#and it's a quick pickle. it only lasts a few weeks in the fridge
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I ordered a daikon from Walmart and the one they gave me was absolutely huge and uh
Y'all
I have ENTIRELY too much pickled radish now
#does anyone in the GTA wanna come over and take some pickled radish#please. i have so much#and it's a quick pickle. it only lasts a few weeks in the fridge#someone help me eat all this radih#*radish#mod post#food#cooking#pickled radish
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Matt sturniolo -little bean
Warnings -swearing,mention of abortion, mention of sex , vomiting use of y/n, arguing .Small age gap (matt 20 and reader 22) silent treatment
Angst/fluff Matt
Author note -thinking of making this into a series so let me know what you all think
Part 1
Word count-2k
I brush the hair out of my face ,as I wake up to a empty house.The house was full of silence as my boyfriend Matt and his triplets brother had left the house already for some business meetings taking place at the ware house.I look at the clock on my phone 10:47am shit thats late for me and im still shattered i dont even feel like ive slept at all. Im awoken from my sleepy daze by my stomach rumbled ,I get up brush my hair quickly and head to the kitchen to get something to eat .
I raid the fridge and cupboards in search for something to eat , I decide to have chopped up lettuce,pickled gherkins and some jolly ranchers .I finish my breakfast and head to the couch to watch some TV ,as I sit down I see a note that's been left on the coffee table it said 'hey baby me Chris and nick have got a few more meetings today then what we thought might be abit later home will bring back some late lunch with us .Matt xxxx'. A smile is present on my face the whole time I read his quick note with my cheeks blushed , Matt's smallest actions can still have a massive effect on me even after being together for over a year now .
I flick through the channels as nothing can satisfy me , I decided to open the YouTube app and put some Sam and Colby on specifically the conjuring from last year's hell week .I'm half way through the video when all of a sudden I feel so nauseous I can feel it building in my stomach like a tornado swirling around inside of me , it starts of slow and the next thing I know I'm running to the nearest bathroom thankfully it's matt and i shared one .I throw the toilet seats up and fall to my knees and close my eyes as the first bit of vomit comes rushing up my throat and out of my mouth .I sit there for the next hour bringing up whats left of this mornings breakfast and last nights dinner.
After minutes of waiting for the sickness to come back .I decided to stand up and reach for my toothbrush and paste ,as I brush my teeth I start to think of anything that could of gave me a bug or if there was a stomach bug going around .After minutes I've came to know conclusion of my sickness when it hits me .....shit Matt and I are usually careful if we don't use a condom we pull out or we get the morning after pill but a while ago I joined the triplets on their 6 million subscribers video .During the night having all the huts to ourselves Matt and I decided to get the hut as far from nick and Chris as possible .It safe to say there was some very animalistic behaviour going on in our tent that night , in the heat of the moment no condom or pull out was used and I could exactly get plan b pill from the gift shop so we just left it and thought well it's not going to happen .
I decide that before I start to get myself worked up in a panic , I'll go to the shop and do a test before the boys get back .Once I feel like I won't be sick again I go and throw some leggings and a jumper on leaving my top to go bra-less as I'm reminded of some achiness in them .I throw some crocs on and grab my car keys as i head out .
*Arrives back from shop*
I walk back into the house and I'm thankful that it's still silent meaning I'm the only one here .This is my first ever pregnancy scare so I'm not expert , I end up buying 7 different tests and some mints to settle my stomach and yet some more gherkins.I wonder around the kitchen with my hands full of tests in search of a cup or container as i dont feel like peeing 6 different times .I decided to keep one unused so i can do it again with matt incase he doesn't believe me .After finding a disposable cup I drink 3 cups of water and walk around the house doing some cleaning while I wait for the water to hit my bladder .I feel a urge to pee and walk to the bathroom, I position the disposable cup where it's supposed to be and let me bladder do it's job I open all the tests and when I'm finished place the 6 sticks into the cup .I start pacing the bathroom but decided that wouldn't be the best thing to do in this situation .So I make my way to the kitchen and put a kettle on figuring that a hot drink may help my nerves while killing the time awaiting the tests.I walk back to the bathroom once then minutes are up and as I pull all the tests out I stand in shock as they all say the same ....I'm pregnant.
Fuck fuck fuck is the only word that is running in my head , what am I going to do ,what am I going to say , what's Matt going to say his career is at its prime right now what will a baby do with this .Fuck their triplets , twins run on my side of the family what if there's more then one baby in there .I hold onto one of the tests in my shaky hands as I pace the bathroom.After minutes of walking around the small white tiled room I decided to hide all the tests and put them in a draw in Matt and my bedroom and I decide to text matt.
Y/n: hey babe was just wondering do you know how long you're gonna be xx
My phone pings instantly telling me that most likely it woul be Matt had texted me back
Matt:yeah not long just grabbing some maccies won't be long everything okay at home ? Xx
Y/n: yeah just got something to talk to you about xx
I avoid my phone until he gets back .I'm startled as I hear the door fling open and just one set of foot steps ."y/n?" I hear his familiar voice Matt is calling after me ."in the living room" I shout back to him .Seconds later he appears looking as perfect as usual "where's Chris and nick?" I ask him "they was fucking around when we was supposed to be signing cards for merch getting sent out so they went back to the warehouse to do their signing , Laura is gonna drop them off later tho .What's this thing you wanna talk about?" I pause with words moving rapidly around my head trying to think of the right way to tell him that I'm now pregnant with his child .I decide that no words are the right words so I take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom.
His body stills while his eyes move over what the tests all say .The room is silent , too silent."Matt says something " I say breaking the silence ."when did it happen" he says still not taking his eyes off the tests "at the safari , in the hut that night" I respond back to him "fuck" he mutters to himself as he storms out the door .I stand there in silence as my eyes well up with tears.I hear the jingle of Matt's car keys and the door slamming telling me that Matt had left again and gone in his car .I walk into the living room now numb with emotions my hand rests on my lower stomach now knowing that through the layers of skin and muscle is our baby ,my baby the size smaller then a bean in this moment I know that I've got to keep this baby wether Matt wants it or not .
Minutes pass and my nauseous feeling comes over me again as I run to the bathroom again.I spend all the best part of an hour again with my head in the toilet when I stand up again feeling weak at my knees I brush my teeth for the 3rd time today trying to get rid of the vile aftertaste left in my throat .I hear the door go again but i hear 3 set of footsteps this time ,and voices nick ,Chris and matts voice ."what are you gonna do bro?" I hear Chris ask Matt "I don't know"he responds "well you and y/n have gotta talk this out Matt you can't just leave her in the bathroom like you did last time " I hear nick snap at the boys .
"Y/n" I hear nick call out me ."I'm on the bathroom just about to come out" I shout back as I walk into the kitchen .Matt's angry stare softens as he seen my face , I'm now pale and clammy with my skin layered in a thin amount of sweat ."congratulations" Chris says breaking the tension in the room "thank you" I say with a half smile ."so I think you two have gotta talk about this" nick states ."I'm not getting rid of it" I say quickly that being the only thing I'm sure of right now ."I wasn't even going to suggest that" Matt says with anger in his voice .Nick ,places his hand up to Matt in a urge to shush him "calm Matt" he says to him."is it mine ?"matt asks me looking me in the eye "are you fucking kidding me" i say in the exact tone that matt has.Nick and chris take this as a hint and both excuse themselves to different rooms "yeah I'm being real" he says raising his voice , it being full with anger ."you're the only person I've slept with matt you know that" i say to him storming off into our shared room .
*Few hours later*
I hear a knock at the bedroom door hoping that it's Matt ."come in" I shout sounding optimistic.The door opens and nick strides in with a sorry smile on his face "so that was intense" he says as he sits down next to me on the bed "yeah" i agree with him ."so i dont know if this is the right thing to say but im really glad your'e keeping the baby" he says nudging my arm ."yeah i am too , i just hope that matt feels the same " i say smiling properly for the first time today ."alright its getting late so I'll leave you to sleep i heard creating a baby can be tiring "he says with a small laugh.
Just as nick leaves the room Matt enters it , he ignores me acting as if I'm not in the room as he goes to the wardrobe grabbing some spare pillows and duvet he walks back out of the room as I sit in bed listening to him getting comfortable on the sofa .I think to myself how much of a long night I'm in for I can never sleep properly when I'm not with Matt and even worse knowing that he's mad at me .As the thoughts come to my head added with the extra hormones that pregnancy has brought on my eyes start to fill with tears when they fall down my face .I have so many questions running over my head thinking how I'm going to bring up a baby by myself although nicks previous words bring some form of comfort to me .As the clock strike 4 am and im still wide awake and emotional i decide to head to the bathroom and take a calming bath .Im thankful that both nick and chris's rooms are on different levels as I run the tab the sound of water echos through the room .I rid of my clothes and get into the bath now full of bubbles I close my eyes in attempt to relax.
Suddenly my nauseousness creeps up on me again , who ever called morning sickness 'morning' has never experienced this cus it seems to be all throughout the day already .I jump up from the bath with my wet hair sticking to my body as I move quickly to the toilet I throw the lid up and sit on the floor as bile begins to leave my body .I startled as a soft towel is wrapped around my body ,I look up to see Matt crouching next to me with his eyes full of tears himself .His hand rubs circles on my back as I start gagging again ."let it out baby it's okay" he whispers I release bile 3 more times as I pull back and rest my head on Matt's shoulder as he pushes my hair out of my face ."come on let's go to bed and talk " he says so quietly careful not to wake his two brothers up .He stands up and picks me up bridal style still with the towel wrapped around me .He carries me to our bed and uses his foot to close the door as he places me gently on the bed .He goes to our wardrobe and fetches me some shorts and one of his tops , he helps me get dressed as my body is weak from the vomiting.Once I'm dressed I lay in bed as Matt walks over to the other side of the bed and jumps in to bed with me .I sit waiting for him to speak "y/n im sorry for what i said and done earlier i know that you would never cheat on me and id never ask you to get rid of it .Whatever you choose ill support you .Im sorry ive treated you like that when you needed me the most ..." I cut his speech off with a kiss "I know , I know babe and we're going to be fine I want to keep this baby tho" I say to him looking him in his eyes "we're going to be a mommy and daddy" he says to me smiling ."we best tell our parents" I say to him before falling asleep in his arms .
#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#fanfiction#like#chris sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo fanfic#mattsturniolo#sturniolo#sturniolo smut#baby#stories#series#part 1#parts#comment#folow4folow
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My Piece for Anilysium NSFW collab! This month’s theme is hate fucking & revenge and you should really go check out the collab masterlist because there’s so much more than just JJK . There’s MHA, Attack on Titan , and Haikyuu( so much Haikyuu) This was so much fun to write and i hope everyone likes it!
Masterlist
Chapter 2
Fandom: Jujitsu Kaisen
Paring: Sukuna X Fem!reader
Summary: You hate Yuji’s older brother and no amount of fucking will change that. Now finding his real feelings for you might.
Warnings: NSFW, No Beta, minors DNI
Tags: College/modern Au, hickies, dirty talk, oral, fingering, rough sex, hate fucking, unprotected sex , reedited
Word Count: 6k
Really Yuji," you breathe another sigh of relief as you take the spare key to the Yuji's house from under the welcome mat. "You're a freaking lifesaver."
"I told you it's no big deal. Not your fault your graphics card decided to conk out and your professor wants your final due a week early. Besides, like I said no one going to be home so it'll be a lot quieter than your dorm."
"Not even your evil twin?" you ask half-serious half-faux shock, locking the front door behind you
"Nope! he's out of town like gramps for the weekend. At some party out of town. He might make it back before me tomorrow though. Just a heads up.”
Yuji can feel your eye roll miles away over the one phone, "Of course he is."
Sukuna wasn't actually Yuji’s twin, but his older brother but two years. Evil twin just always fits better as an insult. He was in many accounts the typical devilishly handsome bay boy. He drove a motorcycle, worked at a tattoo shop, had tattoos, a sharp I’m-nothing-but-trouble smirk, and even had an air of danger that lingered around him. But with that bad boy persona came the real-life consequences of being a bad boy. Sukuna only worked at a tattoo shop because it was the only place that would hire a man with face tattoos. You were surprised he could even keep a job with how much he parties. It was like every night with the man!
Then there was the most infuriating part of Sukuna. People fawned over him, took him home like he was a trophy, praise him like a king. Just about every chance he got Sukuna loved to brag about his escapes to you. With no shame or remorse whatsoever. Sukuna was so full of himself it made you sick.
"Good," You add. "Means I can freely raid your fridge."
"Just don't eat gramps-"
"Oh my god!" you stop him there. "For the last time, that wasn't me! who on earth likes pickled pig’s feet dude. They’re feet."
"Gramps does."
"And I don't. so, he doesn't have to worry about his disgusting feet. You're coming back tomorrow, right?"
"Yep. We just have a morning shoot to do and if everything goes to schedule, we should be back in town tomorrow afternoon."
"Itadoir! let's go, I. Am. Starving," You hear Nobara yell in the background.
"Then I'll see you when you get home. Byyyyyeee."
"Bye! good luck on your final."
Upstairs in Yuji's bedroom, you get everything set up to finish your final before heading back downstairs to grab snacks and fill your water bottle for the long night ahead. However, before you can get to the stairs, the devil himself steps out of the shower with the shortest towel you've ever seen wrapped around his waist
"Fuck me."
"About time you came around baby," was Sukuna’s reply as he so causally leans an arm against the wall and gives you that smirk.
Ewe, you hate the nickname. Baby. You are a fully grown woman, not a child. Though you do feel smaller under Sukuna's gaze and his unwavering confidence in nothing but a towel. You also hate how attractive he looks in said towel. His pink hair is still slicked back from the shower, a few stray droplets roll down his neck, along the smooth lines of his tattoos then lower past his navel ....and lower-
Your eyes snap back up to his face where that infuriating smirk still resides.
"See something you like? You can go on and admit if you do. Bet it'll pretty feel nice to finally come clean."
You're quick to defend yourself. "There's nothing to like. I'm just wondering what made you so shameless."
Sukuna scoffs, "Isn't that obvious?" and jesters his other hand to his naked chest. "I'm a damn work of art."
He is, but you'd never admit that. Sukuna knew he was graced with good looks and used them to get whatever he wanted, to hurt whoever he pleased.
Your final was due tomorrow night at 11:59PM. You had hoped to finish it up tonight, but with Sukuna being under the same roof as you that wasn't going to happen. Every time to two of you were within earshot of each other the man loved to be a thorn in your side that demanded all your undivided attention.
"Aren’t you supposed to be at some party?" you question him. Hoping that was the case That he was just getting ready for a party and was on his way out.
Sukuna simply shrugs looking uninterested in the subject as he answers, "It was a bust. Just a bunch of frat bros who were too pussy to go through with getting a tattoo. Wasn't worth my time."
"Pardon? Sukuna the alcoholic turns down free booze?" It feels good to mock Sukuna. It made things feel normal. Like he was fully dressed and that towel around his waist wasn't starting to sag.
That infuriating smirk makes a quick return as he explains, "I like to mix business and pleasure, and if there are no potential clients at a party then I see no reason to stay. Besides, the night’s not a total loss now that I know you and I have the house to ourselves. Wadda say baby. Wanna see if we can get the neighbors to make a noise complaint?”
"Fat chance," you scoff. But your eyes can't keep shifting between his face and the towel that's ever loosening around his hips.
"Oh?" he steps forward, all traces of light-hearted teasing gone from his voice. Being replaced by a dark challenging sort of tone that makes you feel like you're in danger. Are you in danger? Would Sukuna assault you? For all the scummy things he does you had never imagined assault being one of them. No, he wouldn’t. Not when he makes it point to tell you how he always got consent. Why did you feel in danger Why did a part of you feel thrilled to be- Ope, and there the towel goes, pooling on the ground between your feet and his? "You sure about that, Doll?"
Doll was certainly better than baby, but it was also worse. At least baby didn’t make your ears feel so hot.
You don't know what to say and you certainly can't look back down. You absolutely cannot- but you look down anyway. "Fuck."
This wasn't fair. You knew that Sukuna had to have a nice dick or something to make people want to keep taking him home, but this just wasn't fair. The man was hung. A nice thick cock resting against the fat of his thigh. The damn sight alone has you squeezing your thighs together. Fuck him for being so hot. Fuck you for getting all hot and bothered right now.
"This isn't fair. Can you please go put on some clothes?" you lock on the fine details of old wallpaper, keep your arms tucked to your sides, and your hands clenched into fists.
"No way, this is my house too. I help pay the bills and my name is right on the deed with Yuji's and Gramps so I can do as I please. And besides, your reaction is too damn cute. I've never seen you so red."
"Because you naked Sukuna."
"Are you sure that's it? Are you sure it's not because you wanna fuck me? Don't think I didn't miss the way you were squeezing your legs together just now," suddenly his voice is a lot closer. You can feel his breath across your cheek as he continues, "My my, are you really that desperate to relieve yourself after seeing my dick doll? I'm, not even hard yet."
"You are an arrogant ass," you spit, more to remind yourself of who Sukuna was than an insult.
" And you, just need to admit you like me so we can fuck."
You meet his eyes, face still flushed. "I do not like you."
"Then what is this? Why so red and obviously turned on?” he pushes
"You’re freaking naked and trying to get me to sleep with you!"
"Well, if you did then you can stop trying so hard to hate me."
"Like that would make me hate you any less!"
“It would.
“It would not!”
"Wanna bet."
This infuriating, pompous, no good, piece of shit!
"Yea! you know what Sukuna? Yea. Let's go bang in your stupid bedroom just so I can prove. You. Wrong," the words come out before you fully register what you’ve just gotten yourself into. when they do a second too late, you're oddly ok with Sukuna taking your hand and pulling back down the hall towards his bedroom.
Sukuna's bedroom was...nice. Not quite what you were expecting. The room smelled like clean linen, cigarette smoke, with a faint hint that the cologne he wore. It was decorated with macabre tones of bone, red, and black. Very goth, with a little bit of artist thrown in. Very fitting for a guy like Sukuna. The room wasn't spic and span, there's a pile of clothes by his vinyl collection, and his desk was covered in sketch paper and what you assume are reference books. Said mess spills over on the floor beside his desk. The desk, you decide, was the oddest thing, So studious. So busy. Squinting you could tell that the papers weren’t all art and tattoo designs either. Not what you were expecting.
The moment that his bedroom door makes a soft click, Sukuna is on you. Pulling you into him by the hands he's still holding and going straight for the neck. You're able to stop half of the small yelp you let out and by biting into your bottom lip. But it's already too late. Sukuna’s already the little noise you make, and he wants more.
He's good. Of course, he's good, he's had a lot of practice with all those one-night stands. It's like he knows the human body- your body better than you. Sukuna's hands are firm on your hips keeping you in place in the middle of his room while he continues to bite and suck at a spot on your neck that's making you feel so weak and good.
"Su-" your breath gets caught in your throat as a moan threatens to stumble out along with his name. You swallow thickly and try again. "Sukuna, bed."
he pulls away from your neck. "Not yet. Got to get you undressed first. I want a good look at the before."
You’re almost afraid to ask, "Before what?"
Sukuna has fully pulled away now giving you full and up-close view of his infuriatingly handsome smirk., "Before I fucking ruin you tonight."
The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, but you remain deficient. "You seem awfully confident in yourself. I would say don't make promises that you can't keep but you're probably used to breaking them, aren’t you?"
the corner of his mouth twitches in annoyance, "Oh I can't wait till I fuck you until you’re just a mess of babbling moans and drool. Can’t wait to finally prove you wrong." his hands slip up the back of your shirt, hands hot against your skin.
With two sets of hands, you're stripped down to nothing in no time. You don't even feel cold like you thought you would. Your whole body is hot thanks to every little brush of Sukuna’s knuckles against your skin as he helped you get undressed. He's not even touching you anymore. He's stepped back to get a full view of your naked body and that alone of making you feel warm and restless. You shift from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but his face.
When you finally get the gull to look him in the face, he looks lost? shocked? Mabey even amazed? "Are you ok?"
"Yes," was his quick reply, "You just look a lot hotter than I thought.”
"Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel completed."
"Why do you cover up so much?" he was honestly curious, but you didn't want to get into any of that right now.
"So, condoms?" you change the subject instead of getting into your own issues with self-confidence when it came to your body.
he nods to the nightstand bedside his made bed. "I have lubes. What kind do you like?"
You didn't quite know how to answer that. No one’s ever asked you what kind of lube you preferred. You didn’t even put it together that there was more that your standard kind of lube and you feel stupid for asking, "Kind?"
"Yea," he nods and repeats, "What. Kind. Of. Lube. Do. You. Want?"
"The slickest? whatever makes it easier to fit that thing in," you point to his flaccid cock.
"My dick. Call it my dick for Pete's sake. and have you never used lube? - wait,” you see his smirk growing but stop him before he can even assume.
You shrug feeling awkward and dare you say vulnerable now. Was it normal for people to ask that? Were they supposed to? You hadn't had sex in a while, you barely have it all. "No one ever asked."
"You poor thing. Do you even cum you have sex? Did they even know where the clit was?"
"Yes!" a lie, on both fronts. The last time you had sex you had to finish yourself off.
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Really?" he cocks a brow enjoying himself. "Because you’re looking awfully flustered there."
"Of course, I'm future we're about to fuck. We're naked. I'm scared that thing-your dick is going to split me in half ok. I don’t wanna end up as a Sex Sent Me to the E.R story.”
The pink-haired fucker just stands there, putting his hands on his hips, a shit eating grins across his face, "Dying my cock seems seen a pretty good way to go."
You take a deep breath to calm your anger, at least you didn't feel awkward anymore. "You are infuriating."
"Silicon base it is!"
While Sunkuna digs out a role of condoms, how many times was he planning on doing it? And a small bottle of lube you set yourself down on the edge of his bed.
Sukuna tosses the condoms and lube onto the bed then he sinks down in front of your closed legs. You’re surprised he’s not diving in like your past partners who were never the foreplay type, but You don't open them. The more he waits for you to do so, the more annoyed his pout gets.
"Well?" he prompts thinking it will do the trick
"What's the magic words?"
"Open your legs so I can fuck you with my fingers you and make you cum on my tongue."
You fake a hurt expression while maybe having a bit of a power trip with the guy you hate down on his knees in front of you. "Ohhh, sorry not quite."
You make Sukuna genuinely angry now. He digs his fingers into your knees, and he glares up at you as he forces your knees apart. Your little power trip is short-lived. It would seem that even on his knees, Sukuna was still in control. He moves his shoulders between your legs so you can’t close them.
"Listen up Y/N," he addresses you in a serious tone. "If you don't want me to do something or you need to stop. you must tell me. no banter, no bullshit. Got it?"
You nod then add," Yea...I will."
"Will you because you sound unsure."
"I didn't imagine you'd be like this during sex."
"Like what?"
" I dunno, like Caring? Communicative?"
"Jesus, what has sex been like before me?"
"Not as infuriating."
"Infuriatingly good?"
"We'll see about that. Now come on chop shop Sukuna. "
To his credit, Sukuna does shut up and get to work, but agonizingly slow. Probably just because of your backtalk. Defiantly not because he was enjoying pleasuring you like this. Sukuna was too self-centered for that. His hands take their sweet roaming just over the plush skin of your thighs. His mouth was even longer and rougher with you. Sukuna wanted to make sure that by the end of tonight your thighs are marked up with all the pretty colors of bruised hickeys and bite marks.
The arousal is quick to pool between your folds. You can’t even pretend that all the licking and biting Sukuna’s doing down there isn’t making you needy for more.
"Sukuna," his name comes out as impatient wine making his mouth freeze over your skin. "Please do something more. I don't have all night."
"Fun killer," he mumbles against your skin.
taking his thumbs Sukuna spreads your lips apart and breathes out, "Fuck."
This whole time you've been watching Sukuna work on your thighs but now you have to look away and wonder if something was wrong. Nothing should be wrong, you tell yourself. There was nothing you have to be ashamed about. No pussy was perfect.
Another ragged breath draws your attention back down and Sukuna who was still staring at your spread pussy with the same expression he had staring at your body the first time. "You so wet for me already?"
"Yea. You did a pretty good job at riling me up. A full gold star buddy. Now would you quit looking at my vage like it's the first time you've ever seen one?"
his eyes flick by up at you for a moment to comment, “It’s the prettiest I've ever seen," then quite literally digs in.
Your hands thread themselves through Sukuna short locks and hold on to them for dear life because you forgot about the pricing. You forget about the fucking pricing, that tiny silver ball that always rested on his tongue as he spoke. Oh god and did know how to use it along the rest of his tongue You start to feel dizzy. Your breaths are cut short and trail off into whimpers as the ball against your clit.
When you feel his fingers poke and trace your hole, your own slick coating the tips. You jolt when Sukuna slips in two. By the time that the fourth is added, you've already had an orgasm, a heavenly one that did nothing to stop Sukuna from pleasuring you. He went from slowly working you open to know shamelessly, mercilessly fucking you with them. The twisting, the squelching, the way he seems to know just where to drag his fingers over are too much.
"Holy fuck. i-i'm...Oh my god, Sukuna I'm going to cum again!"
Sukuna only looks up at you huffing out another breath through his nose. God, he hasn't even come up for air. And the fact that your voice sounds like you can't wrap your head around another orgasm just spurs him on.
Your body lurches forward and you let out something between a sob and a moan. Sukuna holds you steady with a firm hand on your hip as you cream on his tongue for the second time. You're not looking down as he pulls his mouth from you, eyes unfocused on the wall ahead. Sukuna wished you were though, he wanted to see your reaction to the strings of arousal that connect you two. He imagines being something akin to the red face you make when he stands up and you see your juices gleaming off his chin before he wipes them away with the back of his hand.
You also get a good look at what Sukuna looks like fully erect and wanting to nothing more than to fuck something with it. His eyes are zeroed in on you like prey, his chest is still heaving from going down on you for so long, his knees red, and so is the head of his cock that's leaning a little to the right under its own weight. A pearl of clear pre-cum oozing for the tip. A thought, one you shouldn't be a thing but is entirely possible, pops into your head.
"Are you clean?"
"Now you're asking me that. Your priorities are fucked."
"Sorry I was a little sidetracked"
Sukuna chuckled darkly. "A lot more a little Doll."
arrogant piece of- "Are you clean?"
"Yea, get tested every other month. Don't give me that look. What do you think that I just carelessly sleep around?"
"Yes?"
"You little shit,” he says but there’s a light tone of amusement in his insult.
"What you look like the type of dude who does. I'm surprised you don't have a kid or two at this point."
"Keep it up. I dare you,” he threatens leaning in.
"I'm on the pill," you confess shifting a little and change the subject again," I'm pretty sure I'm clean too. I mean I haven't had sex in a while I’ve always used a condom so...if you wanna go bare that's fine with me. Just sayin'."
What the hell are you saying? Where did your senses of logic go? Yes, you’re on birth control. Yes, you have plan B back in your dorm. Yes, the thought of this man filling you with his cum made you fuck weak. You guess that thought alone made all sense useless.
Sukuna gives you that look of being lost and surprised again. This time it makes you ask, "What's that look like? You keep giving it to me?"
"Because you're fucking amazing Y/N,” you a little taken back at how genuine and in awe Sukuna's voice sounds.
You don't have much time to question it either because Sukuna is already crawling on top of you, scooting you further up the bed so you can lay down. His actions brigs the nerves made even more prominent in your stomach by how Sukuna is on top of you staring down at you with a softness that you've never seen on him before.
Now that you are thinking about it, he's been doing a lot of things that are unexpected for him. Like he’s a different person. Too out of character from the man you're so used to fighting with. All the nerves suddenly turn to anger.
"You are deceiving piece of shit."
"Excuse me,” he asks as all softness leaves his features.
You clench and unclean your jaw. "This is all an act, isn't it?"
"An act," his voice raises. "You think me being a decent human being is an act?"
“Yes,” is the simple answer even though it hurts both of you.
You can feel the bedsheets beneath you as he clenches them in his fists and seethes, "You know I assumed this was your first time-"
"Oh, how kind of you to assume that no one would ever want me."
"Fuck it, fuck you, I was going to be gentle. Take it slow. Make you feel nothing but pleasure tonight. But now, I’m going make you feel my fucking cock for days. Ruing every other person you’ll ever be with after as a nice lil’ reminder what you fucked up.”
"I never excepted you to be gentle you are lying ass, “you see the back feeling angry and so stupid for almost falling for the charade he was putting on for you.
Sukuna even has the gull to keep it up even though her act has fallen away and you’re seeing the real, cold-hearted fuck boy he is. "Do you still want to use a condom?"
"No."
“And you’re going to tell me if you want me to stop?”
“yes”
What was the point? The act was over. He could stop acting like he cared.
As soon as those words leave your mouth and without any patience or warning, Sukuna is pushing into you. The fat head makes you squirm, but the rest of the lengths, though still burning, makes your eyes roll back. You can barely squeeze around him but somehow you are, and it makes Sukuna let out a ragged breath. Watching the way, you stretch to accommodate his size makes is dick pulse inside you and you can feel it.
Sukuna, staying true to his word, doesn't wait until you get adjusted before he begins to move. The thrusts are slow at first, gentle almost. But it doesn't stay this way for long. Soon enough he's gripping your hips and slamming into you with such force it makes your whole-body jolt with each thrust. It hurts, the brutal pace and size. But fuck. Your moan and whimper switch back and forth between pain and pleasure.
You hate it. You hate Sukuna. You hate yourself. You hate how good he was fucking you but treating you like you were just nothing but a hole to fuck, a woman he was going to make cum so hard she’ll forget all her senses and you wanted that.
"You like this doll? You like me using you like this?" He mocks you. "Like my own fuck sleeve."
"You are too fucking big Sukuna. Fuck you're so big." You squirm feeling another orgasm budling.
Above you, Sukuna's smirk is infuriating but hot. He yanks your hips up and pushes deeper into making you quite literally scream.
"You’re such a needy slut,” He grunts. “Practically suckin’ my cock in. So hungry for it aren’t you?”
You can’t even form words to argue. Not like you would have anything to say because he was right.
"You like me acting like this? Is this what you wanted? What thought sleeping with me would be like? What I’m really like?”
You so confused about what he’s ranting on about that you can just you no and hope for the best. You hear a low frustrated growl from Sukuna that tappers off. Somehow, he goes harder. You throw your head back wondering where this all came from so suddenly, but not one to kick a gifted horse in the mouth. He seems angry, or was this just how he liked to fuck his women?
“Fuck, you’re close aren’t you, little cock hungry whore. That’s it- shit! That’s it. You look so good cummign in my cock and you better take ever last drop.”
This time when you cum, it is the most intense orgasm you’ve by far. If not for the tight grip Sukuna has on your hips your body would be twisting unable to control the orgasm drowning you. Sukuna isn’t far behind. Feeling you walls clamp and convulse around his cock, having you under him like he’s always wanted, makes his cruel pace stutter. Though only for a few thrusts because then he’s burying it as far as he can get it into your squelching cunt. She shutters as again; you can feel each spurt of cum that fill you
You lay there in Sukuna’s bed, body still trying to catch up. your chest heaves along with Sukuna’s who is growing soft inside you. A hand pulling roughly at hair forced you to look at his smirking face. "Was that real enough for your doll?"
"Almost you just...you just need to ditch me now. Toss me aside. One time fling and all that"
Sukuna grits his teeth in a sneer but laughs, his cock twitching inside you. “Not a chance doll I told you I was going fucking ruing you tonight.
waking up you were aching and sore in all the best ways. It was something like the feeling after a long workout but better. Your body is warm, tingling with a satisfyingly dull ache. You are still completely naked just like the man who laid in bed beside you. To your surprise, you felt clean. After a night like last night, you had passed out fully expected to wake up sticky with dried sweat and cum. You faintly remember something warm running over your body, but you had assumed those were Sukuna’s hands soothing you to sleep. He must have been wiping you down with a warm washcloth so that when you woke up you wouldn't feel as disgusting.
You felt an odd warmth spread in your chest the more you thought about how much care Sukuna had put into fucking you last night. You were starting to see how he pulled so many people. He wasn't just good at sex, but all the pre- and post-care that went into having sex great sex. So, Sukuna was good-well fucking amazing to have sex with. Great. Just Great.
You hear a raspy laugh from beside you, "Aww what's with the look doll? Are you made that I was right?"
you scrunch your face keeping your eyes on the ceiling fan. "Mad about what?"
"Yourself? you spent all this time hating me for sleeping around and now here you are, in my bed."
You turn to him. his hair is a mess and his features are not as sharp. He looks more like Yuji in this light still not fully awake as you. "What do you mean I still hate you. And for the record, I don't hate you for having a lot of sex with different people. I hate that you brag about it. Constantly."
Now Sukuna is the one to look confused and he doesn't look like he likes being in this state. "Wait, that's why you hate me? Wait, what do you mean you still hate me? You let me wreck your pussy last night and you have to gull to lay here and say you still hate me? what the fuck?"
