint at the digital clock on the nightstand. It takes a while for you to make out the numbers through your sleepy, bleary eyes, but when they do finally come into focus, your confusion immediately deepens.

It’s barely ten minutes past six in the morning. The sun’s not even out, for fuck’s sake. Why on earth are they up at ass-crack o’clock?

You flop your head back down onto your pillow with a soft oomph. As you tug the duvet around your shoulders, you grumble incoherently, cursing your boyfriends under your breath.

It’s a bloody Saturday, for goodness’ sake. Saturdays are for sleeping in, and you damn well need this lie-in after the hectic week of meetings and unexpected deadlines you’ve just had.

But, even as you close your eyes and will your body to slip back into a state of unconsciousness, you already know that it’s a lost cause. Your mind is too active now, the gears and cogs of your brain whirring to life, preparing to start your day.

As you lie there in a state of half-sleep, you wandering mind begins to think about what that crash could have been. It’s definitely the boys doing something downstairs — the question is, what?

You quickly dismiss the idea of them fighting an intruder or something in your house, largely because you know that the security system installed in your place would put the White House to shame.

Thus, Steve and Bucky must be doing…something else downstairs. Something that does not involve fighting bad guys, but does involve loud crashing noises.

Steve and Bucky waking up early can either be a really good thing, or a really bad thing, you muse. They’re both equal parts angel and troublemaker, but this early in the morning, it’s too hard to tell which side of their personality is coming through.

The boys waking up early is, in itself, not unusual. Steve has a penchant for going out on runs just before sunrise, because he likes how peaceful the streets are at that time. And, if Bucky’s had a bad night, he’ll often sit on the sofa to watch the sunrise, or maybe go out on a walk to clear his mind.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” you gasp, jerking out of your half-asleep state when another loud crash rings through the house. It’s followed by a string of colourful swear words and an especially loud shhh!

Yep. It’s time to investigate.

You groan, rolling onto your back and stretching your arms out to the side, yawning wide as you feel your joints pop. A smile crosses your lips when you sense a weight shifting around on your bed, creeping along your right side. A petite, fluffy tabby appears by your right shoulder, head tilted to the side and ears flicking in curiosity.

A husky chuckle rumbles from your throat. “Mornin’ Disney,” you murmur, as you rub your knuckles between her ears.

“What’re your dads doin’ downstairs, huh?” you ask quietly, “Shall we go an’ take a look?”

Disney seems too distracted by your fingers to really take note of your question. For a minute, you allow yourself to be transfixed by her deep, happy purrs, letting the sound wash over you in waves.

The three of you decided to adopt Disney from a pet shelter a couple of months ago. You can safely say that getting her has been one of the better decisions that you’ve made in your lifetime. Annoying tendencies to scratch up the furniture and knock things over with her tail aside, she’s the sweetest thing in the entire universe. Disney is a great comfort to you when the boys are away on long missions, and a wonderful companion to the boys when the pressures of world-saving become a little too much to handle.

You and Disney lie there for an unspecified amount of time, the only sounds in the room being Disney’s contented little purrs and your slow breathing. You’re contemplating whether or not it’s really worth leaving your blanket fort to investigate the happenings downstairs. It’s been at least five minutes since the second crash, and there haven’t been anymore loud noises in that time, but that doesn’t really put you at ease.

Steve and Bucky are more than capable of handling themselves but — well, they’re not the best of cooks, and you’d rather not be forced out of bed because the house was burning down, or something.

With a heavy sigh, you gingerly push yourself up into a sitting position and lift Disney onto Steve’s pillow, before rolling out of bed. You head into the bathroom to relieve yourself, wash your face and brush your teeth, before slipping on your fluffy pink bathrobe — the one with the bunny ears attached to the hood — and sliding your feet into a pair of blue and white polkadot slippers. When Disney realises that you’re about to leave the room, she elegantly leaps off the bed and pads over to you, winding herself around your legs and butting her head against your calves.

“C’mon baby,” you whisper, as you pull open the bedroom door. “Let’s see what they’re—oh.”

You break off as the pungent smell of burnt food assaults your nostrils. It’s overpoweringly bitter and wholly unpleasant; the stench makes you want to gag. Even Disney seems unimpressed, flicking her tail the way she does when she’s annoyed. Whatever’s going on downstairs can’t be good.

Yep. It’s definitely time to investigate.

You make your way downstairs, pulling your robe tighter around your chest to protect your skin from the chilly morning air. The burning smell only becomes stronger with each step you take — you’re surprised that you haven’t thrown up by this point, honestly.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the Steve and Bucky are in the kitchen. You cross the living room, Disney hot on your heels, and pause at the entryway to your kitchen to assess the scene.

To describe the kitchen as ‘chaos’ would be a euphemism.

It looks like a hurricane has whipped around the room. A bag of flour seems to have exploded, as every surface — the cupboards, the countertops, the floor, everything — is coated in a layer of white dust. A tin of cocoa powder also seems to have burst open, because the kitchen counters are speckled with streaks of rich brown. Pots and pans and dirty spoons are scattered across the worktops; used bowls have been stacked up into haphazard piles in and around the sink. The floor is littered with slices strawberries and a couple of banana peels. Egg shells scattered in random places complete the overall aesthetic.

The boys have — thankfully — opened up the windows to air out the house and get rid of that pungent burnt odour, but right now, the scent is plugging up your nostrils and making each breath a struggle.

Steve and Bucky are standing by the stove, hunched over a pan and murmuring quietly amongst themselves. They’re so focused that they haven’t even heard you come in. Bucky says something to Steve, who turns around to grab something off the kitchen island. When he sees you, standing in the entryway with your arms folded over your chest, he freezes like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Mornin’ Stevie,” you say, the corner of your mouth crooking up into a smirk.

“Uhh…good morning, sweetheart,” Steve says, in a strangled voice. When Bucky whirls around, you just manage to catch the look of shock-and-dismay that crosses his face, before it gets replaced by a beaming grin.

“Mornin’ beautiful!” Bucky chirps, “Ready for breakfast?”

You pointedly glance around the trashed kitchen, before arching an eyebrow questioningly. “You were making breakfast?” you ask dryly, “Could’a fooled me. I thought you just had a food fight.”

Suspiciously bright flushes of red bloom across Steve’s cheekbones. It’s then that you notice the smears of white on Steve’s t-shirt and sleep pants, to match the multicoloured splatters on Bucky’s clothes. There are streaks of white and — oh goodness, is that egg in their hair?

“You did have a food fight, didn’t you?” you sigh, shaking your head in fond annoyance.

“Well…Steve started it,” Bucky says, giving you a cheeky wink before turning back to jiggle his pan around. Steve is spluttering in shock.

“Bucky!” he cries, not unlike an indignant toddler.

“Yes?” Bucky sing-songs, drawing out the syllable.

“I—you—ugh why do I even bother?” Steve mutters darkly.

Disney gracefully leaps up onto the kitchen counter and starts pawing curiously at the bits and bobs littered on the messy surface, taking particular interest in a couple of blueberries.

Steve frowns at her as he runs his fingers through the silky-soft fur of her back. “Disney,” he scolds, “I thought we were clear on the plan? You were supposed to keep your mother in bed until we’d finished!”

“Told ya’ we should’a gone with my idea,” Bucky drawls, glancing over his shoulder

“Shuddup,” Steve says, without missing a beat, “Disney just needs a little more training, is all.”

“Hold up—what plan?” you ask, interrupting their bickering. You step forward and cautiously lean your elbows on the island countertop — after checking that you’re not putting your robe in anything suspicious, of course.

“Uhh…we were gonna make you breakfast,” Steve says slowly.

“Okay, I got that. But…why?”

Bucky sighs, turning off the stove and stepping up behind Steve, looping his metal arm around Steve’s waist. “‘Cause we wanted to do somethin’ nice for you, to say sorry for missing our anniversary,” Bucky explains.

You’re fairly certain that your heart melts into a puddle at his words. “Really?”

“Yeah, sweetie,” Steve murmurs, a shy smile gracing his lips, “We were gonna make you breakfast and feed it to you in bed and then take you out, and—,”

“Treat you like a princess,” Bucky finishes.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees.

Without saying a word, you briskly stride around the island and throw yourself into their arms, not caring about the fact that you’re probably getting all kinds of foodstuffs onto your clothes. There are tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your heart feels so full you genuinely think that it might burst. Steve and Bucky hold you close, Bucky burying his face against your neck, Steve tucking your head under his chin.

“Honeys, you didn’t have to,” you mumble, your voice coming out muffled because your face is smushed into Steve’s glorious pecs. “We already did something and—,”

“But we didn’t do something special,” Steve protests, “Buck and I were away on a mission for most of the day—,”

“And when we got home, we basically passed out for a million hours,” Bucky adds.

“But I didn’t care!” you insist, “We said I love you, and I got a really nice card—,”

“But I care, gorgeous,” Steve says quietly, crooking his index finger under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up to look into his beautiful, bright blue eyes. “We care. We wanted to do something special for you. Treat you like a princess.”

“Sap,” you sniffle, giving him a watery smile.

Steve rumbles approvingly as you card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “You always treat me like a princess, darlings,” you murmur, humming softly as Bucky presses a kiss to the crook of your neck. “You always treat me like I’m the most special thing in the world.”

“Well then, we wanted to try do something extra special, today,” Bucky says, letting you go as he takes a step back. He pauses as his eyes do a quick scan around the kitchen. “Uh…emphasis on try, I guess.”

You burst out laughing, twisting out of Steve’s grip as you spin in a slow circle, letting the enormity of the mess sink in. “Yeah…I’d have to agree with you there, Buck,” you snort, “What happened?”

Steve sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face and frowning when his fingers come away coated in flour.

He may or may not have a dusting of white on his cheek.

“Well…the breakfast plan was pancakes with sausages,” he starts, looking to Bucky for some assistance.

“Yeah, but then—uh…we got sidetracked with the pancake idea,” Bucky says, gesturing vaguely around the room. You chuckle in amusement.

“And I’m guessing you burned the sausages, or something?” you ask teasingly.

Steve’s blush deepens. “What gave it away?” he mumbles.

“Oh, I think the burning smell might have been a big clue,” you say airily.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Steve says stubbornly, a cute little furrow appearing in the middle of his brow. “Bucky was in charge of—,”

“It’s not Bucky’s fault that he doesn’t know how to use this fancy-shmancy new oven!” Bucky protests, throwing his arms up in frustration as he turns back to the stove, “And yes, Bucky is now referring to himself in third person, because why the ever-loving fuck not?”

You giggle helplessly, coming up behind Bucky and wrapping your arms around his muscled waist. You plant a kiss on his shoulder — the metal one — and he cranes his head back to press his lips to your forehead. “So what’s on the stove, then?” you ask.

“Erm…it’s supposed to be pancake batter,” Steve says apologetically, popping up on your left side.

You peer over Bucky’s shoulder and narrow your eyes in suspicion. “It’s so…watery,” you comment hesitantly.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, yeah, we fucked up,” he grumbles.

You giggle, patting his side consolingly. “Okay then, how ‘bout this — since I’m awake now and I’m the only one out of the three of us who can actually make pancakes, why don’t you let me handle the cooking?”