Oh, that's right. Not about the pussy wrecking but to fact that you were laying here when you had a final due. Yuji wasn't back yet either so it still must be morning which was good as it gave you that much more time to get to stupid thing finished and submitted.
"Well?" Sukuna urged sounding even angrier. "Are you going to fucking say something Y/N?"
You set up and stretch your arms over your head and bask in the warm rays of the morning sun. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the odd little way Sukuna's face falls for a split second as he admires your bare body that's littered in his marks before he snaps out of it.
"I don't know what you want me to say?"
"How about a damn explanation."
You swing your legs off his bed and turn to look over your shoulder at the tattooed man who's now setting up with you. "About why I still hate you? that's still pretty obvious."
"Well, it ain't to me! You were literally babbling praise after praise about me last night and you still hate me?!?"
you stifle a laugh because this just might be the first time that you're the one getting under Sukuna's skin instead of the other way around. "I mean yeah, you got a 12/10 dick there and it was some top-tier sex. But all that doesn't mean that I'm suddenly going to look past all the arrogance and self-entitlement "
You can hold back even more laughter when Sukuna scrubbed his hands through his hair and falls back onto his bed. He's so mad and distraught. Did he really think that you were just about to look past everything you hate about him and fall for the same lies that every other person he's slept with had? You don't think so.
"Hey, where do you think you're going," Sukana demands as make start towards his bedroom door.
You only give him a half-hearted wave without looking back and tell him, "I have a final to finish and I want a shower too Get the taste of you out of my mouth. I want to get coffee before to get to work."
On your coffee run, you had made sure to pick up Yuji's favorite as well. When the younger brother comes home and finds his favorite coffee from his favorite coffee shop in the fridge waiting for him, he knows something’s up and goes to his room for an explanation. As soon as he sets down on his bed you turn the desk chair around to face him.
"I had a moment of weakness fuled by my own pride."
"And that moment would be?"
".... I slept with your brother to prove that I'd still hate him after."
To your surprise, Yuji doesn't blow up. He still doesn't look happy about it. Sitting there glaring at you and taking a long sip of his coffee.
"Do you?" he finally asks.
"Do I what?"
"Still hate him?"
"Oh, absolutely. He seemed really upset when I told him this morning too,” You smirk feeling smug, “I think I really bruised his ego."
Yuji nods in agreement, "He does go running when he's upset."
"Good. He could use some rejection to bring back down to earth from that high and mighty throne."
"Well, yea but you know he really likes you right?"
you were mid-sip of your drink, and you choke. You look at Yuji with a wild look. “He does not He's a constant ass to me. "
"Like yeah, and it’s pretty stupid that he can’t just tell you and instead tries to charm you in ways that obviously don’t work. He’s awful at showing at showing his feelings. Plus, he tells me. It's actually kind of funny how mad he gets when you can’t tell he has feelings for you."
Now it's your turn to sit and stare at Yuji whose waiting for you to say something. But there’s nothing you can say. This new bit of information changes everything. You mind starts to spiral. You start to see one interaction with Sukuna after another in a different light and you don’t want to see them differently.
The way that he teased and teased you for looking like shit until he finally got you to tell him about the hard week you had.
If the teasing and flirting ever got too much, ever made you feel too uncomfortable, all you ever must do was tell him to stop. And Sukuna would always listen.
Whenever he would offer to walk you back to your dorm, that wasn’t him wanting you to invite him up to your dorm. That was him wanting to be sure you made it back safely. You wonder if Yuji tells him when you text the group chat when you did make it back.
The first time that you met Sukuna was at a party Yuji and Nobara took you to not too long after you transferred into the university as a sophomore. You wished you would have stared home or run off to the library to study like Megumi said he had to do. You sat tucked into the corner of a couch with a red solo cup in your hand feeling out of place until Sukuna invited himself to come and sit next to you. At the time you just thought he was trying to get with his younger brother’s new friend, he spent that whole party with you. Distracting you with jokes and lame pick-up lines. Sukuna had spent that whole night making sure you didn’t feel lifted out of uncomfortable at your first college party.
“No,” you slump forward in Yuji desk chair and cradle your face in your head, “No, noooo!”
At that moment, Sukuna steps into Yuji's bedroom fresh from his run, chest covered in a sheen of sweat in a pair of running shorts. Now that you know, you see him in a completely different light, and you can’t unsee it. His brow is raised like he's judging you, but Sukuna was worried about you.
You continue to stare at him, trying to make yourself infuriated by that judgmental smirk. But you can no longer do it. A lot of the hatred you had for the pink-haired man wasn’t there anymore. But you can’t like him! But all your assumptions have been wrong!
"Looks like it's finally sunk in that you've slept with your mortal enemy," he smirks.
"Oh no, I just told her," Yuji corrects his brother.
Sukuna's smirk drops and his head snapped from you to his younger brother. He steps fully into the room now and pointed a threatening finger at Yuji. "I'm giving you for however long it takes for me and her to talk before I'm coming for you."
Yuji's already bolting out his bedroom door coffee and hand. "Take your time you two and even feel free to sleep together again!"
#jujitsu kaisen#jjk#jjk smut#jjk itadori#jjk sukuna#sukuna#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x reader#jjk imagines
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remote learning (m)
summary; working remote sucks, and you would love a little relief. after buying a new toy to blow off some steam, you’re baffled when you can’t cum. however, jungkook thinks you’re doing it wrong, and shows you a thing or two.
pairing; neighbor!jungkook x (f) reader
genre/warnings; fluff, humor, slightly insecure mc, this is pure FILTH—use of a remote controlled vibrator, do not and i repeat DO NOT try foreplay during a zoom call in the event u get fired im not responsible, phone sex, jungkook’s a meanie in control, cum eating, doggy, and topping it off with some sweet missionary bc jk has purty eyes, unprotected (wrap the pickle before u tickle folks) excessive use of the petname [redacted]
w/c; 5.7k
a/n; this fic manifested bc of work. and i!! am!! frustrated!! i think we all need a lil jk relief so here it goes! as always ty to @chillingtae / @eerieedits for this FANTASTIC fic banner, please go check vivi out if u have taste okok
part 2: distance learning
drabbles; 01
if u like this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share💕💕💕💕
“Tomorrow morning, same time at 9AM. Remember to have your reports alphabetized and itemized,” your supervisor says, but the only thing you can focus on is the abnormal amount of bonsai plants in his living room.
“Alright now it’s time for the union to talk COVID protocol,” you frown when Mr. Kim moves ownership of the Zoom call to your union rep, who pulls up a Powerpoint. You feel your eyes burn at the sight: an itinerary containing over thirty-eight slides.
“For fuck’s sake—”
You so desperately want to turn off the camera and flop in your bed. Since working remotely you haven’t been operating in the most ideal of workspaces. You live in a one-room apartment with a communal kitchen downstairs, so you really only have four square meters to stretch your limbs around between breaks. You’ve pushed your bed aside and shoved an office chair between the bed and the wall, leaving you to squirm between ten centimeters of space. You have no desk because well, the little rectangle space is prioritized for your portable stove and meals.
The meeting drones on for another hour, until your brain melts to liquid and your limbs feel like Jell-O. Furthering your anxiety as they talk about protocol that never ends up happening, delays that continue to pile up, and the anger that’s been bubbling between the higher ups and little goldfish employees like you.
When you finally shut off the camera and fling your laptop under the bed, you still feel unsettled. Probably because your work life and home life have merged together, and it’s hard for you to separate work and pleasure.
Speaking of pleasure.
Your hand blindly reaches under your bed, looking for the pretty pink oval you purchased last week. Cleaned and ready to use, the little remote-controlled vibrator sits plainly in your palm.
Needless to stay you’ve been in a bit of a dry spot these past few months. With a fear to go out and meet someone new, you’ve been left with yourself and your fantasies. That’s fine, but lately your old vibrator isn’t cutting it. It’s unfortunate, you think you’re messing up your libido by buying toy after toy, but you’re horny and lonely.
Linking your phone’s app to the remote, you ignore the messages that have been beeping your feed since early morning.
[11:21] Jeon: let’s do lunch!
[11:23] Jeon: hehe i feel like i belong in mean girls. Do lunch💁🏻♀️💁🏻♀️💁🏻♀️
[2:20] Jeon: u loozer. Come eat dinner with us upstairs @6
[2:24] Jeon: dropping off a snack for u
Another element of feeling horny and lonely? Jeon Jungkook.
You two shouldn’t have even met each other. You live off crumbs on the first floor while he and his roommates are livin’ it up on top in the penthouse. One day a few months ago he crashed into you while working out, having run up and down the whole flight of stairs at least three times before deciding to collapse on you between the second and first floor.
Despite the black mask that hugged his sharp jawline, you had felt nothing but attractiveness ooze off of him. Under his hoodie was nothing but curved muscle. He smelled so soft and sweet despite the fact that he was damp with sweat.
The rest is history. After that day he seemed to show up everywhere, jogging more prominently on your floor and doing exercises at your level’s gym. He says he likes you, likes your company. He’s wormed his way intermittently, whether he’s seeing you struggle with an armful of groceries or when he hears you screaming over an Among Us match (according to Jungkook, the walls are thinner on the bottom floors.)
The idea of Jungkook doting on you doubly frustrates you. He seemingly appears as the perfect man, unaffected by the stresses of the world. Jungkook’s job lets him work from home anyway, and he definitely had enough room in the penthouse for his own office. He works out, probably has a girlfriend and enough friends for you to gradually phase out of this weird neighbor interest.
So you ignore his seemingly harmless messages, focusing on getting the settings right on the vibrator. You feel your pussy jolt a little in excitement, watching the silver and pearl pink oval shake in your grasp. You smile a bit to yourself, immediately finding your iPad for your favorite videos and some pillows to support your back.
Half an hour later however, that excitement soon goes sour.
“Fuck,” you bite your lip, frustrated tears streaming down your face, “fuck fuck fuck!”
This isn’t a set of explicatives out of pleasure, unfortunately.
No matter what you do, you won’t cum. You can’t cum. Barely wet, hardly a drop glossing your folds. You don’t even want to bother getting out the lube at this point because you are so disappointed.
The vibrator is going at the highest setting, one that your neighbors can probably hear if they were home at this time of the day. You cease to care at this point, because the job is undone because you haven’t come undone.
You don’t know why this is happening. Maybe it’s because you’ve had the liberty to touch yourself in complete silence, now that your neighbors have been confined to their homes indefinitely. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve relied only on your touch, that your body is tired of the monotony and needs more.
You bang the heels of your feet against your flimsy mattress, feeling whiny and utterly dissatisfied. Pulling the vibrator from your clit, you glare at the infuriating toy.
“You’re supposed to be helping me out of my dry spell,” you chastise, throwing the toy across the bed, sliding onto the carpet, “I get you’re not Jeon’s dick, but you gotta help a sister out.”
With a sigh, you fall into a bout of exhaustion. Not from a round of orgasms, but from the week’s stress and no way to let it out.
You wake up bleary and disoriented, practically melding through the mattress. The sky is pink and blue, washed in a sea of corals and purples. It comes from the incessant banging.
“Stop it,” you whine more to yourself than whoever dares to disturb your sleep, pulling up your panties and a pair of navy dolphin-trim shorts. “Whoever you are I’m comin’ so stop!”
Swinging the door open in two strides you’re met with a chipper Jeon Jungkook; looking all cute and sweet in his big hoodie and smelling like a rosebud.
“It’s 6:30,” he narrows his eyes playfully at you, “dinner’s in the oven.”
“You left your oven on,” you deadpan, turning around to grimace at the mess that’s your one-room apartment.
“Yes, so we have exactly ten minutes before my kitchen explodes in flames,” Jungkook chirps, closing the door behind you.
You don’t even bother to tell him to excuse the mess, ignore the pile of bras hanging on your vanity and the unpacked groceries that sit at the edge of your mini-fridge. It’s far too late to salvage your dignity and Jungkook’s too damn polite to call you out on your state of slob. Although, as you pull out a bottle of wine tucked in the back of your fridge you blurt, “I can hear your fingers tingling to clean up my mess.”
When you turn around Jungkook stuffs his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, supposedly to stop himself from cleaning up. With a pout he says, “Can’t help it, Jimin says I’m currently manifesting a strong display of Virgo energy this month. Whatever that means.”
Jabbing your feet in a pair of slides you follow Jungkook out the door. The hallways are quiet and barren, yet the silence isn’t suffocating as you two pile into the elevator. Jungkook opens the keypad underneath the regular boring buttons, revealing a sleek little set of light-up buttons that have the code to the penthouse. Faaaannnnccy.
“Tryna look?” he jokes, cupping his hands to block your vision.
You scoff, “I’m sure it’s something easy like 0000.”
“You’re wrong. It’s 1234,” he replies cheekily.
The door dings open and you’re met with yet another door. Jungkook presses his thumb to the biometric scanner, and a pleasant ringer tings in response.
The penthouse smells like a mix of tonight’s dinner, savory, combined with a cinnamon apple candle. Jungkook is a fan of scented candles, ever since he got a whiff of your lavender vanilla burner.
“Where’s Taehyung?” you ask, more out of your own anxiousness than anything. Taehyung’s your buffer, the hyper roommate being someone to distract you from Jungkook’s incessant aura.
“Dunno,” he shrugs, flicking on the oven light to peer inside. You see the telltale signs of a mean lasagna, the shredded cheese on top crisping to a delicious-looking golden brown, “anyway, you’re my friend first.”
As grotesque as it sounds, Jungkook always finds his way to worm his way under your skin and find homage there. “Possessive much?” you quirk a brow, folding your arms over your chest even though there’s nothing to hide.
“What can I say,” Jungkook’s legs stretch out as he squats down to your level, “I really fell for you.”
“Gross,” you try to convince yourself, ignoring the thudding in your chest, “you technically fell on me, weirdo.”
Dinner is a quick affair. He cuts slices of lasagna and brings it to the couch, where you’re pouring glasses of wine in crystal glasses. They’re so clean and shiny you can see your reflection in the gold liquid. You grimace at the bottle, normally this would be poured in a mug or your sippy cup, tonight your liquid’s getting a high-end pour.
You two pull up an old anime to fill up the room, but most of it is spent in playful banter. Jungkook prattles on about his day, showing you all the cool updates he’s achieved during work. An app developer. A very on-brand, lucrative job for him. You love your job but it isn’t nearly as exciting as Jungkook’s, so you just let yourself be supportive and ask questions when needed.
When the subject of you comes up, you shake your head and stuff your face with another cut of al dente pasta.
“Not interestin’ Jeon,” you mumble, groaning at how delicious his cooking is. What can’t he do? “Is this oregano? Is the secret ingredient toasted oregano—”
“You’re deflecting.”
Your shoulders slump, “I’m not very interesting, I tell you everything I do during the week and nothing has changed since March.”
“Oh, not everything,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. You furrow your brows as his hands stuff themselves in his hoodie pocket. Is he upset you won’t tell him about your work stress? “And you’re very interesting, I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah?” a small smile tugs on your lips. You sink further into his cottonball of a couch, feeling utterly soft and meldable at his words.
“Very,” Jungkook gets up from the couch, looking down at you, “want something sweet?”
The prospect of dessert has you excited. Jungkook really is the perfect man, so kind and knows exactly when you’re craving something for your sweet tooth. You move to get up, only for you to sink further between the two large cushions of the loveseat. “Help me, ’m stuck,” you pout.
Jungkook giggles, and holds out his palm, “Hand,” he says simply.
You immediately reach for his larger palm, and you gasp when you feel something cold and soft touch your palm. As if you’ve been burned, you tug your hand back. But Jungkook’s hand is massive, the large ink-painted palm curling around your own, and it’s almost painful the way he clutches your hand so fiercely.
When he’s sure you’re not going to drop it, he releases your hand.
Nestled in your palm, is the new vibrator you left on the carpet this afternoon.
“Jeon,” you laugh tonelessly, hating the way Jungkook’s neutral expression mocks you, “you found my USB? Thanks, I know—”
“Know that you’re having a hard time coming?” Carefully extracting your plate from your lap, he places it on the coffee table before Jungkook cages you between the couch. You shrink further into the plush seat, “I tried being a good neighbor, but you didn’t answer my texts. I heard you when I tried dropping off some snacks before dinner. Didn’t know you were into toys.”
“Oh, c’mon Jeon. It’s 2020 and we’re confined,” well, in this scenario you’re confined, “everyone has a sex toy.”
“Hm, I don’t have one,” Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, pretending to be deep in thought, “so, can you be my toy?”
Fuck.
It’s then that you feel the tell-tale signs of arousal. Your eyes widen, innocently surprised at the fact that Jeon Jungkook contained so much power in so few words. You snap your legs shut immediately, sealing any possibility of you dripping down your panties.
“I heard how disappointed you were, doll,” his arms have no problems as he bends down so he’s eye-level with your crotch, “it was pathetic, really. You couldn’t even cum on your own? You need someone to help you?”
“N-no,” you cross your arms defensively, frowning, “you–you’re being mean, Jeon.”
“And what, you’re gonna cry about it?” Jungkook smirks, now sitting on his knees. His hands run over the velvety fabric of the couch, making a beeline for your thighs. Gooseflesh rises to the surface, and he immediately presses down to iron out the little bumps that travel across your skin, “I do wanna make you cry, but not because you can’t cum. You’ll cry because of how good I’m gonna make you feel.”
You gape, clutching the vibrator in your hand.
A little bit of your sweet, cute Jungkook resurfaces, softening when he notices your lack of response, “If you’ll let me, of course.”
You finally drag the words from your throat, “I-it’s been a long time since I’ve… been with someone.”
He tilts his head, “Same here. I just figured we could break that spell together.”
What are you going to say? No? A dishonor to your sexuality, that would be. Jungkook’s offering himself up on a silver platter, and even though you do wish it was a little more you’ll take the sex.
You nod, forgetting to speak again. Jungkook chuckles.
“I want to hear you say it, doll.”
Doll. Like you’re his little fucktoy, malleable and bendable to all his whims. Fuck, why is that so hot to you? “Yes, I want to have sex with you,” you declare, your voice sounding more breathy than confident, “a-and, you can be mean. If you want.”
His thumbs press little light indents in your skin, over and over as if fascinated by the way your skin is so soft and gummy in his grip. “Okay,” Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull out his phone, jabbing a few things that you don’t see, “let’s do a little test drive, then.”
In seconds, the little egg vibrates in your touch. He puts it on the lowest setting, a soft buzz echoing in the large living room, then at a bruising pace that forces you to curl your fingers around it otherwise it’d fall. Your eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s, who’s focusing entirely on the way the pink and silver egg moves, dilated in interest.
“Fuck, and you thought this thing was broken?” he asks, taking it out of your palm and turning off the app.
“Maybe I’m the broken one,” you admit softly, wringing your shirt.
Silence seeps. Jungkook looks at you, brows furrowed as if he’s annoyed. “Don’t ever say that,” when you don’t respond, he grabs your chin, and you gasp when he forces you to look at him, “you’re not broken, doll. Everyone’s body is different, and we’re going to discover yours together. Got it?”
“Y-yes,” you reply immediately, mesmerized by his seriousness.
“Good,” he slaps the vibrator back in your palm, “and in case you’re wondering, this goes inside.”
“I know how it works,” you scowl, “but won’t you show me, just in case?”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Jungkook gets up for good, piling the dishes in his arms and walking to the sink. You immediately miss his warmth, “but I think patience is a virtue. I have a developer meeting with some clients in America a little bit, actually. So just wait for my call, yeah?”
You frown, looking down at the vibrator in your hands. How much longer would you have to wait?
It happens at exactly three in the afternoon the next day, at the start of your staff meeting. You’re so tired of the same information being thrown back and forth, coupled with Brian and Jae having to fight over some mundane subject in the itinerary that no one cares about. For goodness sake, it’s Friday! What else would you possibly need to be meeting about?
You’re wearing a button-down dress shirt on top, no pants on the bottom. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood floor, antsy. It’s been a long day at work and your back hurts, you’re half tempted to dip out of this meeting and hope no one notices.
Your phone buzzes on your bed, and you blanch.
[3:01] Jeon: thanks for waiting, doll. It’s time
[3:01] Jeon: put it in
Shamelessly, your vibrator sits next to your phone, cleaned and ready to go.
[3:02] Jeon: need help? Answer my call
Making sure that your Zoom call is muted, you quickly answer the incoming phone call. Jungkook and you say nothing at first, waiting. The phone just ticks with the amount of time passing, one minute, two minutes, and so on.
Mr. Kim drones unknowingly, “So when we do return to live instruction, expect a strict process when returning. PPE must be enforced so our response team will—”
“How wet were you last night when you went home?” Jungkook asks languidly, speaking over your boss’ voice.
Your eyes widen, flickering back and forth between the phone and the camera displaying Mr. Kim’s boring speech.
“Doll, are you hard of hearing?”
“N-no,” your lips barely move, eyes glued to the camera and plastering an expressionless face, “I heard you.”
“Then give me an answer,” he says patiently, “how wet were you?”
“Very wet.”
“Little more detail.”
“Soaking wet,” you flush, thankful that your work laptop can only stream in 360p. “I haven’t gotten that wet in such—such a long time. My pussy was practically clinging to my underwear when I washed up that night.”
A heady, heavy groan resonates through your phone. You feel that voice straight into your panties, jolting the nerves awake.
“Fuck, you have a way with words, don’t you?” Jungkook chuckles breathlessly, “c’mon, touch yourself for me. Swirl your fingers around your clit, slowly.”
It takes a second for you to position yourself, spreading your legs in a way that your coworkers don’t question why you’re moving so much. A quick scan over all the tired faces says that you’re okay. Shyly, you press your fingers against your clit, doing as he says.
“Oh,” you say more to yourself than him, feeling the wetness already coating your fingers. This is earlier than usual.
“What?”
“I’m already wet,” you say, amazed, “I haven’t gotten wet this quickly in a long time.”
He scoffs, “If you’re so wet now, shove it in.”
You frown. You did tell him to be mean. But the idea of him telling you what to do, giving you all the porn-worthy experiences to accomplish has you relenting. Discreetly grabbing the egg from the bed, you bring it down to your panties. Swirling the cold metal around your clit, you coat it in your juices.
It’s still a little too early to be putting anything in, but you can take it. Slowly relaxing, you slip the little egg in your pussy, wiggling it a little to make sure it’s secure. It’s a strange sort of pressure, and it pokes against your clit from the inside, but you enjoy the stretch.
“It’s in,” you reply softly.
“Good.”
You wait. You listen to Jae make yet another speech about the importance of masks and gloves, and then Brian has to interject and say that gloves are literally useless because they spread germs around no matter what. Even though everyone else is muted, you can practically feel the misery seeping through the screen. For a second you almost forget about Jungkook on the line. Why isn’t Mr. Kim stopping them? This is the thin line stopping you from the weekend, unbelievable!
“Eep!” you jolt in your cheap seat, the egg buzzing in your pussy. Your hands fly out, gripping the edges of your computer.
It hits different when Jungkook is in control. Knowing that with a flick of his thumb he can have you careening, whining for more or less depending on how hard he wants you go. Your folds hug the egg, nestling it a fleshy grip as it brushes against your clit the more you squirm.
“You look so pretty, trying so hard to hold in your moans,” Jungkook says wondrously from the other line.
“W-what?” you frown, “you can see me?”
And immediately, you go to your trackpad to fish between the hundred-and-one employees also in this call. At the very end, you see a very simple name with no mic or camera: Jeon JK. He’s here.
“Worked in IT, doll. Know a thing or two,” he says, “now, tell me. What are you thinking about right now?”
“Y-you,” you mumble shyly.
“So,” Mr. Kim finally ends that part of the meeting, thank goodness, “what’s everyone’s plans this weekend? I’m going apple picking with a couple of my friends from college. Hoseok is a bright bean who loves to take long walks—”
What the hell. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat, hyperaware that Jungkook’s watching your every move. You make glossy, stubborn eyes at the camera, trying not to move when he jacks up the vibrator to a higher setting.
Jae’s of course the next employee to unmute his microphone, “Well, me and the bae are going house hunting…”
“Fuck!” you cry, moving the computer to the left so you can pretend you’re picking up something. But in fact you're leaning your head against your mattress, frustrated. “I don’t fucking care about your weekend plans, Jae! Shut the fuck up! You wanna know my weekend plans?” Jungkook’s laughing at you from the other line, but it only spurs you on, “my plans are fucking my super hot neighbor! He’s a hundred times more interesting than you and he’s going to make me come a hundred times this weekend—oh fuck!”
Your fingers latch onto your panties, drawing random squiggles and letters between the fabric. You’re damp, soaked to the core. You need some sort of friction, a reprieve from this hellish week.
“You flatter me, doll,” Jungkook is definitely grinning through the phone, you can practically hear his shit-eating grin, “I think you deserve a reward. As soon as you put the camera back on your pretty face.”
Quickly, you sit up to put the camera on you again. Once again, the employees are in a daze, listening to whatever the next person gabs about their weekend. Even though you can’t really see it, you’re sure Jungkook has a 1080p camera upstairs that shows off your blotchy face. You moan a little bit, lips closed as the egg buzzes against your pussy lips.
“You’re so cute, doll,” Jungkook praises, “you look so professional, holding it in. What could I do to make you unravel? Hm, what if you imagined the taste of my cock on your lips? Fuck, I’d love to slap your cute little face with my cock, baby doll–”
“y/n?” Mr. Kim calls your name, and you freeze, “what about you? Any plans this weekend?”
Jungkook doesn’t sound angry that your boss has inadvertently cut him off. “Answer him, doll. Be a good little employee.”
Like a zombie, you move towards the unmute button. “I–I uh,” you shake your head, trying to formulate a coherent response, “I’m going on a date this weekend.”
Jungkook jacks up the vibrator to high, and your legs are shaking.
“Awh, a date!” Mr. Park unmutes himself, practically shoving the camera in his face, “how much do you like the lucky lad or lady?”
“I like him uh—ah—” you pretend to think, covering a hand over your mouth to hide the fact that you feel your orgasm fast approaching, “I like him a lot!” you finally blurt, “I’m, uh, really excited to see him.”
“Best of luck to you,” Mr. Kim says brightly, “so Jimin, any news on those investors you had dinner with this weekend? I heard a lot of positive things…”
You immediately mute your mic, and pretend to lag as you fumble around with the camera. Shoving the laptop to the side once more you groan into your sheets, “Fuck—fuck yes—” you moan, shaking your head as you dip your fingers into your panties. The vibrator still continues at its bruising pace, spurring you to a high you haven’t peaked to in months.
“Good job,” Jungkook says simply, “could barely notice that you have a little helper fiddling around your dripping pussy.”
“J-Jeon,” you cry, “I’m, ’m gonna cum.”
“Yeah?” Jungkook eggs you on, “you’re gonna cum around that cute little vibrator? Gonna soak it in your juices?”
“W-wish it was your cock I was soaking,” you whisper truthfully, letting your orgasm take you at the thought. Your folds flutter around the vibrator, bringing you to a level of sensitivity you’ve only dreamt of, “Ah, yes, Jeon. It feels s-so good!”
“Yes baby,” Jungkook groans through the line, “feels good, huh?”
Mr. Kim interrupts for the last time, “And with that, I think our meeting is adjourned. Have a wonderful weekend! Stay safe and—”
You slam the laptop shut, grabbing your phone and keys. “I’m going up,” you mutter impatiently, already jabbing your feet in a pair of slippers and locking the door to your apartment behind you.
“I’m waiting,” he replies, eagerness trimming his voice.
“Password?” you ask quickly, jabbing the elevator door shut once you step inside. Thank goodness you’re alone, you think as you pull your dress shirt further down your ass.
“Did you forget already?” he teases, “I told you, it’s 1234.”
Thankfully, the doors zip you up straight to the penthouse. The connection is always a little spotty in elevators, and you sigh longingly when you feel the buzz jolt and leave it’s momentum, quickly losing its rhythm between your dripping folds. Once you get to the top and the elevator doors open the second door immediately swings open, revealing a soft but aroused-looking Jungkook. He looks fresh from the shower, absolutely radiant and delicious looking.
You don’t hesitate to run up to him, and Jungkook immediately cups his face in your hands, pressing his lips to yours.
You’re practically on your tippy-toes, and you squeak against his lips when he hooks his arms around your shoulders, immediately lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his trim waist, not wanting to stop kissing him. He’s like the sweetest ambrosia, a taste you can’t get enough of.
The connection to your vibrator has resumed, and you can’t help but grind helplessly under Jungkook’s clothed abs as he carries the both of you to his bedroom.
“N-need you to fuck me,” you bury your head in the crook of his neck, pressing quick kisses to his jawline, “I want you s-so badly.”
“Hello to you too,” he husks, shutting the bedroom door with his foot.
Jungkook drops you unceremoniously, and your limbs splay out on the fresh bedsheets of his feather-soft mattress.
“You look gorgeous like this, doll.” he sighs longingly, a hand going under your buttondown to press against your soaked panties. His hand lingers on the way your pussy moves in tandem with the vibrator.
“J-Jeon please I can’t take it—”
“Stop calling me that,” he snaps, hands leaving your skin.
You whine at the loss of contact, “Jeon, no. Jungkook. Kook, my Kook. Please, I need you.”
That gets him going. His pretty chocolate brown eyes zero in on you, and he immediately shucks off his shirt and sweatpants, “How much do you need me?” he asks, pulling out his phone and pressing some buttons, “how much do you need your Kook?”
The vibrator stops. You cry out in frustration, unsure if it’s because it’s off or because Jungkook’s taking too damn long. “I need you so much, Kook,” you warble with a pout, moving to undo the top buttons of your dress shirt to reveal your cleavage, “honey, you can have me all you want later today. I want you to slap my face with your dick, edge me until I cry, anything. I’m all yours, I’m your little doll. But please for now, I need to feel you inside me.”
“Say no more,” his lips latch onto your neck, and you sigh at the skin-to-skin contact. His hand fiddles under your shirt, clutching a breast and slapping it so hard it bounces back and forth, “fuck, you’re so pretty.”
His hand moves to your plain cotton panties, immediately shucking them off, “doll, you really are dripping,” he’s impressed, surprised when he has to untack the fabric from your glossy legs. He hangs the panties on his wooden headboard, a little ornament for him to jack off to later.
His fingers brush over your folds, wasting no time to slip the vibrator out. He holds it between your faces, forcing you to stare at the pearly substance that coats the entirety of the egg. “Mm, tasty tasty,” he cooes, pink tongue darting out to lick a long strip across the oval.
You tug him closer, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes a mixture of his own saliva and your arousal, and you grind helplessly against him. You feel how big his cock is, rock-hard and trying very diligently not to bust. He must have a crazy amount of control, and it drives you nuts.
“Kook,” you frown, bumping your crotch with his.
“Impatient, good thing I am too,” he shucks off his boxers while you unbutton the rest of your shirt, “knees and hands, doll.”
You don’t care how or what way he’ll take you. Fuck, he could bend you into an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and you’d comply.
Arching your back so your ass is in the air, you wiggle around, hoping he’ll take the bait. That’s when you sigh, feeling the tip of his dick brush against your wetness.
“Soaking my cock already, baby,” he says, “you’re so good to me.”
And finally, finally, he slips in. You don’t even care that it stretches you a little too far and too long, it’s been too damn long since you’ve had decent dick and Jungkooks far more than decent.
He goes at a quick pace, finally showing how impatient he’s been all this time. Your moans and groans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain as he stretches your walls to the brim. You hold a pillow to your chest, feeling woozy at the way his fat cock stretches you out.
“F-fuck yeah,” the pace is hard, you practically feel it in your belly, and you love it. “You feel so fucking tight, baby,” he’s all up in your ear, kissing the lobe briefly, “I love the way you suck my cock back in.”
“Kook,” you press your ass back, “harder, please. I’m your little doll, right? Y-you can fuck me however you want, as hard as you want! Please, ah—! Use me!”
You cry out when he slips from your folds, immediately flipping you on your back. He wastes no time to wet his dick, lifting one leg over his shoulder to have you deeper. This position is far more intimate, and your noses are practically touching as he thrusts into you.
You can’t believe you’re in bed with Jeon Jungkook. This must be a dream, a really great, really long wet dream. You crumble in his grip, and you lift a shaky hand to run through his thick black strands.
“Why’d you make me wait so long?” you cry, staring right into his glittering eyes, “why couldn’t you come for me after your call last night?”
“Why’d I make you wait?” he grits, crushing the flesh between your hip bones so he can have more leverage to pound into you, “why did you make me wait? Since March, I’ve wanted you. I told you I liked you, told you I fell for you.”
“T-thought it was a joke,” you warble pathetically, breasts bouncing at his relentless rhythm.
“You think th-this is a joke?” for further emphasis, he glides slower, making you feel just how large and thick he is against your folds, “I want you, doll. Y-yeah, fu-fuck. Want to feed you every day, feed you lasagna, feed you with my cum, make you happy.”
“I—I want that too, Kook,” you’re a pile of pink mush, and you feel your eyes prick from the overwhelming emotions that have washed over both of you. “Sh-shit, Kook. I think, I think I’m gon’ cum again.”
“Good, you first,” his hand plays figure 8s with your precious pearl, seeping with arousal and coating his cock in delicious lubrication.
It doesn’t take long for you to cum. You’re holding him as tight as you can, nails digging into his shoulders as you clench around his cock. Jungkook cums shortly after, and you keen at the sensitivity when his hot cum coats your walls. “Baby doll,” he exhales, thrusting lazily. The both of you feel your combined arousal drip between the two of you, onto your skin and onto his sheets, “y-you’re amazing.”
His softened cock slips out of you, and his hands immediately reach over to swirl around the heady cream over your engorged pussy. You moan when he brings his fingers to your lips, “Open, doll.”
It tastes salty yet sweet, and you suckle around his finger with a cute little pop. Jungkook grins brightly, feeling like he won the lottery.
“Are my walls that thin?” you pout, pressing closer to him when he pulls the blankets to your chest.
“Very,” Jungkook nods with a chuckle, tucking the two of you in, “now get some rest, doll. You presented a lot of offers to me earlier, and I intend to go through with them.”
You smile into his chest, melty and feeling utterly sated.
#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#btsghostie#kwritersworldnet#goldenclosetnet#bts smut#jungkook fluff#jungkook humor#bts fic#jungkook fic
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𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - wahh it’s here! can’t believe my brainrot of osamu teaching a cooking class turned into this long fic lol... i hope you enjoy it!! it was fun crafting the story with my beta readers and i put a lot of effort into it!!! itadakimasu <3
𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @forgetou @amjustagirl (muacks 2x) + tq to everyone who helped me with the banner!!
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - you’re suna’s younger sibling, food, heartbreak, angst but happy ending, mentions of stabbing (joke), kita dances to ‘ice cream’ by selena gomez and blackpink, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood (brief), suna beats (redacted) up
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - miya osamu x gn!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - you fall in love with miya osamu once more, but you’re afraid of getting hurt again.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5535
𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢
1. Cook the rice according to your rice cooker, then transfer the cooked rice to a separate bowl to cool it down.
“What ya want t’do is scorch the soy sauce.”
The class presses themselves against Osamu’s workbench as they scribble down notes on their recipe printouts. Their lips purse to ooh and aah at his cooking skills, though you’re pretty sure that they’re more interested in how his biceps flex when he flips the wok with a trained flick of the wrist.
You stand at the very edge of the group. It’s better than getting close with a group of hungry housewives, really. If grocery store and department mall sales have ever told you anything, it’s to never get in the way of what a seasoned housewife wants. Unfortunately for you, you haven’t learnt the way of being a homemaker just yet.
You’re unemployed, right in the middle of a month and a half-ish long transfer between jobs. You currently stay at your brother Suna’s place — which is really just an apartment filled with dirty laundry overflowing from its seams.
Turns out Suna himself is a bit of a gossip. He told Kita who told Atsumu who told Osamu that you’re stuck at his place 24/7 with no friends or entertainment in the lovely city of Nagano. It’s just mountains and trees as far as the eye can see all around — and there’s only so many hikes you can take each week.
“Why don’t you take a cookin’ class?”
“Cookin’?” Your face screwed up in confusion. “ What for?”
“So that you can actually pull your weight around the house and make me something to eat.”
You chucked a pillow at his head and began to list all the things you did while staying at his apartment. Laundry, cleaning the floor, doing grocery shopping (even if it was only instant noodles and snacks), finding his disgustingly sweaty socks under the sofa and many other important chores, thank you very much.
Besides, you weren’t as eager when you saw who was the one that would be holding the classes. With his picture plastered across the front of a pamphlet, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Years of chasing his dreams and training in a kitchen had done Osamu wonders.
You had half a mind to smack Suna in the head with the yellow, glossy paper, but instead you quietly tucked it into a corner of the guest room to look at later. You were sure Suna hadn’t forgotten your history with Osamu just yet — but perhaps he assumed that enough time had passed to heal your wounds.
Either way, there’s no going back now. That’s how you ended up at Osamu’s ‘Cooking class for homemakers — you can do it too!’, except you aren’t a homemaker. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as the sound of sizzling soy sauce fills the air. Osamu pauses for a while before beginning to mix the rice with the sauce, wielding his spatula and wok expertly like weapons.
“Miya-san, you’re amazing!” someone gushes.
He lets out a bashful laugh. “This is nothing. I’m sure everyone will be able to do this by the end of class today!”
You wonder if he’s ever considered being a teacher. The demonstration on how to make shrimp fried rice is soon over and everyone returns to their benches, eager to try out the recipe. You are no different. Scurrying to your bench at the very back of the classroom, you exchange glances between the printed recipe handout and your tray of ingredients.
“Need any help?”
Osamu’s voice and looming presence makes you jump.
“Woah! Careful there,” he chuckles, his fingers gently prying a knife out of your hands.
Unconsciously, you had raised it in shock when Osamu snuck up on you. The knife now lays safely on the tabletop and you feel the eyes of the entire class boring into you.
“Sorry, Miya-san. I didn’t see you,” you apologise meekly.
“Don’t worry about it, I shouldn't have scared ya like that. And no need for the formalities! You’re my friend’s sister, afta’ all.”
Oh goodness. You half expect the class to pick up their pots and pans and run at you right this moment. You swallow back the half hearted ‘Osamu-san’ that rises in your throat. Your heart trembles in your chest and for a second, the silence that weighs heavily between the both of you turns awkward.
“Miya-san! Could you help me with this please?”
You’ve never been so glad to hear Tachibana’s sickly shrill voice before. Osamu is quick to wave goodbye to you before hurrying over to her bench, a smile still on his face. You breathe a sigh of relief.
You make a mental note to tell Suna that Osamu should just stick to placating those housewives and leave you the hell alone. The last thing you want is to have blackmail spread around the neighbourhood by these gossipy housewives, or worse, have their daughters hunt you down and chop you up into pieces.
Whatever. You’re just here to learn how to make shrimp fried rice and then go home to your annoying older brother. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be here for long. Miya Osamu just happens to be the local heartthrob, the handsome and eligible bachelor chased by anyone single and ready to mingle. You have absolutely nothing to do with someone so popular and good-looking. And for goodness sake, he’s your brother’s high school friend and your… Well, you know.
Your face burns and you pick up the knife again, grip tightening on its handle. You begin chopping at the onions with renewed determination.
(Later on, when you bring back a tupperware of fried rice for Suna, he looks you in the eye and asks “Shrimp fried this rice?”.
You shoot him a glare.
“I fried this rice.”)
2. Prepare all the fillings that you are going to use and set aside, such as pickled plums or tuna mayo. Prepare your seaweed sheets.
What you don’t expect is for Miya Osamu to show up at your doorstep the next day with boxes of food, cartons of drinks and a very noisy brother of his in tow.
“Rin, where can I leave the drinks?” Osamu yells.
“Rin, can I play your PS5?” Atsumu shouts.
You think that they are very different, the Miya twins. Suna takes a minute to finish putting on some clothes (you had answered the door, thankfully. No one wants to see Suna Rintarou in Pikachu boxers) before bursting out of his room.
He’s quick to smack Atsumu’s ‘dirty little setter hands’ away from his precious Playstation, directing Osamu to what constitutes the apartment’s kitchen — a second-hand fridge and the building-installed gas stove that works only if you hit it hard enough. You’re surprised that neither you or Suna haven't died of a house fire or gas poisoning by now.
It doesn’t take long for the other Inarizaki alumni to arrive at Suna’s apartment in a series of doorbell rings. Kita even brings along a large bottle of sake, to which everyone cheers loudly. You don’t understand why they had chosen Suna’s place to have a reunion party. Seriously, wouldn't Onigiri Miya or some other izakaya have been a better choice?
However, there’s free flow of drinks and lots of yummy snacks, so you decide to let the noise wash over you and stand by the food table to pick at the trays of pizza, fried chicken and other finger food. Aran even offers you a drink, smiling sweetly before going off to wrangle Atsumu from trying to initiate a beer chugging competition. Some things just never change, you suppose.
“Having fun?”
You jump and nearly drop the plate of food that you hold.
“You have a horrible habit of scaring people, Miya- Osamu.”
His first name comes out awkward, tumbling off of your tongue as you use a pair of chopsticks to carefully pile back some mentaiko mayonnaise onto a slice of tamagoyaki. Osamu settles into the crook of the kitchen counter next to you with a playful grin on his face.
“Do I really?”
“Don’t forget that the first time you did that, someone nearly got stabbed.”
You pop the tamagoyaki into your mouth. It’s delicious — the egg’s sweetness balances out the salty sauce. You wonder if there’s enough left on the tray for seconds.
“How’s the reunion going?” you ask nonchalantly, and shuffle a few centimetres away from him.
You hope Osamu doesn’t notice that. He does, however, but chooses not to comment on it. He brings up a hand to scratch at his neck, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He’s close enough for you to get a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Your head spins for a second.
“Oh, none of us have gotten drunk just yet. I’m pretty sure we’ll be playing beer pong or something later on.”
You steel yourself against the urge to look at what Osamu is wearing. Don’t look, don’t look, definitely don’t look. Miya Osamu is, has been, a dangerous man to fall in love with. You can’t afford to-
Perhaps gouging your eyes out would have been a better choice in theory. Even a glance from where you stand beside him is enough to see that not only is he wearing a tight, black T-shirt, Osamu also has a pair of sweatpants on. Is it a sin to wear sweatpants? Probably so, especially with the way it makes your throat run dry.
“Beer pong, huh?” You try your best to mumble somewhat nonchalantly. “Who won the last time?”
“Kita.”
“Kita?!” you gasp.
Even that’s enough to make you forget about Osamu and his stupid (and very sexy) sweatpants.
“Yeah, right? That was the first time he participated. All of us got left drunk in the street, so we decided to do it at someone’s place this year.”
You let out a soft laugh at the thought of a bunch of grown men piled over each other on the road. You don’t particularly like the thought of cleaning up after them tonight, though.
The lack of words between you and Osamu descends into snorts of laughter that trickle in from the tiny living room. Aran throws his head back, drink nearly spilling out of his cup. Ginjima laughs so loud you see Omiomi cover his ears and Suna holds his phone up, filming every second of Atsumu’s defeat.
Osamu opens his mouth as if to ask you something.
“C’mon! Yer killin’ me, Kita-san!” Atsumu yells, socked feet and waving arms trying to match the onscreen character’s movements.
Kita, on the other hand, is scoring perfect marks without as much effort wasted. You giggle to yourself as he moves his hips, shaking them here and there. A small smile quirks his lips upwards as he finishes with a flawless ending move on ‘Ice Cream’, the Just Dance characters fading into oblivion on the screen. Atsumu crumbles to the floor in defeat.
Osamu’s lips form a straight line as he watches you laugh along, raising a hand to cover your mouth. He curses Atsumu’s birth and swallows back his embarrassment.
“Did ya see that, Osamu? Oh- Kita-san is so good at everything!” you gush.
“Atsumu just sucks.”
When you laugh, Osamu thinks something in his chest lurches. Regret makes his head go foggy and leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
3. Place cling wrap over a rice bowl. Place some of the cooked rice over the centre of the cling wrap and make a well.
“No way ya got a love letter!” Atsumu yelled.
“Ya get yer fair share. We share t’same face, why shouldn’t I get some?” Osamu retorted, rolling his eyes.
Suna watched as the twins began to gripe and argue about who was the better looking sibling again. Nothing unusual, really, given how this occurred every odd day of the week.
“S’gotta be a prank. No way someone likes a loser like you,” Suna mused.
In retaliation, Osamu threw him a stink eye. “You two are just jealous,” he sniffed.
The letter had been written on pretty pink paper, all hearts and cute handwriting as his secret admirer asked him to meet them on the roof after school. Not that Osamu wasn’t affected by it, of course. It always rubbed his ego the right way to know that someone preferred him over Atsumu. Though, it wasn’t like he was interested in anyone then. It only took a second before Osamu ripped the letter in half.
“Woah woah woah! Yer crazy! Whatcha gonna do if some pretty girl gave that to ya?”
Atsumu’s eyes widened in shock, almost reaching forward to grab the shreds of letter that Osamu had torn up.
“Does it matter? S’not like I’m interested in datin’ right now,” he replied.
“Seriously? What if she’s like, super duper hot!”
Osamu’s face screwed up. “Are ya a horndog?”
Just as Atsumu was about to shout at his dear brother again, you opened the door to their classroom and hurried in. You had a bento box in hand and a cute pout on your face as you placed it on Suna’s table.
“Rin! You forgot your bento at home again!”
“Oh.” Suna blinked. “Thanks.”
“Seriously, you gotta stop forgetting your things! I can’t be bringing them to you all the time-”
“Hey, Suna.” Atsumu perked up, referring to you. “Would ya go on a date with Samu or me? Me, right? Definitely me!”
Your face flushed with heat. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
“‘Samu got a love letter in his shoe locker this morning. Cliche, huh?” your brother said between bites of his lunch.
“Mm, yeah. Cliche,” you mumbled.
You looked around anxiously for any sign of the love letter. Was it in Osamu’s bag?
“Can ya believe he tore it up?” Atsumu laughed.
“What?”
Your heart felt like a stone in your chest as you froze, your blood running cold.
“Yeah! This dumbass doesn’t know how t’appreciate anythin’,” he replied, smacking Osamu on the back of his head.
His twin responded with a muffled growl as he continued to scarf down his absurdly large bento. You fiddled with the cuffs of your sleeves, staring down at your feet. You were quick to bid the third years goodbye as you fled their classroom as an inexplicable ache spread through your chest.
You didn’t focus on your classes for the rest of the day. The fact that Osamu had torn your love letter, written with all your heart and soul as you crumpled draft after draft last night, tipped you over the edge of your fantasies and had you plummeting straight into reality.
“Oi.”
You looked up from your feet, glancing up at Suna. The both of you were swapping your indoor shoes for outdoor ones, but you had absentmindedly stopped in the middle of slipping your right foot into a shoe. It was nearing the time where they closed the school gates, so there weren’t many students around save for the odd volleyball club member.
“What’re you doing? Put your shoes on properly,” he huffed.
“Sorry,” you said quietly, and slammed the locker door shut once you were done.
You walked a few feet ahead of Suna as you approached the school gate. Your head drooped with each step, tears beginning to mist your eyes. You willed yourself to hold it in till you got home, till you were in the safety of your bedroom to start sobbing your little heart out. Suna tugged on your wrist.
“Are you crying?” he questioned.
You shook your head quickly, rubbing your eyes with the back of your sleeve.
“Oi. Answer me.”
This time, his voice was a little softer, yet held a mixture of irritation and anger behind a crumbling wall of apathy. Who had been the one to make you cry?
“It’s nothin’,” you choked out. “Let’s just go home.”
You turned your face to the side as tears continued to roll down your cheeks, muffled cries turning into heartbroken sobs. Something inside of Suna’s head clicked.
“It’s Miya Osamu, isn’t it?”
You had to bite on your lower lip to stop it from trembling.
“That bastard tore up your letter, didn’t he?”
You gave Suna the tiniest of nods. He let go of your wrist and whipped around, eyebrows furrowed together. Not wanting to date was one thing, but treating your confession like dog shit was something else. Fortunately for him, the Miya twins were changing their shoes in the getabako.
“‘Samu!” Suna yelled.
The gray haired male looked up with a face of confusion.
“Suna? Whaddya want-” Osamu wasn’t able to say anything more as Suna’s fist collided with his face.
Atsumu jumped back with a yelp as the both of them crashed to the ground. Your hands flew to cover your mouth.
“Rin! Stop it!” you cried out.
You dashed over, tripping over your own feet as you tried to pull Suna away from Osamu as they traded blows. It took the work of you, Atsumu and Ginjima (who had been unlucky enough to pass by) to tear the two apart, and even then Osamu was still struggling in his brother’s arms to be let go.
“What t’hell, man!” he snarled.
Suna wiped his nose, glancing briefly at the crimson that stained his school uniform. The adrenaline was beginning to run low and pain began to settle into his fists and ribs. His shoulders heaved with each breath, and your hands clutched his shirt.
“Rin. No more, please,” you begged, pressing your forehead against his back. “No more.”
Suna hated the way your voice trembled as you spoke. He didn’t think it was fair for you to bear the burden of pain while Osamu got to walk away unscathed, leaving you broken in pieces. His fist curled up again.
“It’s not worth it, Rin.”
Suna took in a shaky, deep breath.
You were right.
Miya Osamu wasn’t worth it.
4. Put about 1tbsp of the filling of your choice on the centre of the rice and cover it with rice.
A week comes and goes after the annual Inarizaki reunion. You’re still finding sticky stains on the floor, as well as food wrappers tossed behind the sofa. Suna sends the group chat a video of you yelling at all of them while wielding a mop with so much fervour Aran asks if you broke it. Atsumu actually apologises and Osamu offers to come over and help clean up. The entire group chat flames him immediately.
As per last week, you walk into Osamu’s cooking class at 2p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s hot outside, droplets of perspiration rolling down your nape. The cool air-conditioning of the classroom is much appreciated and you don your apron behind the gaggle of housewives. You catch snippets of their conversation as they put their items in the cubbies provided.
“Tanaka-san, did you see the mushrooms that were on sale this Monday?”
“My son is attending this cram school this summer. Here’s the address!”
“My father-in-law keeps complaining about the heat…”
“Good afternoon, everyone.”
“Miya-san!”
Everyone perks up when Osamu walks through the door. They’re quick to surround him, asking how his day had been. You look tired, take this ginseng drink! It really revitalises your spirits! Did you get a girlfriend yet, Miya-san? My daughter is single, you know!
You watch as Osamu walks behind his bench, all smiles and “Is that so, Shigeru-san?”. Polite enough to please them, but not enough to make them think that he actually wants to go on a date with their 34 year-old daughter who’s a tired office worker looking out for potential husbands like a hawk. He lets out a heavy exhale, using his cap with the Onigiri Miya logo on it to fan himself.
“Hot today, isn’t it?” he chuckles.
You think that maybe he’s the one that’s making this summer so warm, especially with the way that his shirt clings to his figure and his flushed cheeks that make him look adorable.
Wait.
You do a double take. Ah, adorable. You must have meant that heart-print apron that Tanaka is wearing today. It is pretty cute, and you wonder if you should ask her where she got it from later on. Definitely not Osamu with his perfect smile that would make anyone’s heart skip a beat, and definitely not when it’s directed at you.
“Gather around everyone! We’re going to be making gyoza today!”
The demonstration goes as usual — Osamu impresses the housewives, they gasp and someone even touches his forearm and asks “How did you get so strong, Miya-san?”. Not that you care, of course. You certainly don’t. What you’re more concerned about is how Osamu manages to make wrapping the fragile gyoza seem so easy.
Your fingers pinch at the thick dough, eyebrows furrowed together. No matter what you do, your filling keeps spilling out of the wrapper and so you’ve opted to try out for a thicker piece this time. Not that it really matters — Suna will be the one suffering from food poisoning if it turns out bad, anyways.
“Ah, yer made it too thick,” Osamu says as he strolls over.
You tense up as he leans over your shoulder, peeking at the chubby gyoza in your hands. You pretend not be affected by how close he is and continue pinching the wings of the dumpling shut.
“They keep bursting,” you sniff.
“Maybe ya put t’much filling?” Osamu suggests. “Here, lemme show ya. Put tha’ one down and grab a new wrapper. Yeah, just like that.”
You stiffen as Osamu flours his hands and cradles your hands in his.
“Here ya go. That’s t’much, scoop out some more. That’s it. Now gently…”
Blood rushes to your face as you feel the warmth of his skin seep into yours, his hands rough from years of training and cooking. Scars adorn the tips of his thick fingers and knuckles. You suddenly feel the urge to gently trace them with your thumb, to ask him how he got each one of them.
Would he let you? Let you so close, that perhaps you would be the one to know every single thing about him?
“You did it!” Osamu says cheerfully.
He suddenly pulls away, making you plummet back to reality. A perfectly made gyoza sits in your hands.
“I’m looking forward to tasting your gyoza later on. Now keep trying!”
You’re left dumbfounded as Osamu walks away to help out the other housewives. They stammer and blush when they get too close, but he never holds their hands in his own, never smiles as gently as he does with you.
You place the gyoza on a pan and put the lid on with a little bit more force than what is necessary.
5. Wrap the cling wrap over the rice and squeeze and mould it into a triangle shape with your hands.
You try not to make contact with Osamu after that. Attending his cooking classes becomes a game of cat-and-mouse, where you try to tell him ‘I don’t need any help, Miya-san’ and watch him crawl away in defeat. In fact, you decide to skip the lesson on making hamburgs and instead spend the afternoon watching television.
After all, from what you’ve learnt in the past, Osamu is nothing more than trouble. You think it’s worth the sacrifice now to put some space between the both of you so that you don’t end up heartbroken a second time.
Though, you do feel a little bad. Just a little bit. One day when Suna’s out at training, you hear the doorbell ring and Osamu’s voice ring through the genkan. You hear his feet shuffle by the door and a heavy thump outside before he leaves. You only open the door when you hear his car pull out of the apartment building’s carpark, and find a packed bento lunch for you in front.
You try to pretend that the bunny cut apples and sakura shaped carrot slices don’t mean anything.
“Ah, Suna-san! Where were you last week?” Tachibana titters as you step into class for the final lesson.
“I wasn’t feeling very well,” you lie. “I think I caught a summer cold.”
“Oh dear, that sounds terrible!” the ladies chorus together.
You think they’re probably just glad that you didn’t get in the way of their beloved Miya-san. You tug your apron over your head, and ignore Osamu when he greets everyone. His eyes linger on you for a little too long during the demonstration — to the point that he actually burns the skin side of his salmon fillet.
Osamu skirts around your bench like a nervous puppy when the demonstration is over. You don’t seem particularly keen about talking to him, though the tips of your finger tremble when he finally plucks up the courage to stand next to you. It’s not close enough for your elbows to touch, but close enough that he can whisper to you without anyone else hearing him.
“Hey,” he begins, uncertain. His voice wavers slightly.
“Hey,” you reply, wary of what he might say.
“Are you okay?”
You take a moment to think, tipping the sake bottle carefully to measure out an exact tablespoon of it. He wonders when your hands have seemed so delicate, so small. He aches to hold them in his own again.
“I’m okay.”
“That’s good.”
It’s quiet, again. Just like that night in Suna’s apartment, with all the noise of the reunion going on around you, except this time it's the clanging of pans and utensils, paired with the chatter of many ladies.
“I was thinking…” Osamu stares down at your hands, turning the measuring spoon over so that sake splashes onto the hot pan with a sizzle. “Maybe we could get a drink together after this?”
You cover the pan and watch its surface cloud up with condensation. You hide your shaking hands by digging them into the pockets of your apron.
Osamu swallows. Perhaps he had been too direct with you; scared you off with how quickly he was advancing. Or did Suna tell you to be careful of him? That he didn’t want you falling in love with him a second time? There’s no lie about it, that Osamu had been a grade A asshole back in high school.
But he loves you now; has loved you since then. Would you be willing to give him a second chance?
“Osamu,” you breathe.
His shoulders relax slightly when you don’t call him by his last name.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Your voice comes out timid, scared. Osamu’s heart crumbles at the edges. He wonders if you would hate him if he reached out and took your hands in his once more. You’re both adults, perfectly capable of rational thinking if only your hearts hadn’t gotten in the way. Love hurts, they said. You want to agree.
“We can start it out slow,” Osamu suggests.
“I’m supposed to start my new job next month. I won't be in Nagano for much longer.”
“I’m opening a branch in Tokyo.”
“I’ll be busy settling down. We might not get to see each other often enough.”
“A little is better than nothin’.”
“You’re my brother’s friend.”
“Now, yer just picking at nothing, babe. Didn’t you have a crush on me back in high school, too? That didn’t stop ya, did it?”
Your heart wrestles with your brain, insisting on comfort and that love will always come in the form of someone that isn’t Miya Osamu. You’ll find someone, but will they be better? Will they send food to your doorstep, or send you stupid photos of dogs he saw on the street? Will they chase after you relentlessly for years, will they be Osamu?
A lump forms in your throat and you wonder if this, has been, is love. You tear your heart out from within you and let it cling to your sleeve, as pathetic and scared it is. You don’t mind if it hurts. To never hurt is to never have lived, to never have loved.
By this point, your eyes have misted up with tears and it hits you- You’re about to cry about your crush in the middle of a cooking class attended by middle-aged ladies. You’ve never been more embarrassed.
“Really?” you whisper, looking up at Osamu with glittering eyes.
He ignores the “Miya-san! I need your help!” that rings out in the background. He smiles gently.
“Yeah, really.”
A tear slips down your face. Osamu lets out a breathy chuckle as he swipes it away with his thumb, giving your shoulder a squeeze.
“We’ll talk properly after this, alright?”
You nod numbly. You watch as he hurries off to Shigeru, gasping when he sees how she had completely butchered her fillet. He turns back to you, trying to hold in a snigger.
You giggle.
Osamu thinks he wants to hear that laugh forever.
6. Remove the cling wrap and cover the bottom of the rice triangle with a nori sheet and set aside.
“One extra large bonito onigiri with spring onions!” you cry out from the counter.
Back in the kitchen, Osamu and another part-time worker scoop steaming rice out of large vats and use their hands to mould them into perfectly shaped triangles. A scoop of filling goes in and a strip of seaweed is wrapped hastily around the onigiri before it's sent to you to package. You place the onigiri carefully into a box and slip it into a paper bag with the shop’s logo on the front for a take-away order.
The shop is filled with customers even on a Wednesday afternoon. The clock shows 2p.m., past lunch time, yet you can see a queue that snakes out of the shop and down the alleyway.
Another long day ahead, you think to yourself.
“It’s our turn!” a little girl squeals as she takes the bag from you, opening it up to peer at the huge onigiri inside. “Mama! ‘giri!”
Her mother laughs and pats her head. “Don’t forget to say thank you, Haru.”
The girl turns to you, eyes sparkling. “‘Fank you, Miya-shan!”
A cheery grin almost splits your face in half. Miya-san. Four years on and it still makes your stomach flip whenever you hear that Osamu’s last name has become yours. It was an easy decision for the both of you to get married, really. You had loved each other for years and all you wanted to do in the end was to spend the rest of your lives together.
You quit your office job just before you got married to help Osamu out with the new Onigiri Miya branches. It took some getting used to, but the familiar customers and bright smiles that you see just by serving onigiri each day makes it worth it. It’s tough work, no doubt. But doing what you enjoy with the man you love is more rewarding than it ever could be.
Though, it’s not like your relationship has always been smooth sailing. There are days when you bicker over something stupid (like how you always forget to close the lid of the rice cooker), or when Osamu insists that he isn’t overworking himself (although his eyebags tell otherwise). But love’s a recipe with a few secret ingredients, and you’ve come to master it over the years.
“Come back soon!”
The shop is filled with the fragrant scent of freshly cooked rice and bonito flakes being stir-fried into furikake. Customers perch on tiny stools as they scarf down onigiri of different shapes and sizes, licking their fingers clean. A plush toy of Onigiri Miya’s mascot sits on the counter next to a potted plant that Atsumu bought (which is surprisingly still alive).
A photograph of the third Tokyo branch’s grand opening hangs on the wall. You and Osamu hold up a bouquet of flowers, smiling toothily at the camera, your wedding rings glinting in the sunlight.
“One medium onigiri with tuna mayo, coming right up!”
You jump as Osamu shouts out the order suddenly and you nearly drop the onigiri that he hands to you.
“Woah, careful there,” he chuckles, a hand ghosting the small of your back.
“You have ‘ta stop scaring me, ‘Samu,” you huff and roll your eyes playfully.
Osamu grins at you and the edges of his eyes crinkle up. You place the onigiri safely into its packaging and place it on the counter for a customer to collect, before turning back to plant a kiss on his cheek. Osamu’s face flushes pink and he hurries away, mumbling something about bonito flakes.
Your heart soars in your chest.
Yeah, it has been, will be, worth it.
7. Repeat the same steps as above to use the rest of the rice with other fillings that you prepared.
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mono no aware
warning: manga spoilers up to ch296, grievous bodily harm, suggestive language
pairing: dekubaku
rating: mature
word count: 8.4k
genre: angst and fluff
summary:
mono no aware: a poignant feeling of transience, a beautiful sadness in the passing of lives and objects.
Past, present and future. Melancholy and love.
a/n: This fic was an absolute battle top to bottom, but I had to post something for Katsuki’s birthday. Last year, I wrote an x reader fic that, admittedly, came out a lot easier than this one. Yet, the whole time, I thought to myself God, I hope by Izuku’s birthday I’m writing dkbk. Lo and behold, I was. So it only felt right to come back around this year with a dkbk birthday for Katsuki himself. It’s not perfect, but as I always say: better done than perfect.
And it’s not. But I do believe there are at least nuggets in there, and I’m tired, so that’s enough for me.
master list
The room was dark when Katsuki woke.
It shouldn’t have been. At 5:30AM, the sun should have been just starting to rise, creeping through the slats of the balcony’s banister, casting lines of blue light across the bedroom and onto Katsuki’s face. But there was only streetlight crawling its way from the sidewalk halfway up the building as Katsuki blinked away sleep, trying to adjust to the dark of winter that he’d left behind weeks ago.
This was a good time of year for Katsuki, usually. Gentle light through the balcony to wake up too, the weather still cool enough to keep his morning runs pleasant, the wind wicking his sweat gently. Instead, it was still dark outside, like the thick of December. Not pitch black like it had been at U.A. on their hill in the woods but lightened only by the slightly brown cast of city light pollution. It always looked like chocolate milk to Katsuki. Like the gods had spilled a children’s drink and neglected to blot it up. Quite a godly thing to do.
There were never any stars, but this morning there was no sun or moon either. Usually it was Deku’s birthday that fell in the midst of the rainy season. But it was mid-April, and it had been raining for a week straight.
No run today. A run in the rain in April wasn’t unpleasant, though it did fill Katsuki with a sticky dread that came with the knowledge that any explosion he’d make in that weather wouldn’t go far. It would sputter as it blew him maybe a meter in any direction or smoke as it failed to build enough impact to do more than surprise any foe. Not that he could imagine a single person in Japan would be surprised by an explosion out of him these days. Anonymity had gone out the window a few hundred headlines ago.
Besides, today was a scheduled break day.
He contented himself with turning on the bar lights above the sink and electric stove. It wasn’t much, and was slightly irritating, since the bulb over the faucet was a cool, artificial LED, bindingly white on a dark morning such as this, and the one above the stove was a buttery yellow, more classic incandescent lamp glow. Some idiot had bought the wrong color last time a bulb had gone dead, and Katsuki’d be damned if he wasted a good light bulb he’d already installed, even if it meant up to ten years of teeth-gritting grief.
His routine came about quickly then. There was no more stock in the fridge, even as he pushed aside the random jars and bags in the back of shit he couldn’t remember buying to double check. So Katsuki got started with an electric kettle and a waiting piece of kombu to make fresh dashi. He then slipped in one ear bud as he set about slicing some radishes and mini cucumbers for a quick pickle.
Hero news ran twenty-four seven. Technically it was just the news, but this particular station carried more information about crime and ongoing cases and less about economics and domestic policy. Katsuki uncapped the shoyu and vinegar through a commercial break for hair loss supplements—not his problem—before the host said something about returning to an interview.
Katsuki snorted as he double-checked the rice. Still enough left over from the night before. He pitied the fool getting airtime at 5AM. Sure, it was the beginnings of rush hour for some, and Katsuki wasn’t the only person tuning in before breakfast, but it was hardly a primetime slot.
It occurred to Katsuki quickly as a familiar line of questioning rang in his ear that maybe this wasn’t an unfortunate timeslot given to some D-lister, but that it was a rerun. Blah blah blah, number one hero, blah blah blah ass kissing, a chill going down his spine as familiarity dawned. Then:
“What’s it like to achieve all your dreams before you’re thirty?”
Katsuki reached for a dish rag and ripped his hands through it, removing the worst of the salt and vegetable juice, just hearing his own pinched response before slamming the ear bud to the counter.
“…It’s amazing.”
There was a tightness in Katsuki’s throat, like he wanted to gag just to showcase that he could hear how vapid and fake he’d sounded in that moment, even for the paltry audience of the mismatched kitchen lights.
But that was just a moment of drama. Katsuki shook his head, pure discipline wiping the interview from his mind entirely as he continued prepping. No need for a noisy mind as he cut tofu in the palm of his hand. He’d only just moved onto the scallions when he heard a sloppy yawn and the flipping of light switches, first in the bedroom, then just over his shoulder, swathing his cooking space in more even light.
“Kacchan,” came the whine over top of the even thunk thunk thunks of Katsuki’s knife, “you’re not supposed to cook breakfast today.”
“The hell I’m not,” Katsuki said, his chops getting finer as he got down to the whites of the onions.