“But gorgeous!” Steve protests, “You aren’t supposed to—,”

“Whilst you boys clean up this mess,” you interrupt, holding your hand up to stop him. Steve’s mouth snaps shut and he concedes to your request with a shrug.

Bucky hangs his head down and sighs exaggeratedly. “Well, I ‘spose that’s fair,” he admits, “But I want a good morning kiss ‘fore I get to it.”

You roll your eyes but indulge his request, loosening your grip on his waist so that Bucky can turn around and catch you in his arms. Then, before you know it, he’s slanting his lips over yours and kissing you like he means it — luxurious and deep, with just the right amount of tongue.

As he pulls away, you tip your head backwards and to the side, easily finding Steve’s lips. He kisses you with just as much reverence and tenderness, teasingly flicking his tongue over your bottom lip. Steve tastes of strawberries and mint toothpaste.

They manage to distract you for several long minutes, taking it in turns to claim your mouth. Steve cups the back of your head, whilst Bucky’s thumbs rub circles into your sides. Your pleased sighs and soft moans fill the air.

Unfortunately, breakfast is not about to cook itself.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough now,” you say firmly, wriggling out of their grip and twisting to face the stove. “Time to clean now.”

You give Bucky a playful shove when he tries to swoop in for another kiss. “Clean,” you repeat, more forcefully this time, though it’s hard to be serious when you have two goofballs for boyfriends.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky says, snapping you a two-fingered salute.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Buck—Peggy would’a had a heart attack if she saw that,” Steve mutters, as he crouches down to get the cleaning supplies out of the cupboard under the sink.

“Yeah, well, at least I didn’t scare her by running into HYDRA bases without waiting for—,”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky! That was just the one time—,”

“Nu-uh! One time in France, and then another one time in Italy, and then—,”

“I waited for backup in Italy!”

“Stevie, honey, I think you and I remember Italy very differently.”

“Well yeah, that’s ‘cause all you ‘member ‘bout Italy was how I sucked you off in…”

You shake your head in fond exasperation, tuning out their conversation as you pull out the ingredients you’ll need. Honestly, the two of them argue like an old, married couple — but, you wouldn’t have them any other way. You start to hum quietly under your breath as you measure out the ingredients into a mixing bowl, the motions familiar and soothing to you. You’ve learned from experience to make triple the normal recipe, because super-soldier metabolism is not to be messed with.

Disney appears on the kitchen counter and plops herself down by the bowl, watching you with keen eyes as you mix everything together.

She seems especially interested in the chocolate chips.

You shoo her away when it’s time to actually cook the pancakes — you don’t want to accidentally set her tail on fire, or something. The boys have actually done quite well, so far; Steve is busy attacking the mountain of dishes and utensils by the sink, whilst Bucky has made a lot of progress in wiping down the surfaces and cleaning up the spillages on the floor.

As you wait for the pan to heat up, you lean your palms against the side of the counter and close your eyes, content to just listen to the sounds around you. Bucky’s low whistling and the squirting noises coming from his spray bottle overlay the running tap and the clattering and banging of Steve’s dishwashing.

There’s something so domestic about it all.

Not for the first time, you can’t help but think how goddamn lucky you are to have these two wonderful souls to share your life with. Yeah, the morning might not have gone exactly the way Steve and Bucky had planned, but — the love in the air is so palpable you could almost stick your tongue out and taste it. The atmosphere is homey, and amiable, and everything you never knew you wanted.

Fucking hell, Steve’s sappiness is rubbing off on you.

You pour in some of the pancake batter when the pan seems hot enough, then dart off to grab some plates and a spatula.

Flipping pancakes takes you back to lazy Sunday mornings in your family home. You remember the cartoons playing on low volume in the background, whilst you and your parents made breakfast in the kitchen. You remember listening to your dad singing off-key as the pancakes piled up in an impressive stack beside him. Sometimes, your mother would be baking — cookies, muffins, bread, whatever she was in the mood for. You remember feeling so happy and fulfilled and loved.

It’s funny how things can be so different and simultaneously so similar. The sounds are different, the house is different, the people around you are different — but you feel no less happy, or fulfilled, or loved, with this new family of yours. If anything, those emotions have only increased tenfold.

You’re so engrossed in your thoughts that you let out a startled gasp when someone wraps their arms around your waist.

“Oops, sorry, honey,” Steve apologises, laughing softly as he ducks to press a kiss behind your ear. “Jus’ wanted to say that it smells good.”

“S’almost ready,” you tell him, turning to brush your lips over the tip of his nose. “Set the table, please?”

“On it,” he says, letting go of you with an affectionate squeeze to your ass.

As you pour the last of the batter into the pan, you listen as Steve lays out the cutlery on the small dining table in the alcove. Bucky is calling out to Disney as he shakes her cat food into her bowl. You slide the last pancake onto the plate, turn off the stove, then grab the two enormous pancake stacks and carry them over to the dining table, setting the plates in the middle so that everyone can help themselves.

“Oooh damn, sweetie, those look great,” Bucky says, coming up beside you.

Once you’ve set the plates down, you turn towards him and are pleasantly surprised to see him with a mug of coffee in each hand, one of which he holds out towards you.

“Thanks, honey,” you say softly, accepting the mug from him and wrapping your fingers around it.  

“Made it just the way you like it,” he says, leaning in to peck you on the lips. You take a quick sip and nod your approval — just the way you like it indeed.

Steve comes over at that point and sets the condiments down on the table. There’s syrup, honey, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, bananas and a range of berries. Frankly, you’re surprised that he managed to carry all of that over without dropping anything.