“Kacchan,” Deku repeated, coming over and pressing his mouth against Katsuki’s neck, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s middle. It wasn’t a kiss, but the sensitive skin there still tingled around Deku’s morning breath. “It’s your birthday. You don’t have to do the chores.”
“Traditionally, we celebrate birthdays on New Year’s.” Katsuku butted Deku off of him as he put some water in a cup and dropped in the onion roots. “So I’ve been thirty for over three months already. Nothing to celebrate.”
Deku scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning a hip against the sink. The gesture flexed Deku’s sizable biceps, nearly bursting the seams of his old sleep shirt. This one was once a light blue, now threadbare and generically pale. It only still fit because it had been so horrendously oversized in high school. Now it stretched so tight and thin across Deku’s torso that on the inhale Katsuki could see the dark line of hair leading from his belly button, and the deep line of his abs on the exhale.
“Funny, because I don’t actually remember celebrating that on New Year’s,” Deku said, grinning wide. Katsuki didn’t know if it was the job, or Deku’s happy-go-lucky nature, but there was a smile on his face more often than not. Even when he wasn’t, the wrinkles that he’d earned from his nose to down around his face looked like his face was ready to twitch into one at any moment. “You’re not getting out of it.”
Katsuki narrowed his eyes. They already hung heavy in the morning, before he’d worked out or showered, done anything really to get his blood pumping, so glaring at this point turned Deku into little more than a smudge in his field of vision. “You’d better not be planning anything.”
Deku’s eyes grew wide with exaggerated incredulity. “Who, me? I would never!” He backed around Katsuki, hiding his chin in his chest as he grabbed a bowl and two eggs, cracking them against each other before swirling them with some chopsticks, just like Katsuki did. No shell.
Deku was a shit liar. Period. Sometimes he could pull off a lie under pressure of a mission—where all of Deku’s secret talents seemed to come out in a pinch—and he found particular success with rehearsed lies, especially if Katsuki was there to keep him on script. But lying to Katsuki had never, never worked.
He’d adopted this new technique a few months back of hyperbolized innocence. Long, drown-out vowels as wide as his eyes, dark lashes blinking almost coyly at Katsuki. A lifetime together and it had been the first time Katsuki had realized just how long Deku’s eyelashes were, nearly touching those malnourished brows even as they sprung halfway up his forehead.
That had been Christmas. The sly tone was meant to confuse, obviously. And it had ended up with the both of them and Auntie Inko at dinner at his damn parents’ house, so he wasn’t going to get caught dumb again.
“We’re not going out today, Deku, I mean it,” Katsuki argued, chopping the rest of the scallions, way more than one pot of soup would need. He’d chuck the rest in the freezer for the week. “It’s shitty and rainy and I don’t want to get sucked into some plot to ‘go out and have fun.’ ”
They’d already hit all the classic birthday traditions over the years. He and Deku had a decade plus under their belts of fancy restaurants, day trips, gifts, and it had all been good—really good, actually—but not this time. They could go out again for Deku’s birthday. Maybe it’d stop raining by then.
“I mean it too!” Deku insisted, all guise of his lying-not-lying persona having disappeared. He wiped his eggy hands on the kitchen towel and wrapped his arms around Katsuki again.
Katsuki only had about a centimeter of height on Deku, so who was taller often came down to whose hair was sticking up more that day. The height difference could come down to something as unpredictable as static cling or bedhead. Feeling like Deku’s unkempt curls were getting a jump on him this morning, Katsuki carded his fingers through Deku’s hair, a little roughly, knocking his head back. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Deku purred, pulling Katsuki further from the cutting board and closer to his boney hips. “I can think of a lot of reasons not to leave the house, Kacchan.”
“Listening.”
But all he heard was slight sucking under his ear as Deku worked his lips and tongue over Katsuki’s warm skin. It was far enough into the year that Katsuki ordinarily would be wearing his summer uniform, but the rain had thrown him off, bringing in a cold front as well as decreased sweat capabilities, even with his gloves. So Katsuki allowed it as he fiddled with a cabinet in front of him, figuring that he could rock his winter look if he had to.
A minute later, an oof came from Deku as a cast iron pan hit him square in the side. Just above the hip, so its hard edge impacted pure flesh, knocking the wind out of him and smoothly disconnecting his mouth from its current point of affection. “Kacchan,” Deku whined.
“Be glad it wasn’t the corner.” Katsuki grinned, brandishing the rectangular pan. “And that I went easy. Look sharp, Number One.”
It fell out of his lips so easily that he hardly registered the words before Deku was grinning at him, winking as he corrected, “Number Two.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. Old habits broke hard. “If you’re serious about egg duty, you’re going to finish what you started. Dashi’s almost done.”
Rubbing out what wasn’t even going to be a proper bruise with one hand, Deku used the other to take the pan and put it on their plug-in stovetop. “Yes, Kacchan.”
*
Four months ago
Television interviews were Katsuki’s nemesis.
Since the fall of Shigaraki and All For One, there hadn’t been much competition in the lineup for archnemesis to the Wonder Duo, so Katsuki had taken it upon himself to name TV interviews as the ultimate villain.
“It’ll be fine, Kacchan,” Deku said, his weight slung to one hip as he straightened Katsuki’s collar. “You can still act however you want to—that’s what the fans like.”
The fans liked when he spurned reporters on crime scenes or gave the finger so that recorded public displays of affection between him and Deku would be blurred. Moments like that showed his character and his priorities, and he’d been surprised to find that fans related to that, admired it, even.
Such outbursts didn’t have a place in an unedited televised interview. The medium left Katsuki totally out of his element, with not even a pared-back version of his hero costume to don. Plainclothes were more “authentic”, showing the man behind the angled black mask. To hell with the fact that it was Dynamight that Katsuki really wanted people to know. Katsuki was none of their damn business.
Katsuki could only scoff in response, batting Deku’s hands away by grabbing them in his own, resting them down between their hips.
“Alright,” Deku responded, giggling lightly. It rumbled from his chest down to his arms, making their locked limbs swing. “Just answer the questions quickly and truthfully and move on. Easy peasy.”
And it was easy for Deku now. Long gone were the days of the nerd freezing in the face of questioning, unable to talk with that high level of intelligence that normally spilled out of him like a flood through an unlocked door. He’d been through this whole Number One rigamarole so long ago neither of them could quite remember what it had been like at the beginning. At twenty-two versus twenty-nine.
“You mean that I wouldn’t be number one if you hadn’t been dragged from the field half-dead three months ago?” Katsuki asked. “That truth?”
The truth came with the scent of blood—familiar, unforgettable—puncturing his nostrils over the air freshener and the hundreds of colognes that had passed through this room’s doors. Behind his eyes, he saw Deku in front of him one moment, then teleported away for the millionth time.
They’d sort of had this conversation already. “Conversation” meaning that they’d both been home when they’d gotten news of their rankings, Deku had been wearing shorts because he always kept the house too fucking hot in the winter, and both their eyes fell to the newest scar that cut clean across Deku’s leg, right above the knee. They’d looked back at each other, Deku’s face breaking out into a grin, Katsuki’s decidedly not, and that had been the end of it.
It was the real answer, though. And outside of necessity on missions, Katsuki saw no reason to lie, ever. There were times to withhold the truth, but hardly any good reason to lie, to his partner or the public.
There was little that Katsuki couldn’t read on Deku’s face at this point, at least in those big eyes, even if everything else was kept stoic. In this moment, there was a narrowing of the eyes, almost a wince, just for a flicker.
“You deserve it, Kacchan,” Deku insisted, squeezing his hands.
Maybe he deserved it, maybe. He, like Deku, had given his childhood to the cause, to saving Japan. They’d decided a long time ago that none of it would happen or would have happened if they hadn’t done it together. But did that mean Katsuki had earned the slot?
If he had, it didn’t feel how it was supposed to.
A P.A. came in, letting them know it was nearly time. Deku kissed Katsuki lightly on the cheek—it had to be light, he was wearing makeup. The crust of foundation on his skin made itself extra apparent in that moment, that Deku had really kissed a layer of sludge and powder, not him. But he’d make up for it later.
“Love you, Kacchan. I believe in you,” Deku said as Katsuki was led out of the room.
So many years it had been Katsuki left in the room, sitting on the surprisingly shabby couch. Or else, going out with Deku, beside him on the seat one further from the host.
But Deku wasn’t back in action yet. So Katsuki went out alone, guilt prickling under his fingernails as he picked at them from within his pants pocket. And then he lied his ass off.
*
Present
“Gochisosama!”
Katsuki and Deku lowered their chopsticks, nothing left of the fish but the skin, nothing of the pickle but the brine. While Katsuki wiped his mouth, Deku steepled his hands on the coffee table, mouth curling like he’d discovered the meal’s best piece of meat. As he looked Katsuki up and down, Katsuki wasn’t sure he hadn’t.
“How full are you?” Deku asked.
“Not enough,” Katsuki responded, having heard this question on more than one occasion over the years. “You?”
Deku grinned cheekily. “Starving.”
“Sounds like you fucked up somewhere,” Katsuki retorted.
“Or,” Deku drawled, sliding one hand across the table towards Katsuki, but Katsuki didn’t budge, “there was something we were talking about before egg duty called.”
“Not sure—you’ll have to remind me.”
“Something about it being your birthday and not leaving the—mmph!”
Katsuki reached across the table and grabbed Deku by the shirt, smashing their mouths together. That damn shirt was so tight across Deku’s chest that Katsuki was sure he’d snagged some chest hair in there, and was probably one thread away from snapping a nail through the thin fabric, but he didn’t care. He tasted salt and miso on Deku’s lips, rice vinegar on his tongue before pulling away smirking suggestively.
“Sounds like you need to get yourself wrapped up for me.”
Deku laughed—nearly spat—into Katsuki’s mouth, and it was totally worth it.
“K-Kacchan,” Deku choked, his head tilting back involuntarily. “What the fuck?”
Katsuki could barely hold back his own laughter, but he had to keep Deku’s head in the game. “Can’t say I’m fucking wrong, can ya?”
He hauled Deku up by his front, and this time a finger did poke through the ratty old shirt, right in the chest. That sent Deku into a new round of hysterics, but Katsuki continued on his way, fitting his whole fist through the hole and ripping it in half.
“Skips a step,” he said by way of explanation. And once he stepped around the table, he pulled Deku into him once more. They were laughing more than kissing, but they were kissing nevertheless.
*
Five years ago
“What are we doing here, nerd?” They were at U.A., only a couple days before classes were set to begin. Katsuki wasn’t altogether unsure that there wasn’t already staff in the building, waiting and ready to pounce on their two most successful students. They were probably being eyeballed through some fancy security unit at that very moment. “If you tell me you got a job here, I’m leaving you.”
Of course, that wasn’t true. Not only because teaching at U.A. wouldn’t be a terrible career pivot for either of them—eventually, though, not now—but also that Deku had gone ahead and spent the last nine years making himself indispensable to Katsuki. Wormed his way right through his head, his heart, his goddamn balls, if he was being crass about it. Katsuki was more moth-eaten than their old All Might costumes in Auntie’s attic.
“No, Kacchan,” Izuku replied with good humor. Been in a good, if slightly buzzy mood all day. A little extra hyper, a little too loud—Katsuki chalked it up to the fact that they both had the day off and Deku must not know quite what to do with himself.
So he’d blindly led them on an excursion to their old high school. It was the kind of thing that happened in mediocre American movies, so really, wholly unreasonable.
Deku was looking around the campus with an old nostalgia. His eyes were wide, mouth soft, like it might drop into a contented sigh at any moment. For all the bad moments that had happened at this place, Katsuki wasn’t sure it had earned the respect. Nevertheless, they both couldn’t help but give it.
“You know what today is, Kacchan?”
“Saturday?”
Deku looked unamused, his flat mouth stretching his cheeks wide, making them look more like they had when they’d last spent time here. In the seven years since graduation, Deku’s face had slimmed down, making him incalculably hotter.
“Yes,” Deku acquiesced. “But it’s more than that.”
Katsuki stared at him blankly for one moment and one moment only. “You know I’m not playing this game, Deku.”
“Ten years, Kacchan!” he cried, breaking as easily as Katsuki had. “Ten years since our first day as first years. First day on the road as heroes.”
First day on the way back to each other. Katsuki had thought about it often. If those long-ago wires hadn’t crossed—the sludge villain with Deku, Deku with All Might, Deku with U.A., all of it—they never would have been here. Hand intertwined outside of their joint alma mater, nine years into a relationship that had been sixteen in the making.
“Sap,” Katsuki said, unable to find the words for anything that could actually hold the momentity of the history the moment held. But sap always did just fine holding Deku.
“Yeah,” Deku agreed, grinning as he turned back to Katsuki, hand swinging between them. “Let’s get married.”
Katsuki blanched. “What?” he cried, and at the same moment, Deku groaned, “Shit.” His free hand was on his head and then he was laughing. “Shoot, I was supposed to build up to it.”
When Deku’s hand pulled away from his face, it revealed sheepish eyes, glittering above red cheeks.
“I had a plan, really! I’m sorry, Kacchan, let me try again!”
“Try ag—? Bastard!”
Then Katsuki was laughing too, doubling over in fact, taking Deku down with him as his hand jerked him over. When his eyes blinked open between bouts of laughter, he could only see his rugged old hiking boots, what he wore whenever he was walking around town extendly out of uniform these days, and Deku’s shitty old red shoes, whatever version of them he was on. There was gum on the sidewalk and sakura blossoms stuck in the one glob that was fresh, probably from some teen wannabe who’d be ruining Aizawa’s life in a matter of days. And Deku wanted to marry him.
“Really, Kacchan!” Deku burst out between laughs. “Let me try again! It was good, I promise—I practiced!”
“Fucking—yes!”
“Oh, good! Okay—Kacchan. We’ve had our ups and downs—”
“No, idiot!” Katsuki interrupted, finally getting some semblance of control over himself as he stood upright again, abs shaking. “I don’t wanna hear some fucking speech you practiced on Half ‘n Half—yes, I’ll fucking marry you.”
“You—!” Izuku looked at Katsuki wide-eyed. His lashes were wet all around, the laughter having squeezed tears out into them. “You will?”
“Yes—fuck—you think a speech was what was going to sway me? Damn, Deku.”
“No, I…” Then Deku’s eyes were really watering. Big, fat tears shining white on his lower lashes, totally different from the little inky drops that had turned his upper lashes into clumps. “I didn’t really think past asking.”
Katsuki pulled Deku in. He had to, had to feel more than a couple knuckles and uneven fingers. He reached his arms around Deku’s hips, stocky and solid, pressed their chests together where they could feel each other breath for breath.
“Well, you have to now,” Katsuki said, kissing Deku’s temple. His temple then his cheek. “You just asked for a future, nerd.”
A future together. It almost sounded permanent.
“Mm, the future.”
*
Present
“Happy birthday…Kacchan.”
The words were panted into his neck, further beading the sweat that had drenched his body all up and down. Deku had fulfilled every innuendo and Katsuki figured he’d just about made up for the fact that today was rest day. His hamstrings were stretched enough that they would have been loose all the way up a good uphill run.
“Happy stupid birthday to you, nerd,” Katsuki murmured back, his tongue still dumb in his mouth. His lips were bigger than they were supposed to be, evident in the way his blood still pumped conspicuously in parts of the body that were supposed to be silent. His lips, his fingers, between his legs.
“Noo, Kacchan, we’re celebrating you!” Deku giggled as Katsuki nipped under his jaw, the stubble there burning across the slope of Katsuki’s nose.
“I dunno, you seemed to get a lot out of it.”
“I always feel like I do,” Izuku said fondly, melting the banter out of Katsuki for a moment.
Only a moment, though, as he pulled the damp sheet over Deku’s face, the slightly sour smell of morning sweat filling the air.
“Bleh—Kacchan!”
Deku ripped the blanket back down, but Katsuki was already getting out of bed, slipping his boxer briefs back on, laughing at Deku’s expression, his little button nose all turned up, his freckles folding into one another as his face curled up with wrinkles.
“If you’re gonna insist on celebrating, then you’re taking laundry duty.”
When Deku executed a surprise attack, lunging for Katsuki’s waist, Katsuki let him. He fell back into the bed, the damp spot where his body had been already a few degrees cooler. Katsuki’s back splayed across Deku’s side in a position that wasn’t at all comfortable, but Katsuki still laughed, the sound loud and honking as it tried to make its way through his twisted body.
“I will,” Deku said, his mouth smooshed somewhere just beneath Katsuki’s shoulder. “But we have all day today, and you didn’t snuggle this morning.”
Katsuki could feel the way Deku’s lips pursed up against his skin in a pout. He rolled over so that they were more properly face to face, torso to torso with their legs all tangled and spilling off the bed.
“Didn’t want a fuss.”
“Why not?” Deku asked, tracing the sweat around Katsuki’s hairline and pushing it into his bangs. “Thirty’s a big deal.”
Katsuki shrugged. “Didn’t want to.”
Deku gave the moment some space, waiting to see if Katsuki would share more. When he didn’t, he wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s back and pulled him in closer. “That’s okay. I wanted you all to myself this year. Just us, here. But still just a little celebrating, okay?”
“I thought that’s what we just did.”
Deku laughed. “A little more than that. Little more unique.”
“If you have to,” Katsuki acquiesced, finally rolling off. “Just make laundry a part of it.”
“Anything for Kacchan.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki said. “I’ll be exercising.”
“Then a nap?”
“Shower then nap.”
“Sounds good, Kacchan!”
Katsuki went to the water closet to clean up, emerging a few minutes later, sweat dry as the post-coital chill started to seep in. The rumble of the wash had already started, and Katsuki wondered idly if Deku had put in the morning’s kitchen towel. He returned to the bedroom, and it appeared as though it had rewound back to night.
Deku had flicked off the light and the morning’s gray clouds painted the room in low-contrast tones that Katsuki associated more with late-afternoon sinking into evening than the bright hour of eight-thirty in the morning.
At least there was any light at all now. Katsuki walked toward the windows lining the back wall, leading to the balcony. Rain had stuck a few sakura petals to the windows and the balcony itself, gray in the paltry light of the storm instead of their iconic pink. He slid the door open a few centimeters, just enough so that a spread hand could pass through horizontally. The stormy air swirled in, taking raindrops with it, already starting to dapple the wood floor.
The city was different in the rain. Gone were the rank smells that came when the sidewalks began to heat up again in the spring. The piss and the garbage boiling in Japan’s thickly humid heat.
But when it rained, all that washed away in the first few minutes of decent rainfall. Then there was just the slightly acidic smell of water steaming against the asphalt and concrete. Petrichor with slight hints of tar and gasoline that weren’t wholly unpleasant. By the time it made it up a dozen or so stories, it was soft and as pure as air got in the city, especially compared to the scent of sweaty man that Katsuki’s room now suffered from. He let the room air out as he set up his yoga mat nearby.
Yoga was one of those things Katsuki had taken on because he’d been bad at it. Not on the surface, of course. From the outset, he’d had the strength and flexibility to take on most advanced poses, to make it through a whole ninety-minute session with his breath still under him. It was the tenants of yoga he’d struggled with. He’d tried to win at yoga. To be the most flexible person in the room, the one gritting his teeth, tendons in his neck bulging as he held bound side crow pose.
Now he knew better. Yoga was about responding to the particular needs of your own body. As he’d grown older, that meant modifying some poses to put less pressure on his joints, even if it also lessened the strength and stretch at play. It meant more yin yoga and less vinyasa. It meant starting his session slowly, cross-legged on the mat and doing simple neck rolls as he attempted to clear his mind.
His hips were already tightening up again, a reminder that sex wasn’t the heartfelt workout he and Deku wanted it to be, so he lowered himself into a reclined butterfly and let his knees fall open, allowing gravity to make its start with the stretch.
Or maybe it wasn’t sex, maybe he was just getting old. Reflexes would have started declining years ago, scientifically. His bones would be at peak mass right now, so it was all downhill on that front. There were no conclusive studies about quirk strength and age, so Katsuki could only hope that his explosions would continue to work in his favor. Or rather, keep working his body as hard as he could to ensure his ongoing strength and skill.
Katsuki breathed, attempting to clear his mind as he sat up and moved to table-top pose, hands and knees to begin stretching through his spine. Up, down, cat, cow, breathe in, breathe out. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t be concerned about this milestone and here it was invading his thoughts when he was supposed to be fostering peace.
It was a privilege to grow older as a hero. Most of the staff at U.A. had been around thirty in his first year. Already part-time heroes who rarely saw time on the field outside of unexpected disasters. Aizawa-sensei had been thirty-one when he lost his leg. Midnight-sensei had been thirty-two when she died.
Katsuki reached his hips back, pressing into downward dog. He stretched his calf muscles one then the other for a few moments before settling into the pose. Some water had spattered from the window onto the mat, so he pushed his knuckles deep into the mat, using the roughness of his calluses to keep him from slipping.
Achieving all his dreams before thirty was good. It meant that he wouldn’t die or retire with items unchecked. Career items, at least. In that sphere, his legacy was clinched.
But it might also mean that his best years were behind him.
*
“Surprise!”
Dekku’s voice was high and reedy as Katsuki squinted, only minutes removed from his nap. He’d stumbled into the dining room, theoretically on his way to the kitchen, but it turned out Deku had other plans.
His arms were framed in front of a series of tiny dishes set atop the coffee table. At first glance, they looked like tiny snacks—the sad little hors d'oeuvres that were served at weddings, popped quickly into your mouth to tame the angriest part of your appetite before a late dinner.
But that definitely wasn’t what this was. What it actually was, Katsuki had no clue. Katsuki gestured to it. “Explain.”
“It’s, um, kaiseki! Kind of—it’s supposed to have a lot more dishes, but this was manageable and I kind of had a theme for it, but we’ll get to that. But it’s for your birthday! See, I promised we wouldn’t have to go anywhere, because this was already going to be here…Do you like it? Of course, you don’t know yet, you haven’t tasted it. Uh, surprise!”
A smile broke across Katsuki’s face unbidden. He turned from the meal to Deku’s obviously nervous face, his wide eyes flickering from Katsuki to the coffee table and back and the way sweat was beading across his sideburns, turning them dark. “You already said that.”
“Right, right,” Deku said, chuckling as he ran a probably sweaty hand across his probably sweaty neck. “W-Was it a surprise?”
Katsuki thought back to the products he’d noticed in the fridge earlier and looked back at the intricately plated dishes in front of him. “You made this?”
“Well, I mean, obviously I had help sorting it all out, but yeah, I did.”
“Then it’s a real fucking surprise.”
Katsuki grinned and Deku’s eyes narrowed like they did just before hitting Katsuki with a good tackle or even a playful punch of the shoulder. But Katsuki was the birthday boy today, so he got none of that, just Deku smiling as he muttered, “Asshole.”
Katsuki kneeled in front of the dishes and Deku sat on the other side. “Alright, explain yourself.”
“Right,” Deku said, taking a breath as if to steady himself. He pointed at the dish on Katsuki’s right—a long, rectangular plate that Katsuki wasn’t sure they even owned that served three distinct stacks of green vegetables. “I chose to do only three dishes: hassun, mukouzuke, and agemono, so that they could represent the past, present, and future. Like sometimes people do with birthday candles. This one is past, represented by bitter melon.”
The choice was no surprise. Deku had never lied and said their childhood spent together was better than it was, and Katsuki had apologized a few times over, though Deku hadn’t shown much interest past the first one. This dish wasn’t to open old wounds that were forgiven—it was just a statement of what was.
Deku pointed from right to left. “This one is young bitter melon with tofu and shiitake. Very mild. Next is dressed salad, the melon slightly bigger, its flavor just enhanced with shoyu, fish flakes, and mirin. Last is the oldest melon, pickled over a bit of fish.”
The progression was clear. The bitterness of the dishes increased as they got older, ending with a pickle that would be bitter as well as sour. And from a culinary perspective, it also started mild and grew more flavorful so as not to overwhelm the palate. It was clever—Katsuki could imagine the notebook pages that must have been filled doing the research right under his nose.
Deku kept on going, pointing to the second dish, which was more obvious. It was a scallop half shell in the middle of a plate, encircled by incredibly thin slices of raw scallop with a thin, reddish drizzle. Within the shell were the buds of small flower blossoms.
“The present,” Deku started. He indicated the flowers. “Preserved sakura. Your birthday happens during sakura season, obviously. They are lightly pickled, a little sour, a little salty, but still fresh and sweet too. And scallops are naturally quite sweet as well, which is how I think of right now.”
Deku was bashful if anything, ducking his head a little toward the plate. Katsuki didn’t know if it was over the food or what he’d just said, but his intentions toward the dish were clear. Of the three, the middle one was the most beautifully plated, all blush tones and symmetry.
“And future,” Deku said, pointing to the last dish on the left. “Two shishito peppers fried in turmeric tempura. The turmeric is just enough to turn the batter gold, because that’s our future. Our golden age, golden anniversary, and, of course, kintsugi.”
Kintsugi was the ancient art of rejoining broken pieces of pottery with gold, literally “joining with gold”. Katsuki could imagine what kind of metaphor Deku was trying to draw between the two of them.
It was a beautiful picture. It all made sense, how Deku would think of their relationship. And it was a poetic gesture, one Katsuki wasn’t quite sure how to receive.
So he didn’t.
Katsuki picked up the first and third dishes and switched them.
“How do you know that it’s not like this?”
Deku looked up at Katsuki, confusion furrowing his brows. “What do you mean, Kacchan?”
Katsuki pointed to the two golden peppers, bent over each other on top of their thin, green vegetable garnish. “That this was our golden age, saving the world at sixteen, shacking up, becoming number one at twenty-two.” His gaze shifted to the melon, almost accusing. “And this is our future. Careers are already on borrowed time, been engaged five years and haven’t managed to get married yet, and fuck, I couldn’t—I didn’t even save you when you got hurt.”
The impulse to smash the dishes was great, maybe even flip the table or pour some steaming tea on the skin of his leg he’d left bare, changing into a tee and shorts after his shower. But he wouldn’t ruin Deku’s food, a meal that had taken actual days if he’d taken the time to preserve damn cherry blossoms himself.
So Katsuki clenched his hands, staring at Deku as the memory came back, one of countless times before.
*
Seven months ago
The most violent moments almost always came from being caught off guard. Driving straight and in your lane when someone loses control of the wheel. Sitting on the train when someone who wouldn’t have called themselves a villain the day before snaps. Or assuming you’re in for an easy fight and letting your guard down.
Neither member of the Wonder Duo was stupid enough to let that happen. Katsuki had trained out the worst of his cockiness years ago—or had it trained out of him. Even being the Number One and Two heroes, and the skill that backed up that distinction, didn’t shield you from surprises. Being the number one hero doesn’t fortify your leg when someone flat on their back, posing as a frightened, potentially injured civilian, lunges just as you’re in mid-air above them, and slices your leg clean off with an arm made of metal.
Deku didn’t even tumble. Didn’t even scream, or maybe Katsuki just didn’t hear it over the vicious roar that erupted from his own voice. Float was activated, so Deku kept flying, graceful as a crane as his leg, from the kneecap down fell wetly to the ground, an arc of blood spraying in its wake.
Katsuki ran. His arms were thrust behind him, shooting off alternating explosions so that each pace of his legs was elongated, motorized with blasts of fuel. His hands were numb. Not from the rapid explosions, though, because his feet were numb too. All that existed within him was burning in his vocal folds to his core. He was moving, running to his lover, he was sure of it. But even as his heart rate leapt, each beat pulsing up to his throat and down to his stomach, the moment froze in time.
Float wasn’t deactivating, so Deku’s body hung macabrely in the air, blood pouring from his wound and spattering back into the air in tiny arcs before landing in a growing puddle. It was a horrific still-frame, like he’d fallen from a great height and the photographer had captured the moment bare milliseconds before his body impacted with the ground.
But it never did. He remained in the air, open and vulnerable. Deku must’ve had his wits about him to float high in the air that no land-bound person could reach him, but someone like Katsuki could. They’d already been caught off-guard by one quirk; he couldn’t let it happen again.
Then, time truncated.
Before Katsuki even made it to him, an intern with a teleportation quirk grabbed the leg and passed through thin air to reach one finger up to Deku. The moment it connected, a moment that stretched long in Katsuki’s mind, they were gone.
*
Present
Deku considered the dishes for a moment, as if seeing the same scenes Katsuki did atop the carefully prepared food. That grizzly scene of his near death reflected in the soy sauce-dark tentsuyu, milestones of their relationship dancing across the porcelain. He looked for a moment longer, and then he switched the plates back.
“I’m sure,” was all he said, looking at Katsuki sternly. Then he softened. “Eat, Kacchan.”
It took a moment more, and a sip of tea before Katsuki did, before he could. But when he did, he picked up his chopsticks and started with the youngest bitter melon.
Though Katsuki was more than competent as a home cook, his expertise wavered in the face of haute cuisine. Luckily, Deku was a more accessible chef than the masters serving kaiseki to the public. So, with an “itadakimasu,” Katsuki pinched his chopsticks around a slice of melon and mushroom and popped them into his mouth.
The bitterness hit him first, but the chew of the mushroom lingered in his mouth longer, earthy and milder. Deku watched him as the flavor transformed, and Katsuki was reminded of how they ate one at a time on missions. Eating was a moment of vulnerability, so one of them always waited to eat to watch the other’s back. It was trust, it was intimacy.
“Being number one isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” Deku finally offered.
Katsuki noticed that despite the fact that Deku didn’t have his own food platter, he did have a mug of green tea next to Katsuki’s that he swirled and took a sip of. “Do you want some?” Katsuki asked, offering a melon.
“No, I snacked while I cooked,” Deku replied, taking the mug in both hands and bringing it to his lap. “It’s more hollow than you think.”
Another bite, some tofu with it this time. “All Might tell ya that?”
Deku chuckled, almost bitterly. “No. Looking back it’s easy enough to tell, though.”
Katsuki nodded, moving onto the salad. It had some funk from the fish flakes, and salt that made him want to keep eating. He did.
“I thought to myself, keep working harder and you’ll really earn it and then it’ll matter more and you’ll feel like you’re supposed to.”
“But it turns out you don’t ever have to feel like you’ve earned it to get it,” Katsuki finished. The next bite was sour, squeezing saliva out from under his tongue. His cheeks puckered back between his molars.
Deku chuckled, like the low ring of a nail hit on the head. “How have we never talked about this before?”
Katsuki shrugged, sipping his tea. “It turns out it’s hard to talk about the future when you don’t know if you’ll live or die.”
“So it should be more important.”
“We should have gotten married already.”
The words blurted out of him as easily as their predecessors had for Deku five years ago. Not nearly as romantic.
Katsuki took his first bite of scallop and it turned out that the ruddy drizzle it wore was vinegar‐based, cutting through the seafood’s natural sweetness. He followed it with the sakura, which carried the same sour overtone but melted into a light perfume. It tasted like spring.
“Kacchan,” Deku coaxed, but Katsuki turned his head.
“I thought, you can’t save him. How can he be yours if you can’t save him? You were off duty for months. First time in five years we’d’ve had time to do it.”
“Kacchan,” Deku tried again, but Katsuki barreled on.
“Had to be saved by an intern. Those months on the job made me number one, but you were saved by an intern.” He gnawed through the delicate dish, the scallops ripped between his canines like petals, the petals ground apart like meat, tougher than they looked.
“I’m not upset about that,” Deku said, but Katsuki would have none of it.
“I’m upset!” he shouted. “This could be over for me any second, but it could also be over for you.”
Deku had the nerve to smile. “I remember you being mad at me for that exact thing a long time ago.”
“That was because you’re stupid,” Katsuki said, not a doubt in his mind about that. “Now, it’s because our days are numbered.”
It had already been on the winds for years. The heroes that had trained them retiring one by one a few years after graduation. Members of the old class B beginning to drop like flies, starting second careers and a few from class A already following in their footsteps. With All Might and Endeavor, the Number One hero had a history of outpacing that, of being an elder on the field. But since when had he and Deku followed the course of history?
“Our odds…have never been good,” Deku admitted. “That we would stay together, that we would live, that we would win.”
Katsuki scoffed. Could have spit, in fact. But before he could, Deku continued on.
“Tell me, Kacchan, how many shishito peppers are spicy?”
Katsuki blinked.
Shishito peppers were a staple, the only game of Russian roulette Katsuki would ever participate in. Most were mild, like a bell pepper, but more leathery, like it’d been smoked and tanned under the sun. Most were bite-sized and tasted best blistered in a pan with a sauce that reduced just enough to be a little sweet. Most.
“One in ten,” Katsuki answered.
One in ten were hot enough to make Katsuki crow in victory when he lucked out. Some were hot enough to bring tears to an amateur’s eyes, fanning themselves as the thickened soy sauce glaze did nothing to save them.
Deku nodded. “Let’s see if I got it right.”
There were two peppers on the plate. Each had those same odds of ten percent, but combined that number dropped to one percent. One in one hundred.
Katsuki stared Deku down as he took a bite, skipping the tentsuyu altogether.
He was first hit by the crispness of the tempura. It was light, as it should be, just the slightest bit of extra earthiness from the turmeric. Then: heat.