Bucky, ever the gentleman, pulls out your seat and gestures for you to sit down with a great flourish. You giggle, gingerly perching on the chair as he pushes you in. Steve sits down on your right and Bucky on your left, the three of you facing the gigantic windows so that you can watch the sky change colour as the sun climbs through it. Right now, it’s a wonderful gradient of purples and pinks.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” Steve says, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. Bucky’s flesh hand curls over your thigh, thumb stroking the soft skin there.

“Happy anniversary, darlings,” you murmur, settling into your chair as Steve dishes out the pancakes. You reach for your favourite toppings and add them in generous servings to your plate.

“Of fuck,” Bucky moans. Your head snaps to the side so fast, you almost give yourself whiplash. Bucky’s chewing with his eyes closed, a blissed-out expression on his face. He stuffs another forkful into his mouth and moans again.

You turn to Steve and share a look with him. He raises an eyebrow, whilst you try to suppress your giggles.

That moan sounded a lot like Bucky’s sex moan.

“Guess they call it food porn for a reason, huh, Buck?” Steve asks, voice lighthearted and teasing.

Bucky nods emphatically, before turning to look at you. “Honey, you’re amazing, and I love you and your pancakes.”

You can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of your throat, then, bright and cheerful and amused.

“Taste!” Bucky urges, breaking off a scrap of pancake with his finger, drenching it in syrup and bringing it to your mouth.

You take the pancake from his fingers, being sure to give an exaggerated groan when his thumb presses against your lips. Before Bucky can pull his hand away, your tongue darts out to lick the syrup from his fingers. You look at him through your lashes and make quiet, pleased noises in the back of your throat as you clean him off.

You don’t miss the way Bucky’s eyes darken, nor do you miss the way Steve’s breathing hitches. You sense Steve throwing his arm over the back of your chair as he leans in close, his face right up against the side of your neck.

“Behave, princess,” Steve growls quietly, nipping your earlobe for emphasis.

You have a feeling you know how the rest of your morning is going to go down.

[rikrakyarnncrafts]

Winter Holiday Chill Zone

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” – Edith Sitwell

It’s no secret that we love a good listicle. When the opportunity presents itself to write about our favorite things, we jump on it. Traditions vary for those of us here at Knit Picks HQ, but the one common thread is that for each of us, this time of year offers a chance to indulge in the nostalgic traditions each of us holds dear. Whether it be watching Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas on repeat or imbibing a classy holiday cocktail or two, we hold each near and dear to our collective hearts.

In the spirit of all things merry & bright, we bring you our guide to enjoying the winter holidays!

  Ultimate Cookie Platter

Alexis – I love December; it is easily my favorite month of the year. Besides my love for all things Christmas (movies, songs, decorations), I get to spread some good cheer baking for all my family and friends. Baking cookies represents all of the things I love about the season, as it ties together tradition and generosity in a small tasty treat.

What once started as a simple continuation of a family tradition soon turned into a spreadsheet and baking madness as my desire to share grew. As soon as the calendar flips to December 1st, my humble kitchen and dining room transform into a virtual cookie factory. Pounds of flour, nuts, butter, and sugar line any extra counter space. Sweet smells of melted chocolate and gingerbread permeate the air during my rounds of baking for batches that get shipped or hand delivered to local friends and co-workers. And of course a few for the surprise visitors: Santa and his reindeer.

Because it is impossible for me to grasp moderation, especially when giving, I go all out with seven different cookie options that have expanded and shifted a little over the years. There are the staples: Gingerbread People, Pennsylvania Dutch Coconut Macaroons, Linzer Tartlets (my favorite), Bourbon Balls (the boozier the better); a new classic: Chipotle Chocolate Chip, my spin on a Mexican Hot Chocolate; and two new fan favorites: Caramel Salted Pretzel Linzers and Italian Bakery Style Butter Cookies, developed by my favorite home chef Deb Perelman of Smitten Kitchen. All of these are created with love and happiness as I dance to Tchaikovsky: The Nutcracker Suite Op,71a covered in powdered sugar.

  Winter Sips

  Daniel – I have four essential drinks that I have to have at some point during Winter.

Homemade Eggnog It’s not for everyone, but I’ve always enjoyed eggnog in all of its forms. I made my own eggnog for the first time just last year using this incredibly easy blender recipe. It was so well received that I made a second batch right after Christmas that I aged for three weeks. Not only do I recommend the taste, but aged nog is ironically also safer! If you’re particularly wary of raw eggs or prefer your eggnog kid- and teetotaler-friendly, you’ll need to cook your eggs! I like this clever recipe that tempers the eggs with scalded milk in a stand mixer, rather than going full custard.

Cinnamon Manhattan A serendipitous juxtaposition at a holiday baking party led directly to a festive version of my go-to winter cocktail. Just adding ground cinnamon to a drink results in unpleasant sediment, so now I make cinnamon syrup. Add a teaspoon to a standard Manhattan recipe (or any number of other traditional cocktails) for a healthy dose of holiday cheer. You can also add a whole nutmeg to the syrup for additional flavor, but I recommend avoiding clove.

Mulled Everything Full of spice and piping hot is my favorite way to have apple cider, the only way I’ll drink wine, and by far the best way to enjoy port. In my experience, store bought mixes are lackluster and not worth it, especially when it’s so easy to make your own. There are plenty of worthwhile recipes online, but I prefer the quick and simple like this one for mulled wine. If you’re thinking ahead, it’s simple to prepare your spices ahead of time and makes it more feasible to get a little more involved. Though it requires the extra effort to dry your own orange and ginger, I really like this fancier recipe. If you’re *really* ambitious, some homemade glogg will really impress at your next holiday party.

Cocoa! Absolutely necessary to all winter celebrations. While I’ll drink any kind of cocoa, and even have a special affection for store-bought mix packets, you don’t have to go crazy to make a good homemade mix. It also makes a delightful and easy gift!

  Festive Flicks

Hillary – The only surefire way to get me in the holiday spirit is by watching holiday movies! My favorite Christmas Eve tradition is going to the candlelight church service, coming home, and getting into new Christmas jammies to watch A Christmas Story.

Here are some of my must watch movies to snuggle in and catch the holiday spirit bug. Grab some hot cocoa, your favorite furry friend, and a cozy blanket!

In this sweet, feel-good movie, Charlie Brown seeks out the true meaning of Christmas with the help of his friends! Perfect for the young and the young-at-heart.

  It’s a Wonderful Life is a classic for good reason. It was nominated for six Academy Awards and is on the list of 100 Greatest American Films of All Time.

And my personal favorite, The Nightmare Before Christmas! Tim Burton blends Christmas and Halloween together in a way that is both spooky and heartwarming at the same time.

If you want a good cry, The Family Stone is perfect for you. Full of an all-star cast that comprise a family full of quirky personalities, the story revolves around the holiday season. Although not a typical Christmas movie, it is a GREAT movie I highly recommend.

  Holiday Tunes

  Kate – Full disclosure: I have to actively make it a point to NOT listen to Wham’s Last Christmas throughout the year. Not only do I get all 80’s kid misty-eyed when I hear it, but I may have accidentally indoctrinated my 5-year-old daughter into the Wham fan club, as she now requests this song as well. I blame my love of music on my dad, who ALWAYS had the radio on and tuned into his favorite classic rock station, and also my sister, who let me watch MTV* whenever she “babysat” me. Don’t worry though. This playlist does consist of more than just holiday pop hits from 1986. I added a little Darlene Love, Vince Guaraldi, and even a little of The Ramones for good measure. Download my Holidaze playlist here!

*Note: This was in the eighties, when MTV actually played music videos.

Favorite Winter Reads

Erica – For me, the best part of the holiday season is wrapping myself up in a big, cozy blanket and re-reading some of my favorite wintertime books. And when I say “wintertime books,” I’m referring to books I have deemed, for what I think are temperature-based reasons (more on this later), good for this time of year. Anyway, here are two of my favorites:

A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett

I’ve read this book countless times since I was a child, and it never fails to make me happy. But what’s now intriguing me most about this book is … why do I consider it a wintertime book? Is it the cold/wintery aspects of the story that keep me coming back, or is it the warm cozy parts that draw me in? Do I instinctively snuggle down deeper under my blanket when Sara Crewe is shivering in her attic room or running errands around London in her hole-filled shoes and skimpy, old clothes? Or, do I feel some sort of vicarious warm fuzzies when Ram Dass sneaks in and decks out Sara’s attic room with cozy furniture, tapestries, a roaring fire, and yummy food?

(I would stare at this illustration for hours.)

I think I love this book for both, honestly. Also, I know lovers of this story can be pretty opinionated about which illustrator they prefer, but I’m just going to go ahead and assert that Graham Rust’s illustrated version (originally released in 1989, which just happens to overlap with my childhood … coincidence?!) is the best one. And really, my assessment of this very much hinges on the two-page spread depicting Sara’s decked out attic room (above).

If you haven’t read this book, please do check it out! Just make sure to get yourself a full, unabridged version … there are a LOT of abridged “retellings” of this story out there, so be choosy.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Fun fact! Charlotte Bronte’s unfinished manuscript for a novel entitled Emma was likely part of the inspiration for the book A Little Princess. (The more you know!) Anyway …

I think this is where my wintery feels start to be more about the cold and less about the warm and fuzzy. When I think about reading this book in the summer, it just feels wrong. How could I read about Jane shivering at Lowood school because THE WATER IN HER WASHBASIN HAS LITERALLY FROZEN during the dog days of summer? That just seems vulgar, doesn’t it?

It’s occurred to me that Jane Eyre features a similar “super cold” but then “warm and fuzzy” moment like Sara’s attic transformation in A Little Princess. Jane wanders the moor (SHE SLEEPS OUTSIDE IN THE COLD, Y’ALL), and shivers and starves, pretty much collapsing on St. John River’s doorstep before being brought inside to a cozy fire, food, and new friends!

But generally speaking, this book feels, temperature-wise, wintery. Sure, there’s fire. There’s passion. But when I think about Jane walking around, asserting herself even though she’s “poor, obscure, plain, and little,” I can’t help but imagine her with a cold nose and breath visible in the air.

Clever Non-Knit Gifts

Lee – I always love making and giving handmade gifts to my loved ones during the holidays, knit or otherwise! With a lot of non-knit gifts, you can batch-make several of the same kind of item to give everyone in your group, and/or you can have time to make more different kinds of items than with long-term knitting projects. In my old (pre-Knit Picks) life, I used to write a lot of craft project tutorials, so I’m going to point you to some of those projects that would make fun gifts!

Make yarn bowls out of old records for all your fiber friends! They aren’t quite as functional as real yarn bowls since they are very lightweight, but they’re still fun to have around. Just be sure to use scratched records that no one would want to listen to!

Spray paint thrifted picture frames with or without lace “stencils” and fill them with photos or song lyrics. I made these for my wedding and then let my guests take them home as wedding favors, but they’d also make great holiday gifts!

Many years ago I made this fun Before+After picture of my brothers as a gift to my parents. If you look at it from the left, you see a photo of them when they were little kids, and from the right you see them as adults.

If you have some pretty beads but no experience with jewelry-making, these easy 2-bead earrings are a great starting point, and they’ll make some quick+easy gifts!