Katsuki grinned. “Fuck yeah.”
The fire came from all over, the flesh and the seeds as they popped between his teeth. Katsuki’s ears burned from the inside out before the spice began to dissipate. Fucking excellent. He looked down at the second pepper.
“Think you can get lucky twice?”
Deku shrugged, the look on his face surprisingly quieted. “I’ve only ever needed to once.”
Something in Katsuki’s heart squeezed. Deku could be talking about all the scrapes he’d gotten out of—it was only ever one speck of luck between life and death, but Katsuki knew his partner. His fiancé. That wasn’t what he was talking about.
Katsuki picked up the pepper and held it out towards Deku, two centimeters from his lips. Deku’s eyes comedically crossed at it before looking up to Katsuki, whose brows rose, perhaps in a challenge. Then Deku leaned forward, mouth open, and bit the whole thing off its stem.
The stem remained in Katsuki’s fingers as he watched rapt, hearing the first couple bites of crunch before Deku got to the pepper. Then he watched as Deku’s neck turned bright red.
Deku wasn’t an amateur with spice by any means, but a spicy shishito pepper could really rise from the dead to kick your ass, as it seemed to be doing as Deku reached for his tea—horrible taste combination for the guy who’d made himself out to be the expert here. Katsuki could imagine the still hot tea only fanning the flames of those oily compounds, coating Deku’s tongue, gums, throat. It almost made Katsuki want to kiss him and see.
When Deku was through, red up to his hairline, a couple sputtered coughs into his fist, Katsuki couldn’t help but smile fondly.
“I guess we both got lucky once.”
*
One year later
Deku had proposed to him a good twenty times in the last twelve months, every time seeming to forget that they still didn’t have the paperwork together.
His damned birth certificate was at his mother’s house, for one, not even in a fireproof safe, but in a folder in a plastic box. Katsuki had all his own important documents in a safe that he’d explosion tested himself, but his finacé had decided that DIY was good enough. And all the visits to Auntie Inko ended with Deku already on the train, a belated, “Fuck,” coming out when he realized his mistake.
They kept intending to elope. Not run away, per se, but just run to the courthouse and get it done whenever the urge struck. But it turned out bureaucracy had no sense of romance.
Today was different.
He woke up and it was sunrise. His first morning of the year with a tint of blue through the windows instead of muddy yellow from the streets below. As he rolled over onto his back, spine cracking all up and down the middle, he heard a groan and a yawn beside him. “Happy anniversary, Kacchan.”
“ ‘S’not,” he said.
“Mhmm,” Katsuki heard petulantly beside him.
Katsuki’s brain was still booting up, but he was sure this wasn’t their anniversary. This was early April. School season. His birthday was the next thing coming up. He grumbled into his pillow, “Which one?”
Deku scooted closer across the bed to Katsuki, and he instantly began to sweat with the doubled body heat. But a shower was in his future regardless, so he let it happen as Deku kissed his jaw, breath sour with the night’s sleep. “Proposal anniversary.”
Katsuki laughed, throwing a heavy arm over his eyes. “Fuckin’...Are you fucking serious?”
He was met with sheets of paper hitting his arm, the bottom one sticking a little to that thin sheen of sweat and the rest slipping down his chest. The morning light came to him in blinks. It wasn’t enough to read anything, not really, but the top document was unmistakable.
“Birth certificate,” Katsuki rasped.
“And forms,” Deku sing-songed, his voice way too pliable—and arguably loud—at this hour of the morning. Or at least before breakfast.
Then it hit him.
“Forms?” Katsuki asked, sitting properly, fanning out the papers in his lap, though he still couldn’t remotely read them.
“Yep,” Deku confirmed, and Katsuki could feel his bubbling energy through the mattress. “Just need the family registry.”
Katsuki looked at Deku, more than a little dazed. Fucking rude to do this first thing in the morning. “Today?” he asked, voice a little tremulous.
Deku nodded. “Today.”
Now.
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baby, i’ll remember you
(carlos reyes/ tk strand, teen+, 1k+, ao3)
prompt by @nannily: “carlos trying his best to be quiet while tk is taking a nap.”
Or: It’s time for spring cleaning and Carlos is on a mission.
In their line of work, getting a moment’s rest was rare and almost sacred – which was why Carlos was in a bit of a pickle right now. TK had spent the night with him, falling into his arms as soon as he’d stepped into the house. Weary, squinty-eyed, yawning in between hello-kisses.
They’d gone to bed right away, foregoing their shower-and-hand job-ritual for once.
Carlos couldn’t tell whether TK was coming down with something or if his week had simply taken that much of a toll on him, but even after a full night of sleep and a filling breakfast – Carlos had cooked up a healthy twist on a Full English – his boyfriend was snuggled up on the couch, barely able to keep his eyes open. At 11am on a Saturday.
Usually, Carlos would join him in being lazy. It was their weekend off after all, nothing sounding quite as satisfying as sharing body heat and staying close. TK looked so comfortable, fuzzy blanket swallowing him up to the tip of his nose, a mass of pillows propped up next to him.
But it was spring cleaning time. With his overtime and TK’s demanding nature, he’d neglected his household duties for way too long. It wasn’t like him to let dishes, DVDs and dust accumulate for weeks on end, but he was in love. A good enough excuse for him, more often than not.
Didn’t make it less annoying though, cleanliness being something that he valued an awful lot. He simply couldn’t go on for another day, the knowledge that he had enough time to get this done nagging at him.
So, he ended up tiptoeing around his own house, grabbing his feather-duster, disinfectant pray and hand-held vacuum cleaner in the process. Careful not to make a sound. TK’s soft breaths and sniffles made him smile into his own shoulder, trying and failing not to get distracted by each and every sound his boyfriend made.
As he dusted off the kitchen cabinets one by one and rearranged the plates and cups stored inside them, Carlos’s head whipped around to stare at TK after each little clink. Trying to gage whether he’d woken him up for even a second. But TK was out like a light, wheezing softly in his sleep with every other breath. Adorable, really.
Maybe his paranoia about waking him was just an excuse to keep looking, working on the kitchen for only a few moves before turning and taking TK in for minutes at a time – his ruffled hair, his eyelashes, the clench of his hand where it’d slipped out from underneath the blanket. Having TK in his home just fit. He belonged here, always.
After Carlos was done loading up the dishwasher, careful to set the program to the quietest one, he decided to skip on vacuuming. It simply wouldn’t feel right, making that much noise right now. Couldn’t live with himself if that were what disturbed TK’s sleep in the end.
Cleaning up the countertops and tables was a done within minutes, the sound of his disinfecting and wiping barely noticeable, even to himself. Taking a moment to breathe, he looked around the living space. It wasn’t perfect by any means, the little flecks of breadcrumbs and dust on the floor still a nuisance, but that could wait.
Right now, he felt like he’d spent at least an hour of today in a productive manner and it satisfied the voice in his head telling him to keep a pretty and inviting home. He could use TK’s help for the remaining tasks later, maybe make a game out of it. They could offer rewards to each other after each accomplishment; some kisses. Maybe more. He grinned into his shoulder again, looking forward to the rest of the weekend.
He scribbled down buy onions, mushrooms, garlic, spinach onto the little list he kept on the fridge after checking its contents, contemplating a quick drive to the market but scrapping the idea eventually. Holding hands while strolling through town sounded way better.
TK’s head had dropped to the side in his sleep in the meantime, blanket pulled down far enough for his entire face to be visible. His mouth was open, a bit of drool collecting in the corners of his lips. Carlos wanted to hit himself for finding it so endearing.
Rather than going upstairs to take care of their shared beauty products strewn about the bathroom, or to maybe make their bed and open the windows to make the air less stuffy, Carlos decided he was done.
Cleanliness was important to him, sure, but right now he had a warm and beautiful boy on his couch.
To nobody’s surprise, he messed up at the last second – trying to walk over to TK without making a sound. Instead, he bumped his toe so hard into the leg of his living room table that a startled “Fuck!” left his mouth.
Raising panicked eyes to the couch, he saw that TK had been woken up by the noise, looking at him blearily. Carlos wanted to curse himself but giggled instead, the offended look on his boyfriend's face absolutely adorable. “I’m sorry, baby”, he said quietly while finally making his way over to him, the pulsing in his foot painful but bearable now that he had TK’s attention on him. He dropped onto the couch with a sigh, wanting to be closer.
“S’fine”, TK muttered, the confused crease between his brows smoothing out as Carlos kissed his temple, appeased. TK kissed him in turn, lush mouth leaving a wet mark on Carlos’s cheek that he didn’t bother wiping away.
“Oh, you were a busy bee, huh?” TK’s eyes roamed across the room, taking in the spotless surfaces. “A cleaning fairy.” Carlos bit his lip, cheeks straining with a smile.
“I’m pretty sure that’s homophobic, Tyler.” The responding jab into his side barely registered as he laughed about TK’s annoyed grumbling. “Shut up, Carlos.”
While TK pressed aggressive little kisses against his mouth, still fighting against his sleepiness and the shock of being woken up, Carlos pulled TK’s blanket-clad legs into his lap. Cradling his knees and stoking over his thighs, soaking up the warmth.
“Mhm. Maybe I will if you keep this up.”, Carlos whispered in between more kisses.
#tarlos#tarlos fic#911 lone star#911 lone star fic#nannily#tk strand#carlos reyes#this was so much fun! thank you again for sending me this nannily
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Maurice- Ch 2 | A realization
Don't you just hate it when you find out your tenant has been secretly using his home to host and torture someone for his own sick pleasure? Simply the worst way to start an afternoon.
T/W's here: (Emeto, dirty home, rotting foods and other bits, abandoned setting, infestation) (Lmk what else to tag!)
It would’ve been a pleasant afternoon, drizzling slightly on clean sidewalks and an overgrown lawn, children in raincoats playing in the neighboring yards, and birds singing happily under the shower. It would’ve been a pleasant afternoon, but not for Denice or Martin. No… Not for them in the slightest. Denice tightens her grip around the umbrella handle as she listens faintly to Martin’s complaints.
Prev- Next
“I’m telling you Denice, you’ve got to stop thinking that Roger was up to this shit. Sure, he was a little off sometimes, but he paid the rent just fine.”
“And I’m telling you that I heard something in here. I could’ve sworn I heard a scream when I was walking by. That’s no dog, Martin. It sounded human and scared and I-“
“And you what, Denice?” Denice looked at him with a sort of restlessness, every once in a while she gazed at the innocuous exterior. This house used to be hers. It used to feel nice to walk by and it used to feel safe. But now… all it gives her is a sense of dread.
“Are you really going to break into a tenant’s home just to investigate a random shout you heard? That could literally be anything!”
She crosses her arms. “I know what I heard, Mart. And it’s not his home anymore; he’s dead.”
Martin groans, dragging his hands down his face, releasing it with a snap. “Denice, you’re being unreasonable. The guy could’ve had a kid over-“
“He has no kids. And he mentioned it when signing the lease, too.”
“Like hell you remember when he signed that lease.”
“Steel. Trap. Memory. He said, and I quote; ‘I know this neighborhood is real quiet, so don’t worry, I never have anyone over, it’s just me in here.’ End quote.”
Martin rolls his eyes. “He could’ve been watching a movie-“
“That was no movie. It was guttural- and- and real.” Denice shudders, hugging herself as she takes another longing look at the house.
“It could’ve just been him yelling after a rough day-“
“The voice was too high compared to Roger’s.”
“It could’ve been coming from another house, or a person nearby.”
“It was coming from the house.”
Martin stares at her, half nonplussed and half exasperated. When Denice raises an eyebrow at him he simply looks away, staring at nothing in particular as he finds the words to say in response.
When he finally looks back at her, he’s no longer fully disbelieving her, but he’s definitely hesitant. “Look. You heard that noise weeks ago, Denice. Whatever it was, it isn’t there anymore. Plus, do really you think I’m going to go in there when our tenant might have been a psychopath with- people in his house?”
Denice almost glared, but instead she simply took to walk down the dirty stone path to the entryway.
“Denice- Denice, what in the absolute fuck are you doing?!”
“If you don’t want to go, fine. But voice or not, I still need to evaluate the condition of the house.”
“His family might still want his things-”
“He has none he’s close with. He signed his coworkers as references, too. Plus, I have the right to inspect.”
Denice opens the three locks in the front door like clockwork and swiftly opens the door to a dark and dusty apartment. It’s a fairly straightforward layout, with an L-shaped couch and some pillows, a plain carpet, and a coffee table in front of it. On the adjacent wall there’s a television on a shelved stand with some mildly off abstract paintings, strewn with messy strokes of black, blue and red paint. She glances at it for a second and finds herself looking away just as quickly.
Despite that, it was a normal-looking home, if not unsettling because of how abandoned it felt.
The smell is bad, but bearable as she turns on the lights. The furnished living room has a thin layer of untouched dust coating it, as though it finally had time to settle. It’s as she enters the kitchen that the putrid smell hinted at before hits full throttle. She swallows dryly and takes a step back, bumping into… someone’s chest…
Denice shrieks, struggling as a hand is placed on her shoulder-
“Shush! It’s me!” She snaps open her shut eyes and relaxes only slightly upon seeing Martin’s worried face looking back. He retreats his hand and takes two paces back himself, arms up in caution. “Sorry I grabbed you.”
“Oh-!” She heaves to herself, pressing a palm to her chest as if guiding her lungs to stretch further. “I-It’s okay, just don’t- don’t do that again, Mart.”
Martin nods, grimacing from the overall scent of the home. “I’m really sorry… Um.. I found these keys? They were on a keyring next to the door, but they don’t seem to belong to any of the locks.”
“Keep them for now. Maybe he changed some? We’ll have to check if he put a lock or three somewhere here.”
“Isn’t that against the lease?” he asks whilst putting the small wad of keys in his back pocket.
“I’ve got other things to worry about right now… But we’ll need to look through the whole house.”
Denice inspects the room. Kitchenware, some appliances- a toaster oven, a blender… A very… diverse knifeblock… She pulls out a knife, only to find that it seemed recently polished.
Martin notices her interest in them. “Maybe he was interested in keeping everything maintained. The rest of the house seems pretty neat.”
Denice glances at the oxidation creeping from one of the thinner knives and doesn’t touch it. “…Maybe.”
“Is it me, or is the smell coming in stronger from the refrigerator?” Martin asks, but seems hesitant to open it.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Martin grimaces and looks away from the fridge as he pries it open. The lights snap on, revealing worms and maggots feasting on rotted food. One or two grown flies emerge from the indistinguishable piles of muck and escape the fridge as Martin slams the door shut. “SHIT!”
“The fridge wasn’t closed properly, I’m guessing…”
“You’re guessing? Shit’s a pigsty.”
“That’s what happens when food rots near the presence of flies, Mart.”
Martin gags. “No shit, Sherlock. Hell, did anybody even come in the house after he died?”
“I doubt it… Let’s just move on.”
“Let’s.” Replies Martin, looking through the cabinets. There were several lining the corners of the room, about twenty total; ten above and ten below. Unsurprisingly, a variety of spiders had long made their homes inside of the spaces from the absence of movement. The occasional pest would skitter between the raised boards, one of which being a cockroach large enough to garner a scream from the buxom woman. Martin was ever quick to kill it, slightly more composed than his counterpart.
“I don’t get why he’d have so little spices and so much salt.” Martin finally remarks, opening one of the upper cabinets.
“Maybe he likes pickling food?” Denice supplies, frowning at the dust layering the pots and pans below.
“I doubt it. His fridge would’ve been a lot more tolerable- and less… maggoty.” Martin shudders and proceeds.
Denice is opening yet another cabinet door when the realization finally hits her- She snaps back to a rather calm Martin, who was inspecting one of the bags. “Wait! Mart!”
Martin simply stared at her, nonplussed. “What?”
Denice stares back at him, then his hand. “Wait… didn’t you mention that salt burned you guys?”
Martin looks at the salt in question and chuckles softly, then pats the leaking paper bag. “Don’t worry, salt is only a big deal for obligate vamps.”
“Oh.”
“Yep. Plus I’m almost sure this is full of drugs.”
“It’s too granulated for that, Mart.”
“You never know.” Martin shrugged and placed it on the counter, continuing his run-through.
Why was she even doing this anymore? Did she really want to know what else was here?
…And yet, she finds herself opening the last cabinet regardless, surprised to see a different, smaller fridge inside it.
“…Mart, did we ever leave a mini-fridge here?”
“No? why would he own a separate fridge? Did he own snakes? a lizard of some kind?”
Denice cracks it open, shuddering at the sickening smell of iron and old blood, all in bloated vacuum-sealed bags, separating into clear, off-yellow plasma and coagulated chunks of dark rot. “He- he’s human, right?”
“Yeah? His ID would’ve specified if he were a supernatural.”
“Martin… Either he was a vampire, or he has enough blood to house one for no reason.”
“Blood? Wait-“ Martin ambles over to see it and retches at the sight, spitting into an overfilled trashcan nearby.
“Holy shit.“
“Martin- hey, it's okay man.” Denice rubs small circles on his back, and Martin coughs in his panic until it slowly died down. All is quiet between them, buzzing with unsaid questions.
"It's the smell that's killing me. It's wrong. Blood shouldn't be.." He straightens- realizing something until the last words finish his thought. "...wasted. Denice."
She perks at the call. "What?"
“You need a license to buy blood.” He silently mentions, the statement lingers in the air, weighter. His slitted pupils are wide and anxious.
Denice looks back at the minifridge, glancing at the almost rudimentary setup for storing the bags, compared to the professional handling she's seen with actual banks on the few times she accompanied Martin.
“I think-… I think this was his own. And you aren’t supposed to house vampires—even if you sign for them.” Denice feels her stomach lurch as she closes the door of the minifridge.
Martin looks at the blood with an apathetic sort of disgust, the bags having insulted his senses for the last time. “Will you please close the fridge already? The kitchen smells awful as it is.”
“Oh- Sorry. Let me just-“ She tries to close it normally, but it doesn’t really shut. A bit more pressure is applied, and even then the door bounces back open. One of the bags had clearly tilted out of shape when she opened it, but… Denice was not about to touch it more than she had to already.
She gives it a hearty shove.
There’s a squelch when it shuts, leaving a gush of sickly, yellow-tinted plasma to shoot and bead along the dirty linoleum flooring. Some clots of dark, runny sickness sputter and run down the fridge door
“…I burst one.” Denice gags while a strangled sound escapes Martin’s chest.
Martin heaves dryly, pressing a fist to his lips and an arm around his stomach as though it would stop him from vomiting altogether. They really should’ve placed a better window in the kitchen.
This could’ve been a nice afternoon.
“Den- Denice, I need to take a breather, yeah? or- or- I’ll definitely throw up. Let’s get to somewhere else- I can’t- I-”
“Y-Yeah… Let’s just get out and recuperate a little.”
Denice walked out of the kitchen with Martin following closely behind, his breaths stifled to try and limit the amount of bad air he inhaled.
But now Denice was even more unsure if she wanted to see what else lied in the house. Even with someone as strong as Martin beside her, she felt nervous. Uncertain.
Afraid.
Martin seemed to sense her worry and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We can always leave. You don’t have to stay here and see whatever else was in here.”
Denice enjoys his touch a little longer, thinking on what to say in response. In truth, she did want to leave. She wanted to leave from the beginning. But seeing just what they found now… Well, the knowledge would only eat at her if she didn’t find a conclusion to this.
“…Let’s just see the rest of the place, and we’ll leave right away. Is that okay with you?” She says despite herself. Martin looks absolutely disinterested in continuing the search for the scream’s source, but sighs. “I’ll go.” The relief Denice feels at those two words is immense. “But only because I don’t want you to be in here by yourself.”
“Thank you Mart.”
“Don’t mention it.” His tone is curt yet warm, and Denice opens the door to the staircase with a bit more confidence.
They walked up the pine stairs with little conversation- the smell noticeably got better as they left the kitchen area, until it was replaced entirely by the musty scent of dust and no air circulation. The other two bedrooms were normal; they were replaced with an office and storeroom, both of which had no outstanding features. In truth, besides the paintings, there was a very little amount of personality in his home décor.
The attic was a different story altogether.
Martin bumped his head for the third time on the attic’s ceiling when Denice had seen it- shackles. Chains. Restrains of all shapes and sizes. Whips, prods, pokers and knives. Tasers and Gags and ropes and belts and flails- and a bowl.
A bowl of water, next to a spray bottle. Martin touches it and recoils- hissing to himself as he stared at his now reddening hand.
His burned hand.
----
They stumble out of there, disconcerted and horrified as each of them try not to think too hard on their findings. The lawn door creaks and wanes on its rusty hinges until they both find a place to sit under a lawn table’s umbrella and chairs.
And so they sat, not quite talking but exchanging conversation through glances alone. Martin takes a deep, shuddering breath and holds his head in both hands while Denice hugs herself, desperately trying to make sense of it.
But no matter what, they couldn’t quite make sense of it. It could have easily been confirmation-bias, but every path seemed to lead back to her original theory, and they hated it.
Martin still looked unnerved, his grey-tinted features dark despite the sun peeking out on him. He tapped his fingers against the clouded glass and grimaced- rubbing his fingers together at the gritty feeling of muck layering the table. He takes a quick sip of his flask and grunts as his burnt hand slowly starts regrowing the tissue.
"...It was concentrated." He eventually says after noticing her worried glances. "Fuckin' liquid was probably saltier than the ocean. Could've been acid for all I know. "
Denice felt herself losing composure as well- an internal tremor echoed through her as her worries piled on. Further and further it pushed her will to continue looking. Yet the most she could do was retreat into a better space- a more optimistic section of her thoughts where the noise she heard was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
She couldn’t imagine how Martin could feel about this- he was a vampire himself, and was now dealing with the possible reality of one of their tenants illegally hosting an unregistered vampire in his home. Torturing a vampire. Feeding it with his own blood to avoid getting into a registry.
She can't unthink it. She doesn't want it to be true, and yet she feels it's growing more real by the second.
She's rethinking every instance with the tenant, no longer a placid young man with a mild interest in the arts, but holding those pokers, those knives, those weapons, and using it on someone. On her. On Martin.
She desperately hoped for it to be a joke. A gag. Something unreal and unbelievable, as Martin had told her just an hour ago. But reality was setting in too quickly for fantasy to fill in the gaps, and now she had seen too much.
Martin was the first to speak.
“I’m calling the police.” It’s such a firm statement that it leaves Denice even more unsure. If they called the police, what would happen? Did they really expect something to make sense if they did? For some justice when they didn’t even know if the man did this? They would most certainly laugh. Laugh at them both for calling them over simply because they saw some odd things in his own home.
She remembers how each weapon had drying flecks of dark ichor lacing them and gags.
“…It's not going to be a good idea. There isn't much in terms of evidence.”
Martin glared at her momentarily, his gaze only softening upon seeing her distress. “We can show them what we found-“
“And then what?”
Martin looked away and at his hand, pensively staring at the mottling patchwork of repairs on his skin. “I don’t know.”
Denice unknit her brow. “Well… we still have one last room to search through. None of the keys fit the other doors. If we see something truly incriminating, we'll call.”
Martin flexed his now-healed hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling forcibly as though trying to grasp his last strands of composure. Or savoring the fresh air while he still could.
“Fine, but I’m not going back there for longer than I have to, and neither are you. Comprendes?”
She nods, now set and resolute. Martin stood up and stretched, his joints popping until he heaved a breath and walked to follow his partner. The one place they hadn’t searched. The last room. The room they both dreaded entering.
The basement.
#might edit later#i dont know man im tired#denice and martin#they argue like an old married couple#whump#tw whump#vampire whump#martin is a vampire
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SWAT!Jay / Upstead AU
A/N: Part 11. Post Bruised Ego. Crossposted on AO3, link on my blog.
They've come to realize that they're missing a lot of kitchen essentials and unless Jay is willing to dive into the tinned cans tucked into the back of one the cabinets, they are definitely in need of a grocery run.
It's been a while since they've been grocery shopping together. Since they're both barely home, their fridge rather resembles one of a bachelor than of a married couple, mostly empty except for condiments and random take-out containers and that old bottle of milk that probably went bad last week. But now that Jay is home with a broken hand, they've come to realize that they're missing a lot of kitchen essentials and unless Jay is willing to dive into the tinned cans tucked into the back of one the cabinets, they are definitely in need of a grocery run.
When Jay suggests that they go to Costco, Hailey raises an eyebrow at him. Jay is usually the get in, get what you need and get out type of shopper, so it really is a testament to how bored he is at home and it's only been a week. She doesn’t want to know what else he’s going to come up with in the next five. Hailey quickly makes a list of what they need – wow, they're apparently out of salt – and they're off to what she knows is going to be a much longer shopping trip than she had planned for.
They've barely stepped foot in the warehouse and Jay has already wandered off towards the electronics on sale, leaving Hailey with their cart. She thinks about calling after her husband, but she just rolls her eyes at him and keeps walking towards the food section in the back. He better not be looking at that 70 inch TV that he was talking about with Will the other night. Hailey methodically goes down every aisle – if they're here already, she might as well make the most of it and find some of those hidden sale items. She remembers going shopping with her mother, one of the few things she and her mother did together – just the two of them since her brothers hated it – and they’d make a fun game out of it, doing a treasure hunt for those elusive limited offers. She’d run ahead of her mother, ducking and jumping, running back and forth the aisles, trying to glimpse the highlighted price signs. Both of them would rejoice every time Hailey found a treasure. She marvels at how fondly she looks back at such a mundane thing as buying groceries.
Half an hour later Hailey finds Jay in the cereal aisle, one-handedly pushing his own cart, already filled with all kinds of things. "Jay!" She walks over to him, her eyes widening at what is in his cart. "What in the world…"
"Oh hey, babe." Jay gives her a blinding smile and throws two large boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into his cart.
She rummages through the items he’s gotten so far and they definitely do not need 1,875 q-tips or 200 trash bags or that tub of 115 dishwasher detergent pacs. And is that a 2 pound tin of peanuts? She spots something blue and silver at the bottom of the cart and she scrunches up her nose in disgust. "Oh God, is that a 24-pack of Red Bull?!"
"Leave it," he laughs and slaps his wife’s hands away.
She sees that he’s also already been to the meat section and got two whole chickens, four racks of ribs and what looks like ten pounds of ground beef. "Who’s gonna eat all of that?"
Jay shrugs and scratches the back of his head. "I thought I’d invite the guys over for a barbeque." And now she knows how bored Jay really is, if he’s willing to cater for eight guys who eat like they’re bottomless pits, with a broken hand no less. Hailey sighs, knowing that this is going to happen whether she wants it or not.
"Alright," she huffs and looks through the rest of his cart – there's burger buns, but there's nary a vegetable in sight, and no, she’s not gonna count the massive glass of pickles. "How about some sides and some other drinks?"
Jay’s brilliant smile is back and he leans down to peck her on the lips. "You’re the best."
In the hopes of speeding things up, Hailey types out a list on her phone and Jay’s phone pings a few seconds later. "You get those things and I’ll get the rest. Meet at checkout in twenty?"
He looks at the items she sent him and nods, checking his watch. "Copy that."
"Oh," Hailey stops him with a grin, "and can you get me some tampons when you get the toilet paper?"
"Orange or green?" Jay sticks out his tongue at her. He knows she tries to catch him off-guard sometimes, but honestly, it's not the first time he got her tampons and it's not like he minds.
She winks at him. "Yellow."
"Yes, ma'am." He'll get her some tampons, she'll see.
On her round to get the last few things on her own list (a.k.a. the things that they were actually planning to buy before they got here), she catches Jay stuffing his face with food samples four times, and every time he waves and yells at her to try this or that with his mouth full. And every time she pushes her cart quickly down the next aisle, shaking her head at his antics.
After she gets everything they needed, she gives him the full twenty minutes and another ten afterwards just browsing through the store before she goes to checkout, but her husband is nowhere to be seen. Hailey tries calling him, but it just keeps ringing until it goes to voicemail. Sighing, she guesses that Jay got lost somewhere in the cheese section, looking for the feta cheese that she put on his list. Waiting for another five minutes, Hailey decides to pay and get a sundae from the food court while she waits for him.
"Babe, over here!" She hears his voice as soon as she’s past the cash registers, surprised that he beat her to the food court. He’s holding a half-eaten hot dog in his right hand and balancing another one on his cast, a soda cup tucked into the crook of his elbow. Jay looks like a food spill waiting to happen, so Hailey hurries towards him, saving the hot dog that is precariously perched on his arm.
The toppings are piled high and there’s extra sauerkraut, just the way she likes it. She smiles up at Jay and thumbs away a drop of ketchup from the corner of his mouth before she stands up on her tiptoes and gives him a quick kiss. "Thanks, babe."
He raises an eyebrow at her when she takes her first bite. "Who said that one’s for you?"
His wife giggles and retorts with a raised eyebrow of her own. "Let’s see you try and take this away from me."
"Oh no," Jay laughs, "I'm only gonna make that mistake once." He finishes the rest of his hot dog in one bite – his cheeks comically bulging as he chews – and washes it down with a couple of big gulps of soda. He takes Hailey’s cart and leads her to where he left his while she eats her hot dog.
"Hey, Raymond," he walks up to an employee, "all good?"
"Yeah, man, your carts are over there." The guy points at two carts (he did say carts, as in plural, Hailey thinks) that are pushed against the wall next to him.
"Thanks, buddy." Jay fistbumps the guy and pushes Hailey’s cart over to the others.
Hailey almost chokes on the bite of hot dog in her mouth. The last time she saw him half an hour ago, he had one cart that was already ridiculously full and he walked out with two? She doesn’t even know how Jay did it. It’s hard enough to push two carts by yourself, but he can’t even hold on to the other one properly with his cast? And how did he even get the stuff in the cart? She forces herself to swallow down the bite and blurts out, "What the fuck?"
A woman with two little kids walking by glares at Hailey and Jay snorts loudly. She doesn’t even notice, still staring at Jay’s two overflowing carts. One of them is definitely the one that she saw him with, only now thirty rolls of toilet paper and about 300 tampons stacked on top. The second one is loaded with three 24-pack trays of beer, three big bottles of bourbon, a six pack of Coke bottles and a gallon of orange juice. And it’s all piled on top of a…
"Is that a mini fridge?!" Hailey's voice goes up an octave. She turns to Jay who looks at her like the cat that ate the canary, big grin and all. Jay bought a mini fridge. Hailey pinches the bridge of her nose, but can't help the laugh that escapes her. She knew one of them was going to buy something they didn't need, but this definitely beats the yoga pants and sports bra that she treated herself to.
"It's actually a stainless steel cooler on wheels," Jay explains proudly. "It's got its own bottle opener and cap catcher."
Laughing out loud, she hands her half-eaten hot dog to Jay who gladly takes it and continues to wolf it down. She pats his good arm. "Honey, you get all of that stuff in the car, I don't care how."
"And what are you gonna do?"
"I’m getting a sundae," she announces and walks off. Behind her she hears Jay roping that poor guy Raymond into helping him with the carts. Then she hears him call after her. "Babe! Get me a strawberry sundae too!" She shakes her head with a smile and gets in line.
#upstead#jay halstead#hailey upton#chicago pd#pure fluff and humor#upstead doing mundane things#bhhfic#swat!jay au
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Love Me Roughly: What Do I Pack?
Pairing: Snape x fem!reader
Word Count: 2,071
Rating: M for Mature
Plot: Hours ago Severus Snape escaped his death and has decided to leave everything behind. He is desperate for a new life, and that starts with a new place to live.
Warnings: none
A/N: This is part 1 of 7 for the week 1 schedule for Snape Appreciation Month! Thank you @snapeloveposts for organizing this! :D
DISCLAIMER: I have edited (drawn over the original) the artwork (taken from a 80′s bodice ripper novel) for the purpose of this short series and will post more information about the original work here.
Posted: 6/1/20
Chapter List
Next Chapter -->
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“Damn It,” Severus looked away from the clock to the old and cracked mirror hanging on his bedroom wall. He traced the newly healed scar lines on his neck with his wand, trying to make them as invisible as possible. “This will have to do,” he looked at the clock again.
He tore off his frock coat – most of the buttons had been torn off by the Dark Lord’s ruddy snake, and the rest were jammed with his dried coagulated blood – and tossed it on his bed. He did the same with his waistcoat and white shirt.
I’ll have to buy new ones, he shook his head. Luckily his trousers were blood-free. He rummaged through his drawer and took out his old muggle sweater and threw it on, sniffing it once and sighing. Oh well. He knelt on the floor and reached in his closet for his old trunk, throwing it open and looking inside.
“Old school books, old clothes, old, old, old – ” he tipped it over on his bed and emptied it. He looked up at the clock again, “Damn it! What do I take? I don’t have time.”
He pulled out his drawers and started pouring in all his clothes inside the trunk. Next he dragged the trunk to the bathroom and dumped his toothbrush, toothpaste, and razor in. He grabbed the handle and apparated into the living room, grabbing all his favorite or useful books and shoved them in. He pushed his trunk into the kitchen and opened every cabinet.
“Bread, peanut butter, pickles,” he closed the fridge satisfied with the food he was taking. He took out a roll of paper towels and unrolled it, laying jars and shakers of potions ingredients and rolling them up in it. Cauldron! He stuffed the lumpy roll in his medium cauldron and shoved it all in his trunk as well.
He looked at the time again, Good enough.
He ran upstairs for his scarf, a hat, and a muggle coat, looking around his bedroom one last time before holding out his wand, “Incendio.” A jet of orange light burst from his wand tip and fell onto his bloody clothes. They caught on fire instantly. Smoke started filling the room and Severus watched it for a few seconds before nodding and walking out his bedroom door, closing it shut.
He took his time down the stairs and wound his scarf around his neck, shoving his knitted hat in his coat pocket. He took a deep breath and grabbed the trunk, apparating out of his house, leaving it for good for the second and last time.
He opened his eyes and looked around at Diagon Alley’s empty cobble streets. All the shops were closed due to the war that had broken out – mainly centered around Hogwarts – but that had scared every witch and wizard into hiding. Good, no one will see me.
He started up the street and headed to the tallest building, Gringotts. He raced up the stairs, pulling his scarf up to cover mouth, and bowed at the goblin by the door. It was beyond him how they managed to keep it open all day and night, but he thanked Merlin for it.
He rushed to the nearest goblin and gave them his key. He followed the goblin to the mine cart and stuffed himself and his trunk inside, bracing himself for the quick drop. His vault was one of the ones nearer the surface, since it was his mother who had made his account and the goblins organized the systems from poorest to richest families; the rich family vaults being deeper and therefore safer underground.
“Here we are, Mr. Snape,” the goblin jumped out of the cart and accompanied him to the small vault door.
Severus carried his trunk to the vault and sighed as it opened. Well at least its not much to carry. He opened his trunk and started dropping all the little pouches in the trunk. At the bottom of the pile of pouches was an identical set of wizard clothes he kept for emergencies.
He placed it neatly in his trunk and wished he could go back in time to kiss his twenty-four year old self on the forehead for having the most absurd idea to buy a second identical teaching uniform. He always thought the same thing about his style, Don’t fix what’s not broken.
He climbed back in the cart and closed his eyes as the cart shot backwards up the track. He exited the bank and ran back down the street tapped the bricks to enter the leaky cauldron. He pulled out his knitted hat and tucked as much of his hair in as possible, moving his scarf up to cover his nose as well, afraid Tom would recognize him.
He stepped inside the Leaky cauldron and nodded once to Tom, who was too busy listening to the radio to focus any amount of attention to the mysterious stranger dressed in all black who had just run in and out of his store onto the London streets.
Severus made out a few words said over the radio, something about a task force to help rebuild the school over the summer to help Hogwarts open at the usual start of term. He walked a few feet down the dark London streets and hailed a taxi.
He opened the door and flung himself inside, “Airport”, and stuffed his hat back in his coat, patting his hair down. It only took twenty minutes to drive to, which was not enough time to decide where it was he was flying exactly.
The cab stopped and he hopped out, paying the driver, and headed inside. He walked up to a counter where he assumed tickets were sold and looked at a board of departures, scanning the cities for anything good.
“Need help?”
Severus looked at the woman and nodded, “I want to go somewhere with as little people as possible and as far away as possible.”
The woman looked at him and blinked, “Alright… I have some cities… Mind if I ask you some extra questions to better help you?”
Severus nodded and folded his arms.
“The cities with the least amount of passengers going there are in some colder climates. Is the cold a problem?”
“No.” Suppose it makes sense more people flock to warmer climates.
“Great, and would you prefer the population size of the city to be as small as ten people? Or – ”
“Higher,” I don’t need any nosy neighbors or town crazies knowing me by name.
“What about a hundred-thousand?”
“Yeah, that’s a good number.”
“We have a departure from here to Fairbanks, Alaska, Unites States in four hours – ”
“Perfect, how much?”
Severus paid and took his ticket, following the signs and the woman’s instructions on where to go and what to do next. He placed his trunk where it said to put it and followed a guard’s instructions. After several minutes he was able to go sit down at a chair to wait.
The first hour went by fast, but the next was incredibly boring. He looked around and smelled fresh coffee. His stomach growled and he rolled his trunk over to buy a cup. He ordered the most sweet and sugary coffee with extra cream and whipped topping, thinking I need this. I deserve this, and made his way back.
He sipped on his drink as he went and sighed happily, looking around to make sure no one was watching, and decided to glance around at some books by a small bookstore before heading back. He walked in and was careful not to bump things off the shelves with his trunk.
He looked at shelf after shelf of categorized books, scoffing at titles and their illustrated covers, until he got to the romance section. The ‘bestselling’ shelf looked cheesy and gaudy, he glanced down at the bottom floor shelves and blushed. The bottom shelf had titles such as ‘Lord of Scoundrels’, ‘The Darker Side of Love’, ‘Wild Ecstasy’, ‘Fires of Surrender’, and ‘Love Me Roughly’.
I almost died hours ago, can’t I have just ONE thing? He picked up the last book and slowly walked over to the counter. There was a man drumming his fingers on the glass and looked down at the book in Severus’ hand.
“Good book.”
Severus sighed, relieved he wasn’t the only one in the tiny bookstore interested this bodice ripper novel. He gave the man some muggle money and made it to his seat, coffee still in hand. He tucked the book in his coat and focused on the sugary liquid entering his mouth.
He was now entering his third hour, finally growing restless and needing to spread his legs. He got up and walked over to a shop selling winter things. The muggle woman did say it would be cold, he looked at the hats and scarves.
“How cold though…”
“Beg your pardon?” The man next to him, also looking at scarves, looked over.
“Nothing,” he grumbled and stepped away into the boot section.
He imagined he would need some snow boots, but were there any in black? He looked at the three colors listed and took out a box. There were two styles of boots, and peering inside, he wasn’t all that disappointed at the only black one.
He read the size and new it was too small. He leaned around the corner and saw the man from earlier was talking to the worker and turned back. He dug his wand out from inside his coat and whispered a spell to make them grow two sizes.
He tried them on, saw that they fit perfectly – giving him an extra two inches in height – and purchased them. He carried them over to the restroom and opened his trunk, trying to find something to shrink to make them fit inside. The books will have to do.
He shrunk them down until they fit in the palm of his hand and placed the boots inside. He closed it and left, heading towards a bagel stand, where he purchased two cream cheese stuffed bagels and a single strawberry cream one. He sat down and finally opened up the book as he took a bite of the stuffed bagels.
‘Robin flung her dress onto her dresser, unlatched her bra, and let breas – ’
Severus stopped reading and closed the book, looking around as if everyone at the airport could somehow read his thoughts. He sighed and finished a bagel. I faced the Dark Lord and his giant venomous snake and I can’t even read a bloody word? He growled and started on his next bagel.
‘The cold air made her naked body shiver. She reached out for a blanket to shield her young naked body from the chilly wind as it swept in from the open balcony doors and touched her warm naked body.’
“Close the fucking window,” he muttered.
“Hmm?”
Severus turned and nearly jumped out of his seat in complete and utter shock. To his horror, a young woman was sitting next to him. She glanced down at the book in his hand and he quickly shoved it back inside his coat, turning a bright shade of red. He swept his hair down to cover his face, hoping it would act as a curtain to hide his shame behind.
I’ve been a spy for almost half my life and I didn’t notice her sitting next to me?? If it had been Nagini it’d have bit me. AGAIN! He cleared his throat and crossed his legs, figuring it would look even worse if he got up and changed seats – though he desperately wanted to get as far away from her as possible. Can people smell fear?
The next hour passed quickly, and soon it was time to board the plane. He stood up and got in line, looking around to see what everyone else was doing for clues as to what he should do. He saw them handing their tickets and he prepared to do the same.
The closer he got to the doors the more nervous he became. I’ve never been on a plane… I can fly. Apparate even, if I need to… Should I stay? No, I burned my house down already… There was no going back. He handed his ticket and took it again, following the young woman into the plane.
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Chapter List
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#pro snape#severus snape#severus#snape#severus snape x reader#severus snape x you#severus x reader#severus x you#snape x reader#snape x you#snapedom#snape x fem!reader#snapeloveposts#snape fanfic#snape fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#snape appreciation month#snape appreciation month 2020
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And For Once, You Let Go (Jankie) - Mumu
A/N: For @aqpippin as part of @atresia ’s song fic exchange! The song was You Are In Love - Taylor Swift. Also on AO3.
Summary: Jan wants to give Jackie the fairy tale confession she deserves.
Morning, her place
Burnt toast, Sunday
The first time Jan feels it, it leaves her breathless. It comes quietly, and once it dawns on her, something changes in the air. She can’t get rid of it. Perhaps she’s known for a while, or perhaps this is a cumulation of brief moments. Jan doesn’t know. She doesn’t know much, except for the fact that the feeling lodges itself in her throat, pulsing when she looks at Jackie.
She’s in love.
Jackie’s in the shower, and Jan’s sprawled out on the bed. As far as routine goes, everything is perfectly normal.
On Sundays, Jan closes the bakery for the day. She moves languidly, takes her time waking up. Some days they sleep in so late they skip lunch altogether, and they take turns making dinner.
Jackie has introduced Jan to so many Persian dishes from her childhood since she’s moved in, and learning how to make new dishes is something Jan looks forward to. She’s always in awe of how Jackie is so at home in the kitchen, how she somehow knows exactly how much nutmeg to sprinkle on lamb or how much vinegar to pickle the garlic cloves in without measuring anything out.
Today it’s Jackie’s turn again. She’s laid out all her ingredients already, an array of spices set out on the kitchen counter that promise a delicious meal.
For now, though, the sound of running water is steady, and Jan takes comfort in the sound.
In the beginning, when Jackie had first suggested they move in together, Jan had been scared out of her mind.
Dating was good. Dating was fine, comfortable even. She got to spend just enough time with Jackie to ensure her ball-of-sunshine energy didn’t slip or dim. That’s what everybody loved her for, anyway: her optimistic, bright personality. Even Jackie had told her that was what drew her to Jan.
But moving in together? She’d be around Jackie 24/7 then. Jan knew it wouldn’t be possible to keep that energy up all the time. Besides, even the people closest to Jan, like her mom or her friends, had at one point or another asked if she could tone it down just for a second, Jan, please .
Jan knew she had a tendency to be too much. She was too loud in the morning, too clingy with those she loved, too childish when she was sick.
Moving in with Jackie was a real commitment, a part of herself she wasn’t sure if she was ready to share. Jackie had always been patient with her, giving her the time and space to feel comfortable. But moving in was also something she was dead set on, and well, once Jackie got an idea into her head, it was impossible to talk her out of it.
Jan still wasn’t budging, so she’d done it sneakily. It started with staying over at Jan’s for sleepovers. They’d watch movies and Jackie would mix up some face masks, slathering it on their cheeks with the back of the spoon or their fingers. Jan would bake cookies, and they’d stay up all night talking like they were little kids.
At some point a night over became two, then three, until Jackie’s stuff had a designated spot in Jan’s closet. Her coffee mugs had found a home in Jan’s cupboards. It became routine for Jackie to drop by, even when Jan wasn’t home. Eventually, Jan had to put aside her fears and admit that Jackie should just move in.
And at the end of it all, when the last of Jan’s stuff had been packed into cardboard boxes and carried into Jackie’s apartment, Jan didn’t feel scared anymore.
How could she be, when Jackie was so good to her? She was always so gentle and made Jan feel so safe in her company.
“ Moosh moosh-am ?” Jackie calls.
Jan hides a smile at the pet name.
She’d tried to ask Jackie what it meant once, but Jackie had gotten all flustered, so she dropped it. A quick google search had translated it for her, anyways, so now she’s content with pretending not to understand to ensure Jackie keeps using it.
“Are you still there?” Jackie leans out of the bathroom, still tugging the hem of her shirt over her chest. Her hair’s wrapped in a towel, but a few brown strands have already slipped out and drip water onto her shoulders.
“Hmm?” Jan hums. She flops over on the bed, hangs her head over the edge. “You look pretty upside-down-sie.”
“You’re such a softy,” Jackie says with a slight roll of her eyes. She leans against the doorframe, fixing a warm gaze on her girlfriend. “Can you take the dough out of the fridge, please? It has to sit for thirty.”
“Putting me to work already, huh?” Jan asks, popping her gum.
Jackie doesn’t respond, just raises an eyebrow.
“Fine,” Jan groans dramatically and heaves herself into a sitting position on the bed with a groan. “But you know I’m only doing it ‘cause I lo-”
The words get stuck in her throat. Jan inhales too abruptly, chokes on her spit. She coughs, rolling off the bed to land on her feet again.
“Shit, you good?” Jackie scrambles over to pound her on the back. “Don’t go upside down while chewing gum like that, you’ll choke.”
“No, yeah. I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jan recovers, still flustered. “Must have- y’know. Inhaled dust or something. I’ll go get that dough.”
She stands and shuffles over to the kitchen, stiffly going through the motions. The inside of her mouth tastes sticky despite the minty gum, and her hands are shaking slightly as she pulls out the saran wrapped dough.
What the hell was that? Jan’s heart pounds in her ears. She stares at the mound of dough with wide eyes, panic coursing through her.
“Thank you.” Jackie drags out the words, coming up behind her. She wraps her arms around Jan’s waist, nestles her chin into her shoulder.
Jan jumps at the sound of Jackie’s voice in her ear, taking a sharp inhale out of surprise.
“So jumpy today.” Jackie murmurs. She untangles herself from around Jan, putting her hands on her hips. “Alright, let’s get started then.”
Good. Okay. Jan blinks, tries to steady herself. It’s just the late-June heat getting to her, that’s all.
She pours herself some water and drinks it, trying to wash down the strange feeling rattling around in her ribcage.
**
One step, not much, but it said enough
Jan calls Gigi up the next day, first thing in the morning with the taste of her almost-confession still on her tongue.
Gigi agrees to breakfast straight away, no questions asked. It’s like the other girl can hear the urgency in Jan’s voice, the little tremor when she says it’s about her and Jackie. Whatever the reason, Jan’s grateful for how quickly she says yes.
Surprisingly, Gigi doesn’t bombard Jan with questions the second she slides into their booth at the restaurant. It’s a cute little place– a diner they frequent often– and ordering takes virtually no time at all as they both rattle out their usuals. She’s grateful for the grace period.
Jan’s halfway through her pancakes when Gigi finally cuts off her casual rambling.
“So did you and Jackie, like, end things? Cause, no offence, but I’ll literally kill you. You guys are perfect for each other.” She tears a croissant into half and poses the question around a mouthful.
“What?” Jan sputters out a shocked laugh. Her voice is a little too loud and she winces, tries again. “Absolutely not, where’d you get that from?”
“Babes, you called me all panicked and told me you had to talk to me,” Gigi says slowly. “About you and her.”
“Oh,” Jan says. She pushes a bite of blueberry pancake into the puddle of maple syrup that’s collected on her plate. “Oh, yeah. That does sound bad, doesn’t it.”
“Duh,” Gigi laughs. She pauses, taking a sip of her iced tea. “So if nothing’s going bad , then what’s the problem?”
And there it is. Jan clicks her tongue and drums her nails on the table, stalling as she tries to think of how to phrase her next sentence.
“I almost said I loved her yesterday.”
Gigi beams at that news- “Wait, are you kidding? That’s great!” -before collecting herself. She leans in, less excited after realizing the worry Jan said it with.
“Wait, I don’t get it. You do love her right?”
“Have you and Crystal said it yet?” Jan deflects, asking another question instead of answering.
“I mean, yeah. Like two weeks ago now, I think.” Gigi shrugs.
“How did you know when to say it?”
“I don’t know. It just felt right?” Gigi pops a chunk of pastry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Jackie nods like she understands, tapping her fork against her bottom lip. She casts around for an excuse for why it isn’t as easy for her as it seems to have been for Gigi and Crystal. There must be one. She’s not crazy, right?
“I feel like what we have now is really great. I don’t want to scare her off by saying anything stupid.”
“Jan, Jackie is totally head-over-heels in love with you. There’s no way that’ll do anything but bring you two closer.” Gigi rebuts, unconvinced.
Jan just hums, not trusting herself to speak. Her voice has frozen in her throat, and that’s not a factor she wants to deal with while she’s talking to Gigi, who picks up on everything.
“I think I know what your problem is,” Gigi says bluntly. She drains the last of her iced tea, before setting it down on the table and declaring with finality, “You’re worried about making it perfect like you always do.”
Jan cuts at her food to give her hands something to do.
“You watch too many romcoms. You’re putting this crazy pressure on yourself to, like, measure up to Hollywood scripts. But that’s not real life, y’know?”
Jan bites at the inside of her cheek, the taste of metal blooming in her mouth.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect, that’s the point of it,” Gigi continues. She stops, notices that Jan’s attention isn’t totally on her.
“Jannifer-” She takes the knife and fork from Jan’s hands. “-Quit murdering that pancake and listen, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Sorry, doll.” Jackie clears her throat and wipes her fingers clean on a napkin, still not meeting Gigi’s gaze.
“Do you love Jackie?”
The way she says it, it’s not really a question but more of a statement for Jan to agree to. Even phrased like that to make it easy for her, Jan still isn’t sure she’s ready to speak it into reality. Her eyes dart, feeling like everyone in the restaurant is listening in on their discussion.
“Jan?” Gigi prompts.
“I’m- I, um, need to use the bathroom. Excuse me.” Jan stands up, nearly knocking her drink into her lap at the sheer force of it. Her chair scrapes against the floor, too loud for her liking, and she practically sprints into the restroom.
She presses her palms flat on the marble countertop. The cold surface against her skin is enough to scramble her already overstimulated mind, and Jan forces a breath in through her nose, tears prickling behind her eyelids.
Why can’t she do it? Jackie deserves the world, as far as she’s concerned, and yet Jan can’t even put her feelings into words for her.
Jackie’s going to get tired of waiting for her to grow the hell up and say what’s on her mind. And when she does, Jan will have fucked up yet another thing she loves, because that’s what she does best.
Once the idea of Jackie leaving her takes root she can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop imagining scenarios. When it happens, Jackie might scream, or yell, or cry. She might go silent, start icing Jan out until there’s nothing left to keep them together. Either way, she’ll end up all alone again, and her apartment will feel twice as big because she’s gotten used to the warmth of Jackie’s presence.
There’s a spark of anger too, as irrational as it is, that tears through her at the realization that Jackie’s the reason she caved in. If it were up to her, she’d have kept Jackie at arms length, perfectly safe, where she can’t be harmed by Jan’s inability to be a proper adult in a proper adult relationship.
At some point she ends up on the floor, back pressed against the counter, and now she stays like that, curling her torso closer into her knees. Jan hears the door open, and a panicked sounding ohmygod from Gigi.
“Jan, honey, it’s okay.” Gigi sits down next to her. “Take deep breaths for me.”
Jan heaves a breath in and out through her mouth. “Sorry, I- god, I don’t know why I’m like this.”
“Hey, don’t apologize,” Gigi says. She works her fingers into Jan’s hair, braiding little sections in a calming fashion.
“Relationships are hard. The first time Crystal kissed me I, like, totally freaked out and ghosted her for a few days. Major dick move, don’t recommend.”
Jan laughs despite herself at that. She rests her head back against the counter and looks up at the ceiling.
“Do you think it’ll get easier?”
It’s quiet for a few moments, the hum of the electric lights keeping them company. Jan’s pretty sure Gigi has forgotten about the question or isn’t going to answer her when she speaks again.
“I think,” Gigi bites her lip, considering her words carefully. “I think you’ll get used to trusting someone that much. I don’t know if it’ll be easy, but it’s a process.”
More silence. Jan tongues her teeth, feeling the smooth enamel, unsure whether or not to speak.
“We just have to trust it?” Jan says. The question hangs in the air, drawing a noise of agreement out of Gigi.
“Do you know what Jackie said to me after we moved in together?” Jan asks, before ploughing on, not waiting for an answer. “She told me, just because you’re independent doesn’t mean you have to do it on your own all the time.”
Gigi still doesn’t speak, just lets Jan talk.
“And I think- no, I know she’s right. But it’s still weird, y’know? She’s so good to me and I want to do that for her.”
There’s a pause. “I don’t know why I can’t.”
“Don’t rush yourself because you think she deserves it, hun. That’s not fair to either one of you.” Gigi says.
Jan just sighs, makes a little hum of acknowledgement.
“Yeah. This was so much easier in the movies.”
Gigi snorts, shoving Jan with her shoulder. “That’s what you get for watching those heterosexual pieces of trash all the time. Unrealistic expectations.”
And Jan lets her say it, doesn’t throw back a jab about how if anything is disgustingly cheesy it’s Gigi and Crystal’s pet names they have for one another, because she knows this is Gigi trying to help her through her feelings.
“Let’s finish our food before they think we dined and dashed,” Jan says simply, and considers that growth.
**
You can hear it in the silence,
You can feel it on the way home
Over the next few months, Jan tries to say I love you many times. It never comes out smoothly.
The feeling isn’t so daunting now that she’s been living with it for a while. It’s a companion, a constant rattling in her ribcage that gets stronger and louder every time Jackie leaves a sticky note with a smiley face on the lunch she takes to the bakery.
She practices saying I love you to the mirror in her room, fascinated with the way the words sound and the way her mouth moves to shape them.
Some days she gets scared that she’ll never be able to voice it, that it’ll be trapped inside her throat with nowhere to go and no place to call home forever. On those days she sits for hours on the balcony while Jackie sleeps, just watching the city go by.
These things take time, Gigi had said, so give them time .
Be patient with yourself, her mom tells her, when Jan calls her up. You’ll get there .
Jan repeats those words of advice so often they seem to become part of her, swirling in her bones and in her blood. She imagines they float around her like an aura as she moves through the days, folding into her cake batter along with the butter and sugar. Trusting that when it’s right, she’ll know.
**
And you understand now,
Why they lost their minds and fought those wars
Today, Jackie’s come in to help Jan out in the bakery. It’s holiday season now, which means more customers and more work. Jackie’s already found an easy rhythm working the cash register, greeting guests with a warm smile and comforting air. Jan feels like everything in her life is coming together in the best way, wrapped up in a pretty bow.
She pulls a fresh ray of lemon cookies from the oven, setting it on the rack to cool. Jackie immediately leans over, trying to swipe a cookie under the guise of kissing the powdered sugar off of Jan’s lips.
“I saw that, Jacqueline,” Jan scolds, tapping Jackie’s wrist in an attempt to get her to drop it. Jackie takes a big bite anyways, trying to chew through the pain when it scalds her mouth. Jan laughs in response. “That’s what you get for stealing.”
“You’re a cruel woman, Jan,” Jackie teases. She offers the other half of the cookie to Jan, who takes it from her.
“For someone that used to track all our expenses, you’ve become quite lenient with eating the profits away lately,” Jan bumps Jackie’s hip with her own, turning to hide a smile as she pops the remainder of the cookie into her mouth.
“What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me,” Jackie replies.
“Hmm.” Jan hums. She catches Jackie trying to swipe another cookie out of the corner of her eye and pulls the rack away from her girlfriend before it happens. “Ah-uh. I don’t think so.”
Jackie pouts, wiggling her fingers at the rack. “Jan, it’s just one, please?”
“Sorry, can’t let you eat them all.” Jan doesn’t even spare a second glance at Jackie, turning back to whipping up another bowl of batter. “Go back to the register. We can have the leftovers after closing.”
“I can’t believe I’m being bullied,” Jackie whines. She does as she’s told though, trudging back to her spot at the counter.
Jan bustles over to the coffee machines, pressing a few buttons. “Shut up, you know I love you.”
It rolls off her tongue light and airy, just like her cookies, but the aftertaste catches in her throat regardless.
Jan stills, pausing with her hands over the coffee machine. Nothing in the atmosphere has changed, the air still warm and easy, the lingering taste of lemon still full bloom on her taste buds. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, scared to look at Jackie.
“Do you-” Jackie comes over again, hovering around Jan, unsure of where to put her hands. “-Do you want to say that again or did I hear you wrong?”
Do you think it’ll get easier? That was the question she asked Gigi half a year ago, when she had been scared of this foreign thing that had started living inside of her.
“Huh? Jan-” Jackie asks. Oh, she said that part out loud.
“-I can- um. Should I go back to the counter?”
Over the speakers, the song changes into something with a bit more kick.
“I didn’t mean that,” Jan says. Wrong answer. Jackie’s face falls, and the thing inside Jan twists around her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
“No- wait, no, Jackie.” She speeds up, words falling into each other. Her hand slips from the mug and it crashes onto the floor, spraying coffee onto her jeans. “Hold on, that’s stupid, I’m not- fuck, I’m not scared.”
“Okay,” Jackie says, quiet, like she understands what Jan is trying to say. Maybe she does. She has a way of getting Jan like that.
“I’m, I-” Jan’s hands shake and she sticks them into the pockets of her apron to hide it.
“You don’t have to,” Jackie says, when Jan starts talking and stops again, like a fish, or somebody drowning underwater.
Jan shakes her head, so hard her earrings jingle. She taps the toe of her combat boots on the ground, counts to five, and then to ten. Then to twenty, because she’s chicken.
“I love you,” She blurts.
“Okay,” Jackie repeats, then louder, again, like she senses Jan needs to hear it back. “Okay. I love you too.”
And then it’s done, and it makes sense, all of a sudden. Jan throws her head back, laughs with her whole body, and Jackie looks at her, half in surprise and half in curiosity.
“I’m an idiot,” Jan says, by way of explanation. “ God , Jackie, do you know how long I’ve waited to say that?”
Jackie stares at her. She blinks rapidly, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Are you crying?” Jan asks, her voice pitching higher at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Jackie sniffs and swats at Jan when she swoops in to hug her.
“Stop, go away, let me be an emotional wreck in peace.” The effect is decidedly ruined by the way she dissolves into laughter at the end of her protest, but Jan appreciates the effort.
So they just stand there, and Jan’s smiling with her forehead pressed against Jackie’s, all watery and loving. Jackie pulls her in closer for a kiss, Jan practically melting into her. It’s salty from both of their tears because they’re both crybabies, and Jan wouldn’t have it any other way.
Tonight, when they get home, Jan will make lasagna with her nonna’s recipe.
Jackie’s already prepped shir berenj for desert, and they’ll have it with the bottle of red wine that’s been sitting on the top shelf, waiting for a special occasion just like this. They’ll sit on the balcony until late in the night, safe in each other’s company.
Things won’t be perfect, or easy. Not now, maybe not ever.
But Jan’s okay with that. She’s okay with figuring things out as they go. Especially since it now comes with the promise of Jackie at her side, steady and comforting and loving Jan for every part of who she is.
Because she’s in love.
And wow, how badly she wants to scream it into the city, so that everyone knows about this magical thing that has come into her life, with such reckless abandon. It’s feral and wild, and it cuts up the soft parts of her sometimes, but that’s okay because Jackie’s here to help her heal.
Like: it’s far less terrifying when she knows Jackie loves her back.
Like: they live here, in this time and this place, with each other, and that is enough for her.
Like: she’s in love. True love.
#rpdr fanfiction#jan sport#jackie cox#gigi goode#jankie#s12#lesbian au#fluff#domestic#and for once you let go#mumu#concrit welcome
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Unraveling at the Seams Pt 24
Genre: Fan Fiction
Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC
Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW
Rating: M
Length: Multi
Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.
A/N: As it pains me, this is nearly to an end. In word doc I have 177 pages and over 91,000 words. I didn’t imagine it to be this big, when I began. thank you @laketaj24, @agniavateira, and @cherrybloomn for listening to my insanity and helping me along :D
thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr for the header
Catch Up Here
Day One in Hungary for Henry and Ivan was the last day in Ireland for Nell.
No stranger to a hard workload, Nell did everything she could to get out of Dublin. Leaving was harder than she had imagined, reminding herself that this was a good thing, even if she cried all the way to the airport. Nell had felt emotions were fully under control, until minutes before her car arrived. A soft knock on the door revealed Sophie and Jordan on the other side.
Nearly 5am, they stood on the step in their pjs, with a card and strict instructions to open it when she was alone. Hugs and a few last laughs, Nell collected her bags and walked to the black sedan, similar to the one which Henry and Ivan had left in.
A last minute change of plans, Nell decided to skip London. Phoning to see if she could have Henry's older brother drive over to make sure her things were stored properly, she diverted course directly to Budapest. A few phone calls and promises not to tell Henry or Ivan that she was on her way, Nell was armed with an address when she landed at the airport.
Waiting for her luggage, Nell scrolled through her phone, wrinkling her nose. What if Henry and Ivan were out? She would show up at this address, only to be left hanging out by the front door like some kind of weirdo. Perhaps she should take a car to her new residence first? Another road block, nobody was expecting her there this soon. What if the space was locked and not ready to receive her?
Tapping her foot on the polished floor, she sighed, what if this wasn't such a grand idea?
No, of course this was a good idea. Nell rarely did anything spontaneous these days, this was due and it was going to all work out fine. She wouldn't have been told to come ahead, if there was any type of flaw. Although to be fair, she hadn't told Sarah that she was coming this soon.
Spotting her large pink suitcase on the belt, Nell stepped forward to grab the bag. Heaving it with all her might, she took a wobbly second to get it upright and to catch her breath. Collected, she wheeled her suitcase toward the appropriate line to exit.
Amidst the boxes that were placed in their correct rooms Henry, Ivan, and Kal saw their first few days in their new dwellings rather pleasant. Bringing only the necessities of their life, a bonus of fully furnished homes, there wasn't much to unpack. The weather was gorgeous and too nice to be inside organizing a house. Early morning had found the three of them exploring their temporary home. A lovely park near by, a rather large garden adjacent to the house, and a view that could rival any. The best part was that it was only a fifteen minute walk to Ivan's school. A fact Ivan wasn't overly impressed with.
They would be content here, Henry could feel it the second they pulled up to the drive on top of the steep hill. He hadn't saw Nell's new place, yet, but had plans to venture over before she arrived to inspect and set a few things up for her. For now, they were concentrating on lunch and then seeing what the afternoon brought.
Henry would be in the studio early tomorrow, leaving Ivan with his second assistant for the time being. Sarah was lovely and Ivan enjoyed hanging out with her, a bonus on Henry's part, as she would be their temporary child care. Finding a suitable nanny was not working as well as Henry had hoped, the more he thought about it the more he wanted to offer Bridie whatever she wanted in order to keep her on.
“Can you go wash for lunch, wild boy.” Henry's announcement fell on deaf ears. Ivan was in the living room playing on the tablet, there was an excellent chance he hadn't heard a word Henry said. A round of firecrackers could be lit and Ivan wouldn't bother to look up, if he was indulging himself.
Whatever, he would either miss out or figure it out. Henry grabbed a container of blueberries, setting them in the sink to rinse, when Kal began to bark. His booming voice ringing off the walls, if Ivan ignored that then he was good.
“Dad!” Shouting over Kal's bark Ivan took off, running through the house. “Dad!”
“Kitchen,” Henry called, the commotion railing through the house like a freight train. “What's going on? Kal, shh.” At least he could control Kal, sometimes.
“Someone is knocking on the door.” Ivan shrugged, grabbing a handful of blueberries from the kitchen sink.
Wiping his hands, Henry rolled his eyes. “Could you not have said that? It's probably Sarah.”
“It could be a stranger, I didn't want to answer it.” Ivan followed Henry to the front door. If it was an axe wielding stranger, he was going to be there for back up. Kal followed along behind Henry and Little Henry, boofing under his breath, in order to let the person know he was here but not enough to get scolded.
“Surprise!” Shouting happily, Nell held out her arms on the other side of the door.
“Mum!” Ivan screeched latching onto her. “Dad! Look! Mum's here!”
“I can see that,” Henry laughed, trying not to show the bit of fright Nell had given him with her shouting. “Alright, let her in.” He ushered Ivan and a dancing Kal away from the traveler. Stepping out to gather her suitcase, he couldn't stop the confused smile.
“What are you doing here?” Ivan eagerly demanded.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Nell leaned down to kiss the top of his head, holding him tightly.
“Certainly a surprise, welcome to Hungary.” Henry stored her suitcase beside the door. “Alright, go get ready for lunch. Let mum breathe.”
“Fine,” Ivan mumbled letting go of his mother's waist.
“Sorry, I wanted to surprise you and...” Henry glanced to see that Ivan was doing what he was told, before cutting her off with a kiss. Giggles taking over, Nell sighed patting his chest. “I missed you two.”
“We've missed you.” Henry held her for a second longer, before letting go. “Are you hungry? We were making lunch. Sorry about the mess, we're still trying to settle in.”
“You've barely arrived, don't be so worried about getting it in order. Enjoy the bit of free time you have left.” Nell encouraged, standing on her tip toes to kiss his cheek.
“For me that ends tomorrow morning,” Henry frowned. “You know, since you're here early, you could always come with me tomorrow.”
“Or, I could sleep in.” Nell smirked, leaning into his side. “I'm teasing, I will gladly go with you.”