And lastly, for your wool-loving friends, grab some of our Bare yarn and dye it yourself into custom hand-dyed gift skeins! I did a few Kool-Aid dyeing tutorials long ago (it’s food safe AND colorfast!), and you can also google to find more; here is one for specifically crock pot dyeing with Kool-Aid! It’s also easy to do this kind of dyeing in a microwave. Just be sure to use yarn that’s all or mostly wool, alpaca, or other animal fibers, in order for the dye to work.

  Tannenbaum Traditions

Hannah – The first year I got my very own Christmas tree, I realized that I’d not inherited a stash of ornaments! A new tradition was born: every year I make a handful of new decorations to add to my steadily growing collection. I try to make two sewn felt ornaments, two knit/crocheted, and a batch of cinnamon ornaments every year. Now, I’ve got a good-sized box, and I have sweet memories that go with every piece. I like Alicia Paulson’s felt patterns, this recipe for cinnamon ornaments, and I’m planning on making Annie Watts’ Walrus ornament this year (I love it so, so much!).

Whatever traditions you hold dear, or if this time of year is simply about relaxation and replenishment, we hope you are able to slow down and enjoy life a little. Happy holidays!

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[bothsandneithers]

Day 2047

For twenty days, I don’t have an email account or Facebook; I am not someone’s graduate student or employee; a con-man, mad-mad is not my president; I don’t reside in Denver, and I don’t have friends that I’ve been meaning to see. I’m not sure what that leaves me. Extract me from my culture, and I’m left with even less. Like, what are we even doing? Floating from country to country, just consuming and not contributing. It’s such an excess experience, seeing sites and museums -- like Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg, where I guess I gained some comfort in learning that this musical genius saw the utility in traveling and did so for most of his adult life. But, in the same breath, we don’t have the counterfactual of how great he would have been if he would have stayed  --

-- hey, I interrupt myself, standing in the middle of a hotel room in Vienna where Marshall cabinets serve as nightstands, and the bathroom incontestably and inexplicably smells like the powdered seasoning from a chicken-flavored Cup O’ Noodles: Have you seen my other sock?

That is a good question, Don says, pleasantly, emphatically, and with the perfect undertones of rhetoric to imply: I’m not going to address any of your comments leading up to the concrete question about a misplaced article of clothing, because what are you even talking about.

 (

This reminds of the time that I rambled on about almost missing a train in Budapest: Time is a relentless parameter on my existence, and I don’t want to give it more of my life than I need to. Waiting at a train platform is considered preparation time, and I want to limit my allocation of time for such activities. I’m sorry that I almost made us late, but isn’t almost-late actually precisely-on-time? 

I must be really funny or very amiable or a light packer or something.

Because that must get old.

)

But to circumvent my unrelatable quandary of, like, what are we even doing (because I don’t really know why I travel), I will say that even though people and food and places make me tired, I do like the ordinary moments that accompany them. Seeing new places is a luxury; having a cleared mind to pay attention to the things around you is a greater one.  

In Iceland, he accidentally withdraws 1,000 dollars from the ATM at the airport (aren’t there restrictions on such a thing?). We’ve only been here for a day, and he slyly takes out the entire wad of cash, sheepishly becoming familiar with the denominations as he fumbles through each transaction.

We drive through a town, with a paper map, and I read the upcoming intersection with as much grace and effort as when I once tried to pronounce the name of my Ikea bed frame; my voice trails off to an incomprehensible and lazy mumble after the second vowel.

We wake up at noon. We put blueberries in our blueberry yogurt and then drive up to some lava land. We park with all of the tourists but quickly find ourselves on a path away from most of them. The lava walls rise up to form a chasm, and a little path lays below. The French man is on the path and is calling up to his wife, who appears  as if she were a mountain goat -- a stuck mountain goat -- wielding off instructions to her husband, and sometimes to us. It is entirely unclear if she is trying to help him out of the valley or if she is trying to find her way to him. Bonjour, Don says to them. I wonder how they got themselves in that predicament, he says to me.

“We are not meant to know everything, Mae. Did you ever think that perhaps our minds are delicately calibrated between the known and the unknown. Our souls need the mysteries of night and the clarity of day? You people are creating a world of ever-present daylight, and I think it will burn us alive. There will be no time to reflect, too sleep, to cool -- “

-- I KNOW. I say, and toss the book, The Circle, on the coffee table, frustrated that it is both two in the morning and not dark out. I can’t even enjoy this light. It’s not like the daylight that I like to stare out at. I feel like I’m spying. I worry that I will see things that I’m not supposed to see. Dark and night things. This is not my time to exist.

It feels like a lifetime ago that we left Iceland and land in Munich, although it has only been about six hours. We do laundry in a neighborhood near the train station. I like doing laundry when I am traveling. It helps me feel like I belong somewhere. I stand outside, leaning against the building. Me? I’m not just a tourist. I’m a tourist doing laundry. About five minutes ago, I figured out that if I push a button here, then the washing machine over there will fill with water. I belong. I engaged with the world without language. Of course I feel insecure, intimidated, and alienated by, say, the busy morphemes of Hungarian, or the seriousness of German, but I’m not entirely helpless.

We eat dinner in an inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure in Munich. We hear sounds coming from a nearby table, and all of the candlelit diners disrupt their conversations to see what it is.  There he is. He orders a larger-than-life pork shank. He has invited his laptop to dinner as his date, and World of Warcraft on his screen. I know this game because I saw this video on the internet once that was a recording of characters playing this game (which is a thing that people do). All of the characters were huddled in an inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure to plan their attack on some bad guys, because one of their teammates, Leeroy Jenkins, needs a shield or something. They strategize. They come up with their plan. One teammate calculates the probability of dying. They have a thirty-two point three-three (“repeating, of course”) percentage of survival.  It’s a selfless act, but before they can implement their plan, Mr. Jenkins takes off, running into the inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure proclaiming his own name, inserting at least six duplicates for every vowel uttered. I think they all die.

I don’t want to say that what is happening in this courtyard is meta, because I think that term cheapens the experience.

“Infested with tourists” reads a TripAdvisor comment -- the same comment from which I stole the phrase “inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure.” That’s also what the graffiti says in Vienna. Well, it actually reads: Tourists are Terrorists, but it shares the same derogatory sentiment.  But I am sometimes fond of this infestation; I think it’s wildly enjoyable.

Five minutes until the full train departs from Munich and people are panicking to get on (I did a poor job of managing my time, and so I am already on the train). It’s the family from the Midwest, you know them. They have been planning this trip for the longest time. We don’t know if there are four or five children. The mom is the friend’s mom you had in high school: A planner who is nice to her daughter’s friends, but is relentless in making sure that they know what they are going to be doing five years from now. The dad is the project manager on another team at work who seems nice enough, but you aren’t sure if he is actually good at his job. They all funnel in the departing door. Most of them through the same door.

Where’s Jimmy??

He’s in the back?

Where Tim?

He’s behind me!

Don slinks down in his seat; reeling in discomfort of the disorganization of the family. This is how Home Alone starts, he mumbles.

The dad begins swinging at least five overstuffed and identical suitcases into the overhead bins. He instructs the child closest to him: Seat of opportunity. Take the seat of opportunity.

He likes the sound of this. He gets louder for the whole train to hear him -- for his teammates back home to be inspired by the metaphor: Seats of opportunity, people! Seats of opportunity! It’s okay if we aren’t sitting next to each other; find a seat!!

I think of traveling as being similar to rapidly heated milk -- more specifically, the film of protein that forms over the top of the liquid, which might actually be called milk skin. If you took a fork, peeled off that top layer and ate it, you would be misleading your Facebook friends when you tell them that you drank a cup of milk (this metaphor is both gross and deteriorating). Sometimes you are lucky enough to meet people, or know people where you are going, and really get in a good gulp -- say, by attending a wedding, which happens on this trip. 

Back home, the United States of America shrinks into a corner, and retracts from the rest of the world in an act of distorted self-preservation that will ultimately contribute to its own downfall. It signals to the world that it is afraid of collaboration. The Germans we sit next to at the reception say they find him entertaining. I’m glad to hear that they aren’t losing sleep over him. 

The vowel harmony of the Hungarian language dances upon each of us as the bride and groom marry. The officiant kindly and effortlessly translates to English. New, yet familiar faces are met with recognition and delight as we pass each other in a traditional Hungarian dance circle. The second dinner at midnight comes at the right time replenish the guests.

Right here is one of those moments where it all converges. The appreciation of the banal and the friendly yet distant observations of humanity from train seats and cafes coincides with an untarnished connection between people, in spite of geopolitical boundaries. This might be a good reason to travel.

[healyourdisease]

Inside Nature's Answer

A couple months back I was fortunate enough to be invited to Nature’s Answer for a full tour and discussion panel on their products. In short I was pleasantly amazed at how much they have to offer as well as how committed they are to quality.

In this blog I will highlight some of my favorite and their more interesting products as well as talk about who they are as a company from my point of view. First I’ll give an overview of the company and talk about some of their unique practices. Then I’ll get into some product information at the end.

Nature’s Answer was founded in 1972 by Frank D'Amelio Sr and his wife Josephine. Frank is a herbalist and an analytical chemist with a passion for natural herbal remedies. He wanted the best for his family, and in the early 1970s there wasn’t a lot of products available. What do you do when you don’t have the medicine you need as an herbalist? You make it!

 Frank’s passion for herbs had him asking every pharmacist on family trips for old medicine bottles and remedy books. His collection is very impressive. As Frank Jr. showed me the private collection, I was drooling for most of an hour over everything since I collect the same kinds of books now.

Frank Sr. came up with the first popular line of alcohol free tincture extracts for a hungry marketplace. Not only were/are his glycerite formulas safe for kids (no alcohol), but many of them are much stronger than their alcohol counterparts. This astounds many people. Even I thought that glycerites were typically weaker, but I now recommend mostly the nature’s answer products because they are often the strongest herbal extracts available.

Frank still owns the company today and his son, Frank Jr., runs things for his dad. This means this large innovative company is still family owned after nearly half of a century. So many businesses have sold out over the years and in doing so have cut corners to keep board members happy with profits. I respect companies like Nature’s Answer all the more because they care about the consumer more than the bottom dollar. A pretty rare quality in business now a days.

Frank Jr gave me a personal tour around the facility and showed me all the ins and outs. He explained that the herbs come in and go through a very tedious process of being “fingerprinted”. This makes sure that they are using the correct species and top quality batches. He also pointed out that other companies do this but Nature's Answer's process employs the older way of processing because it is tried and true, giving reliable results. Some other places use a newer system that saves on time but can produce inconsistent results. It make take several more days, but they are confident that they are using the best herbs available.

The whole plant is a GMP (Good Manufacturing Practices) facility. We had to wear hair nets and lab coats to make sure we didn’t contaminate the area. They also showed me their intake area where things are sent back if they don’t meet steep standards for cleanliness and contamination. Everything is clearly marked for possible allergens too. Nothing gets by them and everything is well documented.

The packaging area is no less impressive. The whole giant room is pressurized to prevent any kind of dust or hair from getting into products. In the production area, there are giant vats that are big enough to hold a dozen or more people for the bestselling large batch extracts. Then there are small hand produced batches that were maybe 3-5 gallons.