“Lovely, I will hold you to that when I call to wake you up at 3AM.” Henry chuckled, leading her to the kitchen. A formal tour of the house could wait for a bit.
“I'll remember to turn my phone off.” Following him to the kitchen, she took in the surroundings. Whoever had picked this house had really known Henry. Giddiness to see her new space was rising, though one thing at a time. She would ask to be taken over after lunch, unpack her suitcase and get settled in.
Unattended, Ivan and Kal had taken it upon themselves to finish lunch. At least try to finish the job Henry had started. Since he wasn't allowed to use the big knife, Ivan had left the bread slicing to an adult, but it didn't stop him from digging out everything that was in the fridge – though it wasn't much.
Blueberries in the colander, draining on the counter top. Lettuce ripped and a tomato mangled via a table knife, Ivan had a jar of pickles in his hand trying to open them. Grunting he frowned and set the pickles aside, whatever, his dad would get it. Kal was dutifully by his side, waiting for a piece of the ham to drop. A short sharp whine, Kal bounced on his hind feet, licking his lips as if he were trying to will the salty, delicious piece of meat to find it's way to his waiting mouth.
“No, dad said it makes you sick.” Ivan warned his companion. “If you get sick again because of me, I have to clean it. I don't know how to clean dog puke!”
Listening to the conversation, Nell snorted and shook her head. Looking at the attempt at lunch, Henry sighed, giving in and letting Ivan have control over certain situations was a little thing Henry was working on. If they wanted an independent, well rounded human out of this, they had to let Ivan had some control.
“Alright, you two get some plates and I will cut the bread.” He instructed, giving Ivan a quick kiss on the head, before washing his hands.
“Mum, I need plates.” Ivan pointed to the appropriate door. “Dad says I can't scale the counters, I don't know why. I'm a really good climber.”
“When have you ever been allowed to climb on the kitchen counters?” Nell gave her son a knowing look, reaching for the plates that he had requested.
Shrugging it off, Ivan took the plates and set them beside his workstation.
“Cut the bread, then open the pickles please. I can get it from there.” Ivan Instructed Henry with a firm look. “Mum why don't you sit down and rest?”
“Wow, you're demanding. But whatever makes the chef happy.” Laughing, Nell did as she was told, retiring to the table to wait for lunch.
Seeing Ivan scurrying back and forth, putting lunch together was almost comical. He had always loved helping in the kitchen and Nell knew that he was capable of making some of his own things, but this was a new level. He was growing more and more, even in the last week since she'd seen him.
“Dad, you can sit down. I've got it.” Shooing Henry away from the kitchen, the look of determination was enough to make his parents listen.
Doing as he was told, to avoid being physically ushered from the kitchen, Henry sat at the small table across from where Nell had been watching the situation between father and son unfold. Kal laid with his head resting on Henry's feet, casually eyeing the kitchen now and then to scan for any dropped bits of food.
Ivan hummed, flitting around the kitchen like a bee on a mission. He was truly in a zone of some sort as he constructed lunch for his parents.
“Just think, if he gets good at this we may never have to cook again.” Nell watched her son putting together the first sandwich.
“I like to cook, though.” Henry frowned, a smirk in his voice.
“Maybe you could have a sous chef, instead? Haus Von Cavill.” She giggled at her attempt to be clever. “Start here, move it to London, it could be a real venture.”
“Oh I am sure people would line up for days.” Glancing over his shoulder to see what the thudding was, Ivan had taken a misstep and thumped his knee against a door. Nothing serious or life threatening, they were all safe – for now.
Kal yawned and rocked his chin against Henry's foot, giving up on his watch. He'd wait for the food to arrive at the table, before he went back to alert for scraps that a dog may want.
“Dad, do we have marmite?” Ivan called from the kitchen.
“Not yet,” Henry called back, his nose wrinkling. “Why do you want marmite for ham sandwiches?”
“Mum likes it, remember?”
“I tried to forget, actually.” Henry laughed, Nell gently smacked him on the arm. “Do you still eat it that way?”
Nell shrugged, “sometimes.”
Marmite, ham, mustard, and olive sandwiches had been a staple while she was pregnant. Henry had partook in a sandwich or two of his own, during that time, though he'd nearly came to forget the silly little things like that. He could remember various things about their relationship, pre and post Ivan, but now and then the trivial details would slip away.
“It's fine, I'll eat it with mustard. Thank you, wild boy.”
“I don't know how we ate those,” Henry made a disgusted face. “I know how you ate them, but I will never know why I thought they were good.”
“We did a lot of weird things, over the years.”
“To say the least.” Agreeing, their reminiscing was cut off by Ivan carefully balancing two plates as he approached the table. Ham sandwiches, blueberries, and Ivan's attempt at melon balls.
“Lunch is served, if you don't like it, then blame dad. He's the one who walked away and left a kid in charge.” Setting the first plate down in front of Nell; Ivan giggled at his comment.
“I am sure it will be delightful,” Nell kissed his cheek. “Better than the finest restaurants anywhere in the world.”
Moving to the other side of the table, Ivan set Henry's down staring his dad dead in the eye. For no reason, which Henry could recall, Ivan stood there for a moment. Plate in hand, staring at his dad before cracking up.
“You are an odd child,”
“Mum says I learn it from you,” Ivan retorted giving his father lunch.
“Go get your lunch and come eat, please.” Breaking the weird staring contest, Henry blinked and gestured to the kitchen with his chin.
“We have raised an extremely weird kid.” Nell marveled at the size of the sandwiches that Ivan had placed before them. “I should teach him how to make a Monte Cristco.”
“You're not funny,” teasing her, Henry smiled sweetly.
“What? It's a fantastic sandwich, a great book, and the movie fell a little flat but still good.” Chattering on, Nell continued to tease. At least Henry thought she was teasing. “As a girl, I always like the name Albert. I remember reading the book in senior year, thinking if I ever had a son, I would name him Albert. Or maybe Stephen. I also really loved the name Brandon.”
Sitting between his parents, Ivan rolled his eyes and tilted his head to the side. Chewing thoughtfully, he liked his name. It was picked for him by his dad. Hearing his mother's favourite names, he was happy that she only got to pick his middle name.
“I like being Ivan,” he spoke up, shrugging at the idea of having any other name. He was an Ivan, he was certain of it.
“I know you do, wild boy. I was teasing your dad.” Brushing her hand over the back of his head, Nell smiled.
“Those are all characters, which I have played. Your mother thinks it's funny to annoy and torment me.”
“Grown ups,” Ivan huffed turning his attention back to his lunch. A ham sandwich was way more entertaining than his parents trying to tease each other. They didn't even have good come backs. Whatever. “I'm glad you're here, mum.” He mumbled around his lunch.
“Me, too.”
“Why not go to London?” Speaking up, Henry glanced at Nell across the table.
He'd been meaning to ask why the sudden change in plans. It wasn't as if she had anything pressing here, until next week. Had she came when she originally planned, there would have still been time to settle in before jumping into work. Henry wasn't going to complain, because he was happy to have some extra time with Nell, simply curious was all.
“I decided it was time to be spontaneous, a little bit. Changing my ticket was a way to do that, without getting too crazy.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Funny, in a way, both times I have left Dublin in a spontaneous fit, I ended up following you.” She teased, giving Henry a wink.
“I am worth a good chase, if I say so myself.” Henry boasted with a quick burst of laughter. “Once we finish here, why don't I call and find out what is going on with your place? We can head over and get you settled, if you want?”
Wiping her hands on the fresh linen napkin, a very Henry like detail, Nell nodded. Her face lighting up with an eager smile. “Yes, please. I can't wait to see it. I'm excited to see the garden.”
“Speaking of gardens, before you leave, you should check out the one we have here. It's fantastic.”
“Tons of room!” Wide eyed, Ivan added enthusiastically. “Kal and I went exploring this morning, it's so cool.”
“I will have to do that. In fact, once we clean up, while your dad makes some calls why don't we go outside, Wild boy?”
After lunch, Nell assisted Ivan in clearing the table and stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. Kitchen cleaned, as promised, Henry disappeared to make some phone calls while mother, son, and Kal wandered around the hillside fenced in garden. The sun was warm in the noon sky, keeping them comfortable, but not overheated.
Taking her time to admire the hard work that someone had lovingly put into the garden, Nell stood and inhaled the fresh air. The house sat in a quiet area, a few minutes from the bustling city. Around them were a few houses, though it didn't seem like there would be too many noisy neighbours. The loudest would likely be Ivan and Kal.
“Are you happy to be living with dad?” Sitting in the grass, watching Kal romp around, Nell nudged Ivan gently with her shoulder.
“Yeah,” Ivan smiled shyly. “Even if he does have more rules.”
“Your dad and I have the same rules, wild boy.”
“But he uses them,” Ivan looked at his mother, his eyes full of mischief.
“As he should. I'm happy that you're happy, you know that?” Nell wrapped her arm around Ivan, drawing him closer.
“Yeah.”
Sitting on the grass, Kal went blazing by them, yipping and wagging his tail happily. The door clicked, causing Nell and Ivan to turn their heads. Standing, Nell shoved her hands in her back pockets waiting for Henry to download his latest details on her.
“Well?”
“A bit of bad news, my darling.” Scrunching up his nose, Henry sighed sliding his phone away. “Your place isn't ready, there's been a bit of an issue with a water main and since they weren't expecting you, they were hopeful to have it fixed. Apparently they didn't see fit to tell us this.”
“Why would they? It's fine, I'm early. If they're fixing it, no issue right? I can get a hotel or something.”
“You should stay here!” Ivan piped up, wiggling in the soft cool grass. “Right dad! We have an extra bed, mum can stay. Please.”
“I mean, if you want. I won't be cruel and kick you into the streets.” Henry winked.
“Pleaseee,” Ivan sat with his hand folded, begging.
“It's on you.” Henry offered, leaning down to pet Kal.
“Well, I suppose, for a few days.”
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(sorry if this hasn’t been tagging people. IDK what is up but tumblr is a prick, It’s telling me you are all tagged, but then shows the links didn’t work, but shows they did ugh)
#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill x ofc#alex høgh andersen#alex høgh andersen fanfiction#unraveling at the seams#henry cavill fanfic
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They Don’t Know You Like I Do
This is a reupload, a throwback. It was originally written in 2019 and posted on my old account calumh-excess. I hope you guys enjoy.
In the same universe as We’re Outsiders.
Sandra should be out of his league. But with a good heart and an open mind, she gives Ashton a shot. That’s all he needs.
Greaser!AU.
Enjoy my masterlist.
Support me on Ko-Fi
No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go.
_________________________
When there’s a knock at the door, Ashton’s a little confused. Though, knocks are more frequent now if he has to be honest. He racks his brain for who could possibly be at the door. It’s not Luke. He had to run some errands for his parents. It’s not Calum. He’s at work; left early this morning. Calum did agree to be at the race. And unless Calum forgot his keys, Ashton is sure that Calum wouldn’t be showing back to the house.
So Ashton finishes zipping up the boot and walks to the door. Cookie stands on the other side, grinning. Her siblings attached to her hips. He grins at the sight. It’s very common on Saturday mornings for her to show up at his doorstep, whether Calum is home or not. More often not, since Saturdays seem to have picked up at the shop and Cookie seems to be able to sneak away before the morning rush. “Know your boy toy’s not here right?”
She rolls her eyes, extending out the glass dish. “I know. I did talk to him last night.”
Ashton takes the dish; it’s heavier than he anticipated. It smells good though. He won’t lie. The deep inhale almost makes his stomach growl and his mouth salivate. “Thanks.” They don’t need to be taken care of, but it’s nice. She always brings enough for not just Ashton and Calum, but also Luke and Michael. “One of these days I’m gonna get that recipe.”
“Oh, hot stuff, we’d have to be married for that,” she teases laughing.
“You say that like I won’t snatch you up from Calum.”
His only acknowledgement to the tease is a smile. “Got one more in the car. Can they sit inside for a second? If you’re not busy.”
“Yeah, they can sit inside for a minute.”
Teresa, Cookie’s sister, taps Ashton on the leg on the way in. A game they seem to always play where he attempts to dodge it, but never seems to skirt out of the way fast enough. Ashton buckles a little at the motion, careful of the food he’s still holding, and drags himself to the kitchen table. “I oughta report this!”
Her brother, Curtis, settles onto the couch. He’s always been quiet. But he smiles at the exchange and settles into the cushions. Ashton leaves the dish out. He’s glad Cookie came by. He wanted to ask her for a favor and had planned to stop by her place or the diner before heading out for the race.
The door creaks open again and Cookie walks in, heading straight for the kitchen. She doesn’t linger long on the fact that there aren’t many groceries left. She just slips the glass dishes in and prays that they can get back on track soon.
“You know,” Cookie starts watching her sister and brother pick up the deck of cards at the dinning room table and Ashton stand in front of her. “I could get you in at the diner. My folks ain’t that bad.”
Ashton shakes his head. He knew long ago when he lost his job that Cookie could help him out. Somehow it felt wrong, felt like he would’ve been intruding. Besides, he wouldn’t be down for long. “I appreciate it. But I don’t wanna put your folks in a tighter spot. If I start working there and someone hits the roof, y’all take the hit. Not me.”
“World won’t be so black and white one day.”
“Sometimes I think I could be doing more. More than just surviving and more than just hoping for you.”
“If you got marching boots, I know how to get you in.”
It’s only a nod. They are silent, even as cards shuffle in the background. But Ashton knows, by way of the stirring in his chest, that he’s going to be asking about that march.
“Well, I ain’t mean to take up too much time,” Cookie starts, seeing the current round is coming to an end.
“Wait before you go, can I ask you a favor?” It’s not exactly the smartest thing in the world he’s done for cash, agreeing to a race.. Though he’s smart and never gets tied up for people that race for pinks. “I need some help.”
Cookie leans back into the fridge, the white Keds on her feet matching the tile as she crosses her ankles. “Help how?”
Ashton knew he shouldn’t have promised Sandra that Cookie would’ve been there without actually asking Cookie. However, by the time Ashton managed to get home, Calum had already gone to bed and Ashton for sure was not about to call up to her house at that time of night. He was just trying to get Sandra to see that he was just a guy, not the label that people had put on him.
“I have a race.”
Cookie nods. “If you telling me Teresa actually hit you that hard that you can’t drive no more, I oughta sign that girl up for boxing or something,” she teases.
Ashton has to laugh with a shake of his head. “God almighty, no.”
“What’s about this race and needing help?”
“I need you to tag along. I told this girl they were cool and I just need you around so she doesn’t flip.”
It’s a heavy sigh that expels from her lungs and Ashton all but slides to his knees as he grabs onto her hands. “Please, Cookie? Please?”
“These ain’t no family affair. I’ve got my brother and sister. It’s technically illegal.” While Cookie didn’t hold too fast to the rules that governed them, she was not about to act fast and loose in front of siblings. They have fast lips.
“I’ve never seen a race,” Teressa cuts in. She’s dealing out half the deck between her and Curtis.
“See!” Ashton says, lips rolling over as he pouts. “C’mon. Just the one solid. Please.”
“And there’s a reason you haven’t,” Cookie replies. If she gets in trouble on her lonesome is fine. Her parents will flip, they’ll give her a lot of noise. However, that was her fault. If she gets into trouble with her sister and brother around that’s a whole new can of worms. One she’d rather avoid. There’s so much pleading on Ashton’s face though. And of course it had to be a girl too. Races aren’t scary, but they can get nasty.“You ain’t racing for pinks are you? Hate to leave you stranded.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m in no position to race for pinks.”
The house is in decent condition, but he’s between jobs and needs to find a new source of cash fast. His cars the only thing he’s got going for him. He was let off from his previous gig because the owner was worried about his rep. Not that Ashton wasn’t hard working and diligent at whatever he put his hands on. He busted his ass at work. The owner was looking at a ‘bigger picture.’ It’s bullshit if Ashton is asked. He didn’t throw a fit in front of the owner. He thought about it. He wanted to, but he didn’t want to ruin his chances. He quietly took the week’s pay and left the office. He’s got good word from this boss to another place. Ashton’s worried that his reputation is going to precede him all his life though.
Ashton finally continues, “Please, I need your help. I need the bread and she’s--she’s different, Cookie. She’s giving me a shot.” He’s totally smitten, but he wouldn’t completely admit that. Sandra didn’t exactly grow up on this side of town. None of the guys can help him out. Cookie’s his only shot.
It’s one of her few days where she doesn’t have to be on shift during the morning. She had really just wanted to hit the store to see if the hair grease she needed has been restocked and she wanted to just not think about anything until work.
“Look,” she points over to Teresa and Curtis, “y’all gotta keep tight ships on those lips.”
“Thank you!” Ashton shouts and her siblings chorus.
“And you,” she starts, finger singling him out. “I beat feet after it’s done.” Cookie agrees. “But if there’s any heat, I am not hanging around.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Ashton gushes, wrapping her up in a quick hug. “And I totally understand about the cops. I’d literally do whatever to shake your trail. You know that.”
“I know.I know. You surely know how to put a girl in a pickle.”
“It’s a specialty,” Ashton returns. His grin wide.
The kids continue their game of War before Cookie’s pulling out of the driveway first and waiting for Ashton to lead the way. Admittedly, Ashton didn’t tell Cookie that Sandra was a Soc, a Prep. But maybe she had figured it out by the way he talked about her inexperience with races. Most people would probably laugh at the fact he’s into a Soc. And he knows Cookie would never judge him, but sometimes even he felt a little shame in it. But Sandra is a saint and Ashton is in need of a blessing.
His logic isn’t flawed, but it is a little wishful. If he wins the race, Ashton can show Sandra his world’s not all that bad, it’s not all dangerous. It has it’s danger for sure. But if he could just get her to see the good, then maybe he had proven that the labels were unjust. And it’s twisted thinking he knows. Sandra already seems him as a good person, she already sees something in him. But it’s the outside world. It was always going to be the outside world it seemed that would be in the way. It reminds of how he was with Cookie and god, it makes him feel like an asshole. He could be the first person to admit that. He would be the first to admit that.
When they get the makeshift track, old back roads that lead to the deserted factory, Ashton spots the boys. They rush up from the dirt sides. Calum checked the car before he left this morning. But that was then and now it needs another glance, checking for holes in tires or rocks in the tracks.
Ashton finds her, Sandra, in her red dress with black polka dots. She waves, but doesn’t make a move closer from her car. She swore to Ashton she would find a way to the race. He insisted that they could meet somewhere, but when she looked down, biting the side of her lip, he knew not to push it. He walks over, cheeks lifting into a grin.
“I feel so overdressed,” Sandra whispers, tucking more of her hair behind her ear.
“Nah, I dig it.” It’s who she is and Ashton can’t stop the thundering of his heart.
“You sure this isn’t an issue? Like I thought pinks would be involved and everyone here looks,” she doesn’t finish the sentence. This isn’t her crowd. She knows it; Ashton knows it. Ashton’s sweet though. Always helps her grandmother with the bags to her car. He even referred them to a great car shop. One of his friends works there, always looks out for them and makes sure to work on their car exclusively. He’s for sure a fun time, always laughing at something, always making up a new gig when there’s only her in the store and the radio’s playing a good song. But this isn’t her crowd. She’s not sure how they’re going to accept her.
“Hey, my guys are cool. Stick with them and there will be no issue,” Ashton urges.
Sandra goes to speak, but then she notices a girl with a fro walking up to her, lips painted red. It’s a bold choice, but she wears it well. Ashton’s thankful that Cookie’s approaching. “That’s Cookie. Calum’s girl. The guy that works on your grandmother’s car. I told you she’d be here.”
Sandra nods, a smile lifting her lips. It’s a little bit more comforting to have someone else on Ashton’s side, that’s not a Greaser as company. She thinks the whole Greaser versus Socs is ridiculous, but she’s not naive to think that the lines don’t exist for everyone else. “You Ashton’s girl?” Cookie asks, knowing the true answer. But it’ll make both of them turn red and Cookie can’t pass up on that opportunity.
“Oh, no,” she mumbles as both their cheeks turn beat red. There’s a blashful glance between both of them. Ashton’s hoping Cookie’s teasing isn’t too much but he does like the sound of her being his girl. He needs to win this race, make a good impression and keep Sandra around. That’s all he wants.
“Alright, Ms. Red, you guys are just friendly. I get it. Mind if I borrow the pretty lady for a moment?” Cookie extenders her elbow, waiting for the gentle grip to move them out the way of the race.
The touch is light and they walk up to the side of the road. Cookie can feel the nerves off Ashton’s girl. She keeps looking over her shoulders. Like she’s afraid something is gonna jump out at her. “First race?” Cookie asks.
The girl nods, ends of her hair flying up in the wind. “Ms. Red? That’s a new one.”
“What’s ya name? Maybe you’d like that more.”
“Sandra. But I like Red better. You’re the one really wearing the devil’s paint better than I ever could.”
“Then Ms. Red it is. And nothin’ wrong with a little make up.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just--,”
“Don’t have a cow, sweetheart. Just kidding around.”
They reach Cookie’s car, her siblings eying the girl on her arm. They’re suspicious of every new person they meet. It took them ages to warm up to Luke, Ashton, and Michael. She can’t blame them. Every white person to cross their path has only ever spit on them. She’s praying that they don’t hold such skepticism in their heart all the time. “Teresa and Curtis, my sister and brother. Ms. Red.”
Both of them give curt nods. Cookie goes on to introduce the rest of the crew before hopping into the backseat of her car with her siblings, she sits on the edge of the door, feet planted on the seat. Curtis sits between her legs. Teresa right in front of him. “Take a front row seat,” she offers to Sandra waving to the passenger side seat. Calum leans up against her car, right behind Cookie and her siblings, his hands buried in his pocket of his work pants. The switchblade curled into his fingers.
Sandra doesn’t miss the tension. She looks up to Cookie, the fear flashing over her face. “They don’t bite. Well, for anklebiters, they don’t,” she assures.
“You’re going to regret that,” Teresa interject, lightly tapping her sisters ankle. “White people just never done us no good.”
Kids, they’ll always be honest. “Tes,” Cookie warns. The tension is still thick, but the engines roar and Sandra jolts at the sound. “Get in, Red unless you want dust on that pretty little dress.”
“Thank you.” She smiles, climbs into the car and then kneels on the seat to watch them. Another girl, from the opponent's side, stands in the middle of lanes, scarf in her hand. She holds it above her head. She holds it there for a moment. Ashton revs his engine, just get get under the guy’s skin. “The car’s a lot louder,” Sandra comments. It’s to no one in particular. Curtis climbs to the passenger side of the back seat and stands, looking over the door.
“Ashton’s engine is souped up thanks to Calum,” he says as the rumble settles. “Nothing illegal. Just gives him more speed from the start and he can maintain it for the entire race.”
“Hey, look at my man paying attention,” Calum laughs, holding his palm straight up for Curtis to slap it. They go about their handshake, a series of slap, pumps, and snaps.
Curtis looks up to Sandra. “We ain’t trying to be mean. We just...sissy, what’s the word? Scared, but like not scared scared.”
“Worried or maybe concerned,” comes from both his sisters.
“Concerned,” Curtis repeats to Sandra. She nods. It makes sense all things considered for them. They have to be cautious to some degree. It’s a matter of life or death. Cookie’s teasing and offering of her car makes Sandra’s less anxious though. She’s completely outside of her realm and needs an anchor. They’re nice. “Nice dress too,” he concludes. “Sissy has a skirt like it.”
Before she can express her gratitude, engines growl to life yet again and Sandra snaps her attention to the road. Ashton doesn’t press down hard on the gas; he, in fact, gives the initial lead away. He can come behind and cut to the inside on the turn. He’s not worried about a lead. He’s got a plan. He always has a plan.
Sandra grips at the door, heart thundering in her chest. “C’mon, Ash. Take him.” The words are falling from her lips before she’s even realized it. After the initial kick up of a dust cloud, she can make out Ashton sliding inside. The first turn comes up and he cuts to the inside. There’s a tap to his bumper, but he tries not to show it. Keeps a steady hand on the wheel to correct.
There’s cheering, but it’s hard to catch it over the rumble of the engines. Sandra can feel it bubbling in her chest as she wants to join in again. She wants to scream his name. She wants to let him know she’s rooting for him. As the second straight away comes up, Ashton falls back just a little. The noses of their cars keep trading places.
Her pulse quickens, veins pumping against her skin. But Ashton looks so calm as they round in for the second lap. “Leave him in the dust! Burn rubber!” Sandra screams. It feels good to let the primal shout leave her lips. Louder shouts from Cookie and Ashton’s group start to cut through the rumble. The entire side of the road is almost as big of a roar as the cars themselves.
Ashton slips in front and hauls ass, pressing harder onto the gas. It kicks up another sputter of dust. As the last straight away comes up, Ashton keeps the car going as fast as it can. He doesn’t even stop until he blows past the start line. “Yes!” Sandra cries, pumping her arms into the air. As the drivers meet, shaking hands and exchanging cash, she climbs out of car and rushes over to Ashton.
“That was incredible,” she gushes. Her heart is still racing. He notices the childlike awe lighting up her eyes.
“Aw, shucks. It won’t nothing,” he replies, cheeks warming as her compliment. That was admittedly a tame race. They can get uglier, there can be scraps. But it’s a relief it didn’t happen. He didn’t want to show her that. He’s careful to stand in front of some of the nicks on the car He knows they traded taps on the course.
“It was pretty amazing to me.” The rest of them walk over, to congratulate Ashton. Cookie, much to her word, leaves after giving her cheers. Calum follows directly behind her, wanting to make sure she gets home safe.
“We ought to celebrate!” Sandra grins, brushing her hands over Ashton’s. She notes the rings adorning his fingers and plays at the pinky ring. “My treat! I’ve got a little of an allowance. What do you say?”
Ashton, flustered at the feel of her fingers over his, nods. “But I can cover myself.”
“Nonsense, you just won! No need to spend the earnings already.”
“I can’t.” He can pay his way through the world and he for sure doesn’t want to seem like he’s too willingly to take advantage of her niceness.
“Ice it. You’re getting a treat! And don’t think you can run off either,” she warns, walking back to her car.
Holding up his hands, Ashton knows he’s a goner. Hook, line, and sinker, there’s nothing he can do to save himself. The smile rests on Ashton’s face makes his whole body warm. “I’m listening. No runnin’ from me, ma’am.”
The rest of his guys cheer on his victory but soon it’s wrapped up and he climbs into his car, preparing to follow behind Sandra. Down the streets, Ashton realizes that he’s going further north. The anxiety starts to hammer at his chest and his fingers tremble. God, he doesn’t need trouble. Not right now, not after such a great victory.
Staring up at the sign of the parlour, Ashton’s takes a moment to exhale. He can’t afford trouble. He won’t get into trouble. He won’t. He’s going to just go inside, get a quick treat and then go on about his day. He parks right next to her, climbing out of the car. Eyes are already burning holes into his skin. He tries to swallow that bit of panic that his chest.
The leather jacket feels less like an accessory anymore. It’s armor. He wears it so they know. So they don’t start shit. He wears it so when his shoulders fall, the bulk keeps them wide. Even if he’s not looking for a fight, it looks like he’s ready to scrap.
“What’s your poison?” she jokes as they walk in together. “Stud like you maybe it’s chocolate.”
Ashton laughs softly, shaking his head a little. “I’m actually pretty square. Vanilla’s my vice.”
“Mr. Big and Bad goes for vanilla.”
“He does. Can’t tell anyone though.”
“Secret’s safe with me,” she winks, walking up to the counter to order the shake and even a slice of something for him as well. It’s as she leans against the cool material that she notices the distinct sneer on one of the waitress’ face. It dawns on her. She’s brought him to her side of town. But they don’t know him like she does. So she juts out her chin, reaching into the pocket of her dress. She plays at the bills and finally they girl walks down.
Sandra doesn’t let her open her mouth. “Vanilla milkshake, two straws. Slice of chocolate cake if there’s any left.”
“Anything else?”
A shake of the head no and she turns around to see Ashton, smiling up at her. He digs into his pocket and finds some change before walking over to the jukebox. He looks through the selection. He could be a sap. But right now he feels like making a little scene. He slips in the coin and presses for “The Twist”. Ashton snaps his fingers to beat, looking over his shoulder to her. She leans against the counter, laughing, hair flying in the ponytail.
Ashton starts tapping his foot, shuffling closer to her. People, he’s learned, are always staring at him. He’s gonna give them a reason to stare now. Sandra is beside herself, watching him singing along, while twisting himself side to side. The only thing that matters is her smile, her laugh. Ashton likes being a bit of a goof. He likes to have fun. He knows his life has never been easy, but there’s no reason not to smile. He makes it a goal to make someone smile each day. They deserve, everyone deserves a bit of kindness in the world. He thinks himself to be lucky to give that to anyone. Sandra admires that in him. This drive to give everyone a little piece of happiness.
When Ashton slides his way up to her, holding out his head, she doesn’t hesitate to give into his antics. They dance in the middle of parlour. She holds onto hands, bending her knees. It’s easy to twist her torso side to side. She’s never been able to do this before. To just let herself go. It’s normally so much emphasis on being a lady, being prim and proper. She’s never really ascribed to you, in a way that she wholeheartedly believed. But she was well aware of the society she was in, the role she was told she had to play.
But she didn’t have to play games with Ashton. She didn’t have to pretend. If she wanted to swear, which she never did anyhow, she knew she could. If she wanted to let her hair down, she could. If she wanted to sit unladylike, she could. She was not restricted with him. And that freedom, the vulnerability, made her fall even more in love with him. God, was she in love with him?
“Uh, you want this shake or not?” the girl behind the counter shouts. “Been waiting for forever over here.”
Sandra walks over, sliding the cash across the counter. “Sorry. Just havin’ some fun.” Another set of hands slide in around her and grab the glass and the plate. She immediately notes the slender fingers, the rings.
“Just a little dancin’ sweetheart. No need to get heated,” he says before going back to their table. He notes one shake and the two straws. “Bold, are we?” he teases, handing one to her.
“What can I say? I’m livin’ on the wild side.”
Ashton brings a piece of the cake to his lips while speaking. “Yeah, so wild your hair’s still up.”
It’s not a challenge, just a tease. But Sandra brings a hand to her hair, untwist the elastic around her hair. Her hair falls down over her shoulders as she shakes it loose. “Anything else to say, Stud?”
No, he’s got nothing else to say. That’s the thing about her, behind her button nose and blue eyes are a curiosity, a yearning to live life the way she wants to, not the way she’s been told to live it.
Outside at their respective cars, Sandra slips her hair tie from her wrist. The bow sells it, makes his heart warm more than he’s willing to admit as she slides it onto Ashton’s wrist. “Something to remember me by,” she grins softly.
“I’m always thinkin’ about you. So it’s not hard.”
“Smooth talking there.”
Ashton brings his fingers to her cheek before tucking just a little bit of her hair behind her ears. “When can I see you again?” Tomorrow’s her grandmothers doctor’s appointment. She starts her new job the day after. He’ll be okay even if it’s just for a quick moment to enjoy her company.
“I’ll ya a ring, okay?”
He nods, “Okay.”
_______________________________________________
He knows Sandra’s grandmother’s car when it pulls into the gas station. He managed to snag this gig at the gas station. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. He doesn’t quite want to go into the factory just yet. He knows it’ll make him the most money, but he’s gonna clean up his act before doing that. She smiles at him, as he closes in on her hair. She’s still has her driving gloves on. “What can I do for ya, Ma’am?” Ashton teases, opening the gas cover.
“Fill her up.”
“How was work?” She’s a secretary at the firm in town. Not a lot, nothing to write home about but it helps out. Every cent does now for her and her grandmother. Her grandmother’s not sickly. Just getting up in age, requires a lot more attention.
“Long, just glad it’s over.” There’s a moment of silence. “Grandma wants to meet you,” Sandra says. Her voice is soft.
Ashton’s been dreading this. Her grandmother isn’t fond of people like him. Though she smiled in his face when he carried her bags, Sandra tells him that always sneered at home. Always said boys like him were no good. “Thought she hated me.”
“She likes you. Likes the man that makes me smile. But she doesn’t like how she’s never met you, according to her.”
“But once she finds out it’s me, she’s gonna blow her top.”
“No, she’s not. She won’t. I promise.” He finds that hard to believe. He wants to believe her. She seems so earnest. But Ashton knows that older people are set in their ways. He finishes filling her tank, taking the change from her fingers. “Hey, hey,” she urges, gripping his chin. “She’s gonna love you. Because you’re incredible and she just hasn’t seen that. All she’s seen is the leather jacket, the hair. She’s only heart stories. But she’s never sat down with the real you.”
“Most people don’t need to sit down with the real me to judge me.”
“She’s gonna love you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can.” It hurts to see him pull his chin from her grasps. It’s not hard, not a jerk, just a soft turn to his head until her fingers fall from around his skin.
“How?”
“Because she don’t know you like I do. She’s gonna love you because I love you.”
His heart beats against his ribs. They’ve been seeing each other, including tucked into dark corners, for only a few months. But to say that she loves him, that’s a whole new thing. “You love me?” The question exhales from his lungs so softly she barely catches it.