After the tour we sat for a while and talked about herbs, herbal formulas, and everything else in the natural health world. They gave me a presentation on Bio Strath and Woodsock which are two other companies within the same family of Bio Botanica. Everyone I met was very friendly and incredibly knowledgeable. I’d love to go back and just hang out with them as I had a great time there and really enjoyed everyone’s company.

By now most of you are probably looking for a place to get your feet wet with this company. Their products are vast and varied, so I can’t talk about all of them. I’m going to try to limit this to about 10 of the most popular and my favorites. Of course if you have questions about products you should leave comments below or even email me to get more details and further info as I’d be happy to talk about anything.

Sambucus

One of the most sought after anti-viral supplements on the market is elderberry syrup. There are many many brands but only one has the potency, taste, and is sugar free. Nature’s Answer has about double the potency of any competing company and produces several flavors, not that plain Sambucus needs any flavoring. They are the only elderberry syrup I have found that is completely sugar free. I had been complaining about this for years. Why give a syrup to anyone who is sick if it has so much sugar in it? Sugar feeds the illness! Well Sambucus by Nature’s Answer solves that problem.

Plant Head

This is the best tasting vegan protein supplement on the market. I’ve tried many and before this it would have been the Plant Fusion brand, but Plant Head takes the cake here. There are 3 flavor varieties all of which are great including the unflavored. I would suggest that they remove the sugar and add more hemp protein, but that’s just me.

Bio Strath

One of the oldest whole food multivitamins on the market is based in Switzerland. It comes in two varieties, vegan tablets and liquid syrup (with a honey base). The herbs in Bio Strath are all fermented and provide a full spectrum of nutrients for anyone sick or healthy. There are also many clinical trials that have been done on this product proving that it increases immunity to illnesses year round, improves blood health and iron deficiencies, and even help attention problems in children. Email me for a copy of this research.

Turmeric

The turmeric extract by Nature’s Answer is by far the strongest of it’s kind on the market. I’ve seen many products like it and most are less than half of its potency. Of course you can still improve the function of this one by taking it with coconut oil and black pepper. However, if you want the best and the strongest you can get, then look no further. 5000mg per serving of 95% curcumin

PerioBrite

This natural mouthwash is packed full of beneficial herbs yet has a refreshing taste and feel. It’s completely alcohol free, gluten free, fluoride free, with no artificial sweeteners or preservatives. It also provides CoQ10, folic acid, and a patented herbal extract called Phytoplenolin which has been shown to promote cell vitality. On top of these you have the anti-fungal and anti-bacterial herbs like goldenseal, clove, rosemary, eucalyptus, and black walnut. It leaves my mouth with a sparkling fresh sensation.

Essential Oils

Nature’s Answer offers a wonderful line of all organic therapeutic grade essential oils and essential oil blends. I suggest these oils often as they are very high quality but at a very modest price. Their Thrones blend is by far the best organic “thieves” variety I’ve ever smelled. The best quality and most affordable certified organic essential oils you can find.

Hiker’s Guide Insect Repellent

This wonderful bug repellent by Woodstock has a pleasant aroma to it all while doing its job effectively. It comes in a spray on version or, my favorite, the lotion. I have tried this out in the woods as I love to hike and camp. I don’t just pitch a tent next to the car either. I prefer to hike several miles before sleeping on the ground without a tent. A good bug spray is key when you don’t carry a tent. This one works better than all the others I’ve tried.

C&F Seasonal Support

This is another product by Woodstock (which is based in Woodstock, NY) formulated by a fellow vegan genius who I like very much. Not only did he teach me a lot about veganism that I didn’t already know but he follows many of Dr. Christopher’s formulas and concepts. Anyone who knows me knows that’s a winning combination.

Anyway, the formula has some of my favorite cold and flu herbs like elderberry, olive leaf, habanero, lobelia, cherry bark, garlic, goldenseal, and Echinacea. On top of that it’s in a base with maple syrup and apple cider vinegar. I sure hope to see more of these Woodstock formulas on store shelves in the near future. By the way all products within the Woodstock line are completely vegan, so that’s another great reason to support them.

Cal-Mag

So many calcium supplements on the market are just not doing the job. Calcium can be easily absorbed by the body but when you talk assimilation, that’s another whole subject. If you live a SAD (standard American diet) lifestyle, then you have a lot of acidic foods and drinks moving through the body. This robs you of calcium which leads you to needing more calcium (plus a whole host of other problems). If you replace the calcium with a non-organic form i.e. most of what is on the market, then you are pretty much just taking an expensive “tums” and likely building calcium deposits throughout your body.

The Nature’s Answer Cal/Mag is based solely on seaweed which is rich in many minerals especially calcium. This organic form is known to assimilate not just absorb and promote new bone, teeth, and tissue growth. On top of that they provide the proper ratio of magnesium to help the calcium get to where it needs to go. This is a great product that is usually at a much better price than the competitors.

Probiotic Lite

This is a handy on the go drink mix with an extremely hardy strain of friendly bacteria. It comes in two flavors Iced Tea and Raspberry Lemonade. It is very sweet with help from beet powder and stevia. This is a very tasty and effective way to get your digestive health on the go or for those picky sugar addicted kids.

  I hope I’ve inspired you with enough reasons to support Nature’s Answer, Woodstock and Bio Strath. If not you should start asking your supplement companies the tough questions like “Are you a family owned and run business?”, “Do you have alcohol free, sugar free, or even vegan options in your product line?”, “Do you use any GMOs?”, or even “Do you have decades of experience and clinical research to back up your products?” I think you deserve the best for your body, and I’m sure Frank Sr. and Frank Jr would agree. Why not take the best and cleanest supplements available?

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