With a nod, she grins. “Yeah, yeah I think I do. I know it’s only a few months, but call me young and dumb--,”
Ashton interrupts her with a kiss. “No, be young. Be dumb. We only get this shot once.” The words press against his lips. He should take his own advice. “I love you.”
Lip tucked between her teeth, she looks to the ground before glancing back into his hazel eyes. “So, my house. Saturday. 6:30?”
“Your house. Saturday. 6:30.”
________________
When Ashton stares up at the door, he swears for a hot second he might vomit. He tries to keep it down. These are his good penny loafers. He’d hate to ruin them. But there is just something in his gut that tells him that this dinner is a bad idea. It takes him another minutes to finally lift his hand to knock. There’s a moment before the door cracks open and Sandra is standing there, in a powder pink sleeveless dress, hair pulled back from her face.
“Oh is that him, dear?” Her grandmother calls, the voice far away.
It takes everything in Ashton to step through the threshold. When she finally rounds the corner, her smile falters. There it is. There’s the passing look of judgement clouding her face. “Hi, ma’am. How are you?” He asks, extending his hand.
She doesn’t reach for it. “Good, thank you.” Her gaze lands on Sandra. “Sandy, can I speak with you? In private?”
The two woman walk down the hallway and Ashton stands, right near the door. He could bolt. He could leave it behind. But he stands there, knowing the hushed whispers being exchanged are about him, are about her and him together. The voices get a little louder. He caught “not good” amongst the hurried murmurs. He knows he shouldn’t interject. It’s not his place. He steps through the living room. They’re huddled together.
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude,” he starts. “But I care deeply about your granddaughter. I know the reputation that I have. And I earned it. I won’t lie.”
“You say that like I should give you a shot,” her grandmother snips.
He shrugs. “I’d like one. I’m not the type to make excuses for myself.”
“I know about boys like you. You’re scared and you’re angry. And you take it out on anyone that looks at you the wrong way. You hang out with all those other boys too, all they do is drink and get into fights. Even the girls they associate with get into trouble too. You’re kind are no good.”
“Yeah, yeah maybe I am scared and maybe I am angry. Yeah, I’m a lowlife in your eyes. But I’m the lowlife that carried your groceries to your car for a year. And I’m the lowlife that that keeps the tank full even if Sandra can’t afford it at the time. I’m greasy and not the goody two shoes you’d want for her. Yeah I’ve been in my fair share of fights and yeah I’ve put some people in serious hurt. But I’m not so bad. I’ve been you, okay? I’ve been on the other side of this conversation where you’re so worried about what others are going to think. And all you can see is the trouble I’ve been in.”
He continues after wiping at his nose with the pad of his thumb. He’s riled up. He feels like an ass. Is this how Cookie felt? He can’t change that. He does right by her. He gets her now. “I know the bad I’ve done. But I know the good too. You think me heartless. I wish I was heartless. I wish I didn’t give a shit so much about so many things. Took a friend in because his parents abandoned him. I was barely scraping by for myself, but I took him in. He needed to finish school. I didn’t. I dropped out. Had to. But him, he’s smart. He deserved a second chance. And his girl, she’s brilliant. I mean, the mind on her- I wish she could go to college. But she can’t. Her heart’s too tied to her family. Oh, and she’s Black. So it’s not like anywhere is going to give her a second chance.
“And my friend, Mike, man’s a wizard at the guitar. I mean, that man is bad at the guitar. But he hates playing in front of a lot of people. He could’ve been gone. Luke, Luke’s got some pipes. But he won’t sing unless Michael plays and because Michael doesn’t play all that often, they’re both here. They got families they care deeply about. They got families that they gotta provide for. So you can think of us what you want. You can think us all bad. But you don’t know us. You think you know us. You only know what others have told you. I really don’t mean any disrespect, Ma’am. But I just want you to consider that. Consider people are more than what you know of them.”
He looks to Sandra, who’s wearing a smile on her face. This is the Ashton she knows. Not one to hold back his tongue, one to always fiercely protect the ones closest to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be staying for dinner.”
She watches the way he pops the collar on his polka dotted button up. She’s know sure where he got it. But it makes her immensely happy to know that he matched a dress of hers. His shoes are silent over the hardwood floors. Sandra turns back to her grandmother. “You always taught me to be kind to everyone, to keep in mind everyone has their own story. But you couldn’t even take your own advice.”
“I was kind,” her grandmother retorts.
Sandra shakes her head. “You know what I mean.” She hoped her grandmother would change, she thought she could get the opinion to change. But maybe her grandmother would destined to always be stuck.
“You can’t keep seeing that boy. He’s no good.”
The words mean nothing to Sandra. Her grandmother relies on her. She’s not a child. Holding on finger up to her grandmother, she races outside, finally hearing the car engine roar to life. The evening has a slight chill but it doesn’t stop her from racing to the driver side door. Ashton rolls down the window. It took him forever to even gain the courage to turn over the key in the ignition. She’s probably come out to tell him this is it.
“You didn’t have to come out to tell me. I know,” Ashton says, staring straight ahead.
“If you thought I came out here to tell you it’s over, you’re wrong.” Her voice is soft. She reaches through the window, playing at the collar of his shirt.
“What?” He’s positive he didn’t hear her right.
“She’s older. She doesn’t know you like I do.”
“But that’s your--,”
Sandra cuts him off. “I know who she is to me. But I’m an adult. I want to be with you. And she can’t stop me. Give me a minute, alright? We’ll go somewhere else.”
When her lips brush over his cheek, Ashton can only nod at her request. She walks back into the house. Her grandmother sits at the dining room table, hands clutching her cane. “You can’t keep seeing him. I forbid it.”
“Grandma, I love you. But since you refuse to sit down and have a conversation with him, I don’t think your advice is the most well informed. Now,” she starts fixing her grandmother a plate. “You’re gonna eat. I’ll be back to clean the dishes. But you just relax.”
“Where are you going? Not out with that boy, I know.”
“His name is Ashton. As I’ve told you before plenty of times.” The plates makes a soft thud on the placemat. “Eat. I’ll be back.” She puts the rest of the food up. Her grandmother watches, shouting at her that he’s no good. But no one’s perfect. And she if wanted perfection, she’d never find it. Maybe that was part of her grandmother’s problem. She craved perfection so bad, craved to fit in, to not shake the table that she never saw how unstable the table was in the first place.
“Enjoy your dinner!” Sandra shouts, throwing a sweater over her shoulders and grabbing her keys. Ashton is still waitin in the car. She climbs into the car. “Let’s drive,” she giggles.
“I got a destination in mind. Bit of a tradition. Hope it’s not too square.”
“You? A square? Never.” The drive isn’t very long. The skating rink comes into view and Ashton spies Calum’s bike still around. They still have a little bit of time. They have to go to the rink on the West side. Too many people stared at them, a group of white boys hanging around and friends with folks like Cookie and Calum. And it’s not to say they didn’t get looks on this side either. It’s not to say that Cookie’s unfortunately gotten into with a few of her own, but it’s generally safer.
“When we’re not supposedly running a muck of the town, we’re skating,” Ashton says.
“How’d you know I was a great skater?”
“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.” She’s mentioned it more than that actually. But it’s not like Ashton’s keeping count. It’s not like he goes home and gushes to Calum probably too much about Sandra.
The pair walk inside and grab some skates. It takes a moment of wondering before they spy the rest of Ashton’s friends. Cookie spots them first, smiling. “What happened to the red, Ms. Red?”
“Let him borrow it for the day,” Sandra returns, rushing over to help take the pitcher from her hands. The table cheers, noticing the pair.
“Thought you had a fancy dinner?” Michael questions as they settle and tie up their skates. Ashton shakes his head. Michael catches on to the sour expression. That topic is canned without hesitation. They all knew about Ash’s concerns. They’re not really shocked, if they’re honest, that things went sour. It sucks nonetheless. They had hoped for Ashton Sandra’s grandmother wouldn’t be such an issue.
Ashton gets to his feet first and takes her hand. They step out onto the floor and she glides off. Ashton’s not a terrible skater, but he’s not the best either. She turns around and sees him pushing off hard. “Alright there, tough guy?”
He laughs. “Keep yappin’ that’s fine!”
As they come around a second time, the song shuffles. Everyone recognizes the start to Put Your Head on My Shoulder. People start pairing off. Ashton spies Calum and Cookie finally coming back out. Sandra slows into his side, fingers brushing over his. “You look as coordinated as a baby giraffe,” she teases.
“Keep talkin here, just keep on.” There’s a moment of quiet between them as the laughter dies down, gliding next to each other. A little slower than the rest of the crowd, but neither of them cares. “Sorry about being frosted back there. I just--people don’t understand. And sometimes they don’t want to. Which is frustrating.”
She nods. “I get that. I’m sorry she refuses to listen. I wish I could get through that thick skull sometimes. She means well, but sometimes she can do harm.”
Ashton stops along the wall, pulling her gently into him. “It happens. But you chose me. Over everything.”
She shrugs. “Easy choice, if I’m honest.” Ashton cups her face, fingers gently brushing over the soft skin. He’s lucky to have her. He’s lucky she chose him.
“Aren’t you worried?”
“I’ve got a lot of things to worry about. But not you.” Ashton leans in, just a smidge, lips capturing hers for a brief moment. His breath leaves him. He’s sure time is either paused or sped up but he doesn’t care. There are some wolf whistles that pass by. And both of them know it’s his friends. Sandra buries her face into Ashton’s shoulder, the heat flooding her cheeks.
“You guys are assholes,” Ashton laughs, watching Luke, Michael, and Calum pass by. The song fades out. Something more upbeat turns over the speakers. He coaxes her out from his shoulder. “Don’t mind them.”
“I mean, kind of hard not too.”
“But you got me, baby. You got me.”
Her eyes twinkle and she cups his cheek before kissing him. She does have him. That’s a comforting thought, one that makes her feel safe. As their lips part, Sandra exhales a bit breathy. “C’mon now before your knees knock and you fall.”
“You got jokes now,” Ashton hollers after her figure, skating away. “Now you got jokes. I see how it is.”
The evening is filled with too many orders of cheese fries to be healthy, too many refills for Cokes. They sing along to the speakers and Sandra laughs, hooking her arm through Ashton’s. “You didn’t tell me you could sing.”
His smile is bashful, face turning red. “You ain’t ask before.”
“The four of you ought to start a band or something,” she concludes. She’s heard the stories of Michael’s historic guitar playing. Stayed over at night, once, to listen to the four of them act a fool, singing until the wee hours of the morning.
“Good luck with that,” Cookie interjects. “All of ‘em hardheaded. Mine especially.”
“But you love it anyway, doll,” Calum returns, kissing her temple.
The group decides as the twilight is swallowed up by night to turn in. Outside, they split off in various directions towards their cars. “Make sure you get your red back,” Cookie hollers, trailing behind Calum. “You look betta in it anyways!”
The group howls at the comment. “Nah, baby, it’s a team effort.”
In a flash, Cookie runs up, laughing, leaving Calum to wait at the bike. “I know that’s right. Good seeing you again,” she adds on sincerely. “I mean it, too.” Since the race, Sandra’s tried to talk to Cookie more, tried to ease the tension that inevitably may not disappear completely. But they can try. “Mrs and Mr. Red,” she laughs with a wink.
“See how she put Mrs, first,” Sandra grins.
Ashton nods. “Yes, yes, I most definitely did.”
Ashton pulls into her driveway, staring back at the same doors that shut him out. It’s okay. That door need not ope, he concludes. Sandra stretches across to give him one last kiss. It deepens when Ashton takes hold of her face. It’s not a kiss that conveys the passion that’s brewing in the both of them. It’s not a kiss that’s light and airy. It’s a kiss that spells how desperate they are for the other to know, deep down, this is real.
As they part, Ashton pulls off one of the main rings he wears and plucks the necklace off from around her neck. Threading the chunky gold metal onto the dainty chain, he rehooks the necklace around her neck. Sandra drops her hair around her shoulders to take a look at it sitting over the powder pink to her dress. “Something to remember me by,” he explains, from his wrist, she can see the hair tie still. How did she miss that?
“I could never forget.”
She climbs out of the car and he watches to make sure she gets inside. As the door closes behind her, she grins to herself. Making choices is scary. She knows her grandmother will not be quiet about her stance. But this is the first choice that was solely hers to make. And she’s proud of it.
#ashton irwin#ashton irwin fic#ashton irwin fanfic#ashton irwin imagine#ashton irwin blurb#5sos#5sos fanfic#5sos fic#5 seconds of summer#5 seconds of summer fanfic#5 seconds of summer imagine#5sos blurb#h writes#greaser!AU#calum hood#luke hemmings#michael clifford#5 seconds of summer fic
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A Little Eggplant Parm | Alison Roman (Serves 2)
The first time I made it (this week lol), I texted several friends that I had “just made one of the more delicious things I’ve ever made in my life,” a text I send maybe once a year, if that. Anyway, no the eggplant does *not* need to be salted, no we *will not be frying* the eggplant. Yes, it does basically taste like eggplant parmesan but lighter, fresher, tangier, crunchier. If you don’t care for capers, you can skip them, just know you are, in fact, missing out.
PLEASE NOTE: Unless you are doubling this recipe (which you can easily do), you are only using half the tomato sauce here. Save the rest by freezing it, or just pop it in the fridge to eat over pasta later in the week.
Ingredients
1 large globe eggplant (about 2 pounds), sliced about ½”-¾” thick
½ cup olive oil, divided
Kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper
1 small onion (yellow, white, or red), thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
Crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
4 anchovy fillets (optional)
1 28 oz. can whole San Marzano tomatoes, crushed
¾ cup panko bread crumbs
⅓ cup (about) grated parmesan
8 oz. mozzarella cheese, thinly sliced
2–3 tablespoons capers, coarsely chopped
⅓ cup coarsely chopped parsley, divided
Directions
1. Roast the eggplant. Preheat oven to 450°. Drizzle eggplant with about half the olive oil and season with salt and pepper and roast, turning eggplant halfway through (I use tongs or a fork), until it’s as tender as custard and both sides are as brown as if they were fried (they weren’t), 25–30 minutes.
A lot of the flavor in this dish will come from the eggplant being very very browned, so please don’t be scared to “take it there” so to speak. Please take it there. Take it very there.
2. While that happens, make the sauce. Heat two tablespoons of olive oil in a medium pot over medium-high heat. Add onion and garlic, season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring every now and then until the onions and garlic are tender and starting to brown around the edges, 8–10 minutes. Add crushed red pepper flakes and anchovies, if using, and stir, letting both things melt into the onions. Pour the juices from the tomatoes into the pot and one by one, crush the tomatoes with your hands into the pot (I like to keep the tomatoes on the chunkier side for more texture in the finished dish). Season again with salt and pepper and let it simmer gently for 15–30 minutes (you want to evaporate some but not all of the liquid).
Once it tastes very good and feels nicely thickened, remove from heat. Set half aside and freeze or refrigerate the rest.
3. The last and final annoying thing to do here is to toast the bread crumbs (less annoying than frying though, right?). Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil in a small to medium skillet over medium heat. Add the bread crumbs and season with salt and pepper. Stir them to coat evenly in the oil and toast, tossing frequently, until all the bread crumbs are the color of your morning toast, 5–7 minutes. Remove from heat.
4. Okay, it’s time to assemble this thing! How thrilling. There’s not a ton of technique here, but here’s how I do it to most closely mimic the classique eggplant parm.
Spoon about half of the tomato sauce on the bottom of a 1 qt. baking dish or 6” skillet (both hold about 4 cups volume, that’s the size you want. Doesn’t matter the shape, as long as its heatproof).
Top with half the eggplant (a little overlap is fine, so are gaps- don’t fuss!). Top with half the parmesan, parsley, capers, and oregano. Scatter half the bread crumbs in a nice even layer on top of all that, followed by half the mozzarella. Repeat this, ending with the mozzarella. Add a little more parmesan if you feel like it, maybe some black pepper.
I feel that this is truly perfect as-is, but if you love anchovies as much as my friend Chris, you can use more to layer in (I’d add a few fillets with the capers/herbs).
5. Now, bake it. Pop it into the oven until the cheese is browned and everything is bubbling around the edges, 15–20 minutes. Remove from the oven, maybe finish with some more parsley if you’ve got it stuck to your cutting board, and let it cool ever so slightly before eating. I like to just serve it by scooping with a spoon-- it’s not really meant to be sliced.
Things to Know
f you’d like to serve 4 people or are eager for leftovers, you can easily double this (you would then use all of the sauce and just bake it in a 2-quart vessel).
This is ideal eaten out of the oven, but it’s also really great as leftovers (cold, room temperature, or reheated in a 400° oven till bubbling again, 25–30 minutes).
Every component can be made ahead 2–3 days in advance. Keep everything except the bread crumbs (store those at room temp) wrapped and refrigerated until you’re ready to assemble and bake.
You can assemble in advance by a few hours, but I wouldn’t since it’s so quick.
The only thing this needs is an acidic salad with lots of shallot or garlic in the dressing. I would go for iceberg and pickled shallots, maybe some olives. But something mustard-y with some raw grated garlic would also be fun.
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Fools In The Rain
Inspired by the prompt set forth on Twitter by @IngridDaS1013: “Mulder and Scully get caught in the rain on the way to Mulders apartment so they go up and Scully has to wear something of Mulder’s while her clothes dry…”
XxXxXxXxX
It had been a bit of a shitshow from the start, Scully thought, as they ran down the wet cobbles of Prince Street, dodging puddles and doing their best not to slip and fall.
What had started as a weekend work session at Mulder’s apartment had turned to pell mell running through a deluge when lunchtime rolled around and Mulder had nothing in his fridge or pantry but a jar of pickles and 3 month old milk.
Scully supposed she was partly to blame as well, having turned down Mulder’s offer to have pizza or Chinese delivered, and they headed out into Old Town without checking the weather.
They’d landed at the Majestic, which had a salad Scully had been craving for weeks, and midway through lunch, the sky had opened up and the heavens wept. And wept. And wept.
Their waiter suggested they stay as long as they needed to for the weather to clear, and, feeling bad for taking up a table on a busy Saturday, they both ordered a drink.
And that’s how they found themselves, 3 Yuenglings and 2 rather large Sauvignon Blancs later, dashing through Old Town, and the 15 minute break in the rain they thought they had ended up being only about 5.
It was pissing rain, they were soaked to the skin, and as uncomfortable (and tipsy) as she was, Scully wasn’t about to soak the back seat of some pour cabbie’s ride when Mulder’s apartment was only another 3 blocks away.
When they were one block away, Scully had almost fallen twice, and at that point, Mulder took her hand and didn’t let go.
Hegel Place loomed ahead, and of course Mulder fumbled with his key, dropping it twice before they practically fell inside, finally out of the weather.
Scully looked at Mulder as they ambled toward the elevator bank. She hadn’t seen him this soaked since the hurricane thing with Arthur Dales down in Florida, and his hair plastered to his head, with little rivulets running down both cheeks reminded her of an otter. She thought of Mulder holding a rock with two hands trying to open a clam shell and she laughed out loud, the sound of her guffaw echoing down the hallway. Mulder shot her a look askance.
This was the last time, she promised herself, she was ever drinking in the middle of the day again.
XxXxXxXxX
Mulder was glad Scully thought this was funny, because an hour ago, he was pretty sure she’d wanted to kill him.
Not just for the fact that he had no food in his house when he’d invited her over, but he’d also forgotten the envelope of receipts in the office that they needed for their last two expense reports, which is why they were working on a Saturday in the first place.
He’d been as chivalrous as he could while they were out, hoping to make up for it – picking up the tab at lunch and helping her over giant puddles at several intersections too deep and wide for her to jump over.
He suspected her mood had more to do with the ¾ bottle of Marlborough’s best she’d had after lunch than his own quiet acts of heroism, but he let her lighthearted laugh take some weight off of the day’s general mood.
He grabbed another look at her as they stepped off the elevator on the 4th floor, and he forgot about his own discomfort at the sight of her.
She’d dressed down, it being a weekend, and had been wearing an apple green fitted sweater and a pair of lightweight black slacks. Both were now clinging to her almost lewdly, plastered to her body like they didn’t want to let go. Her hair she’d pushed back with both hands and it was slicked back away from her face. He was reminded of the old Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues he’d hoarded in college, and his mouth went dry despite the humidity.
“Mulder?” Scully said, looking at him quizzically.
It took him a moment to realize they were standing in front of his door.
He shook himself and unlocked it.
XxXxXxXxX
The second they were inside, Mulder disappeared into his bedroom and was back a moment later, shirtless, toweling off his hair with one hand, while he held out a towel to Scully with the other.
It took her a moment to take the proffered linen, momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare chest.
At various times in their partnership, Scully had had the opportunity to see Mulder shirtless – generally while he was injured and under duress – and she’d seen him both sprinkled lightly with chest hair, and shaved bare. He was currently the latter, his skin smooth and slightly tanned, the definition of his rectus abdominis pointing like an arrow to the area of his anatomy she shouldn’t be thinking about but definitely was.
“Here,” he said, as she took the towel. “You can have the bedroom to change. Grab anything in the dresser to wear – if you put your wet things outside the door, I’ll run them down to the laundry and throw them right in the dryer.”
She ran her eyes over him again as she nodded and walked slowly back toward his bedroom, closing the door behind her and giving the towel a dubious sniff for freshness.
It smelled like Tide and Mulder, a heady combination that brought her to flashes of his clasping embrace, of evidentiary conversations in rental cars, in interview rooms -- his low brushing voice three inches too close. It was fresh breeze and moschate, and she pushed her nose into it and let herself have the briefest of moments.
Moving herself off his rug and onto the hardwood, she peeled off her clinging clothes, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. She toweled off quickly and moved to his dresser, assessing her choices.
She dismissed dress shirts and slacks, passed by jeans that she’d practically swim in. Finally in the bottom drawer, she found what might work – a tatty pair of grey sweatpants with a drawstring and a faded Knicks T shirt.
She gave herself a quick look, realizing that all her clothes without exception were completely soaked through, and she’d have to sit in Mulder’s apartment for a good hour wearing his loungewear sans bra and panties.
She’d have driven home right then and there if she felt like she wouldn’t be driving slightly under the influence.
Gathering up her sopping clothes and holding them in front of her like a shield, she headed for the door.
XxXxXxXxX
Mulder was rifling through his desk drawers on a mission to find quarters when he heard the door to his bedroom snick open.
He turned toward her, and there she stood in an old pair of sweatpants and his Knicks shirt, dwarfed by their size, looking like a bird just emerged from an egg. She held her wet clothes out in front of her like a sacrifice proffered the gods.
“Never let it be said,” Mulder said, straightening, shoving the loose change he’d found into a pocket, “that no one looks good in sweatpants. You’ve proved the adage wrong.”
She gave him a small smile, and he leaned forward, taking the bundle of wet clothes from her.
The rain had stolen whatever makeup she’d been wearing and she was fresh-faced and nubile—her skin having the dewy collagen look of a Neutrogena commercial, and Mulder thought his best course of action was to get down to the building’s laundry room before he embarrassed himself.
He changed into jeans and a grey T shirt quickly and bounded out the door, careful not to look behind him.
Once in the laundry room he discovered that all it took was a rainy Saturday for the rest of his building to decide that it was laundry day -- all the dryers were currently being used. He threw the pile on top of one that had the least amount of time left on it and made his way back upstairs.
He opened the door to find Scully leaning over his desk almost suggestively, peering out the windows.
He cleared his throat and she straightened.
“There’s definitely going to be flooding by the river,” she said, looking at him over shoulder. “It’s still coming down out there.”
A few years ago there had been more precipitation than normal and the river-adjacent areas of Old Town had flooded – he and Scully had gotten close once and watched people with canoes and kayaks paddling down the street. He thought back on the memory fondly.
“The dryers are all in use down there,” he said to her as she turned and made her way to his couch. “It’ll probably be another—“
He cut himself off as she sat on his couch, tucking her feet under her. The loose T shirt pulled at her chest as she settled on the couch and her nipples were pert and erect, pushing against the fabric.
“It’ll be…?” Scully said, looking at him expectantly.
He cleared his throat and turned, looking for something he could busy himself with.
“Probably at least 30 minutes before I can get all the clothes in,” he said. “Would you like some coffee? I’m going to make some coffee.”
Scully declined and he beat a hasty retreat into his kitchen. How he was going to survive this day with his reputation and manhood intact, he didn’t know.
XxXxXxXxX
Scully pulled down the blanket that had been resting over the back of the couch the second he was gone and wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. As soon as she’d sat down she could feel her nipples pushing against the soft cool cotton of his T shirt, and while it felt divine – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat around in just loungewear (probably college) – she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
She was feeling a little drunk, and a little in love with her partner, and a little morose because there wasn’t a damn thing she could really do about it.
And Mulder was of course sashaying around in bare feet and jeans and a tight grey T shirt, with his damp hair and his delineate biceps and she wondered how many years past seven she would possibly be expected to not jump his bones.
It wasn’t fair.
He came into the room then carrying two steaming mugs. She lifted her eyebrows at him as he held one out to her.
“Tea,” he said, by way of explanation since she’d declined coffee.
She accepted with a small smile, but thunked her head into the back of the couch in defeat, still feeling petulant. He was even being thoughtful. Why the hell did he have to be thoughtful and sweet right now?
She took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue and the heat of the brew sliding down her throat made her shiver.
Mulder noticed, his brows creasing in concern.
“You’re cold,” he said in a voice tinged with frustration, and Scully could tell just by looking at him that he thought he’d somehow let her down again.
“Here,” he said, moving toward her, opening up his arms and gesturing with one hand toward himself.
She was feeling buzzed and weak and sorry for herself, so she just stood and walked into his embrace, the blanket falling down behind her.
It’s so effortless, she thought, her arms tucking perfectly under his ribcage and around his waist, her head snuggling under his chin . It’s not fucking fair.
She breathed out a sigh and so did he, his warm breath wafting around her, smelling sweetly of the yeasty fug of beer and a warm, masculine scent of what was just indefinably him.
She wondered how long they could stay like this. How long until the phone would ring or the doorbell would chime or another monster would come to call.
She could feel her hair starting to soak a wet spot through his shirt, so she pulled her head back, turning up to him to apologize, and found him closer than she expected, his head bent down as if to tell her a secret.
Later, she would blame the wine (it wasn’t the wine), or her time of the month (it wasn’t that) or the lunar pull of Mercury in retrograde--anything to blame but her own weakness—but whatever it was, she found herself on tip toe, pushing her lips into the cushy softness of Mulder’s own, his breath sucked in in surprise.
There was a split second where he didn’t react, his body tense and unmoving and her belly dipped low, the rip of embarrassment of his not reciprocating about to tear through her, but then he did move, his lips suddenly pushing into hers urgently, his arms pulling her into him, locking like vices.
The tip of his tongue tentatively touching her lips was all it took for her to let go. She could feel something inside herself unclench and suddenly she was filled with an insouciant lightness and she smiled, she actually fucking smiled and let her own tongue dart out to meet his.
Fuck it, she thought.
XxXxXxXxXxX
It had to be her call. It always had to be hers, Mulder knew, and that she’d called it today of all days, in his cluttered, dusky apartment, her hair slicked back, pluvial and sleek, the tips of her breasts pushing toward him through his own worn T shirt was almost too much to take in. He felt like he was living out a good bad dream.
Scully hummed low in her throat when he plunged his tongue inside her mouth to taste her and the sound turned him animalistic. He reached down to grab her ass, grinding his hips into her and that move elicited a gnarl from her as well, so he continued on lifting, hoisting her up into the air. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him and he could not believe how perfectly she fit into his arms. It was like she was made for him. Strategically, specifically crafted for ultimate Fox Mulder compatibility.
Breathless from the realization, he almost didn’t notice that she was yanking at the bottom of his shirt, and he leaned back, trying to catch her eye.
Her eyes flicked to his and her tongue rested on her upper lip as she drew breath.
He shuffled his feet a bit and backed her up against the wall outside his bedroom, her breath catching as he pressed her into it.
“I like where your head’s at,” he said, gently nipping at the flesh of her neck, “but I don’t want to put you down.”
“Shirt. Off.” Was all she managed to get out and he grinned into his ministrations.
He pressed her further into the wall and brought up his knee, using it to hold her in place while he took his hands off of her and ripped his shirt up and over his head.
The next thing he knew, she was grinding herself into his leg, using the friction from the whole of her weight pressed into small square inches of his knee.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
XxXxXxXxXxX
She shared the sentiment.
Their pull toward each other had always seemed elemental, gravitational—an undeniable force more than a fleeting biological imperative. Had she known touching him this way would feel like this, she would have done it ages ago. It was electric. Anywhere his skin touched hers, it sent a frisson of awareness through her, of lust. She remembered that gravity was the most powerful force in the universe.
When she ground her hips into his knee again, he gave a strangled moan and hoisted her up, moving them through his bedroom doorway and into the room.
He paused at the foot of the bed, his mouth on her neck and mumbled into her—
“Do you… do you want this?”
She almost laughed. His concern about her consent was touching –she also felt a nudging in the back of her mind – a pinging worry that they both might regret this later and she knew he was feeling the same—but the fact that he was asking while she was dry-humping his hips was a comedy unto itself.
“Yes, Mulder, Jesus,” she answered, just as he sunk his teeth into the skin where her neck met her shoulder.
He laved his tongue over the bite, an apology, and tipped her back onto the bed then, needing no further encouragement. Before she knew quite what was happening, his hand was under the waistband of the sweatpants and his fingers were curling into her sex. Her hips bucked up off the bed at the sensation.
“Jesus, Scully, you’re so—“ she nodded at him, knowing the evidence of her arousal would not be hard to come by and she blew out a lusty breath, looking him in the eye.
“I need you,” she said, “now .”
He stood quickly and raked his jeans down over his hips, kicking them aside. She moved to do the same—wanting no barriers between them, but he held out a hand and stopped her.
“No,” he said, “leave it on. Leave everything on.”
He knelt back down on the bed, and reached a hand to cup her breast through the thin material of the T shirt, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb over where her nipple was straining through.
She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hot flesh of his back as he brought his mouth to her other breast and sucked on her through the shirt, his breath hot through the material, his tongue soaking it through. He moved then back up to kiss her and the wet spot he left on the shirt turned cold and she thought she might come just from the sensation.
He kissed her soundly, thoroughly, and she could tell he was trying to draw the experience out, but she pushed into him and turned the kiss ruttish, reaching down to grab him, stroking him while trying to draw him to where she most wanted him, not wanting to wait, not able to.
She felt him reach down and pull the waistband of the sweats down, just enough. He positioned himself at her entrance and canted his face back just enough to catch her eye before easing into her.
She returned his look, unblinking, and his top teeth bit into his bottom lip as pushed himself the rest of the way into her, pausing at her apex, filling her right up to her soul.
Love. She’d felt it for him for years, but couldn’t say it. How could she put a word to something so much bigger and stronger than herself? How could mere words contain it? Four letters. Seven years. Miles and miles of feeling inside of them.
Other people felt love, but they didn’t feel this. It was too big, too consuming, too frightening. If other people felt love, she was sure, it was merely in the prinprick light of a star — what they had filled the whole of the sky.
She felt tears forming in her eyes, so she shut them tight and nudged him with her hips. He took the hint and started moving, slow at first, but quicker as she dug her fingers into his back and pulled her knees up to his shoulders. The new angle had him hitting her perfectly and she could feel the slow tingle of orgasm starting to build.
She could tell by his breathing that he was close too, and she pulled him tightly to her, his head tucking into the curve of her neck, the wet slap of their coupling the only sound in the room save their urgent breaths, syncing together as they seemed to do with everything else.
And then she was there, her orgasm starting with a rush from her toes that flashed up through her body like quicksilver, pulsing at her center in a rush. That was all it took for Mulder to come undone as well, and he groaned once and clasped her to him, and they rode out his climax together.
XxXxXxXxXxX
He kept his head tucked into her shoulder, but reached up as their breathing slowed, running his fingers gently down her cheek and into her still damp hair.
“That was...” Mulder mumbled into her shoulder, not knowing how to finish, “I feel like we should high five.”
He finally tilted back to look at her, and caught her wearing an impish grin, her cheeks flushed and rosy.
He felt something dip heavily in his heart and he turned serious.
“I can’t go back to the way we were,” he said, “knowing what this is like, how this feels.”
“Do you think it’ll be too much?” She took his hand from her hair and held it to her cheek.
“I think it’ll never be enough.”
“I… I know what you mean.”
XxXxXxXxXxX
“Do you forgive me for forgetting the receipts?” He asked her after a few minutes of comfortable, reverential silence.
She blinked at him slowly and ran her fingertips lightly up his arm, goosebumps following her touch.
“Ask me again once my clothes are dry,” she said, and crooked a finger at him, all things forgiven.
XxXxXxXxXxX
The End
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Three Days ~ 25
~*~Emma~*~
Breakfast was the "Eggcelent" diner for omelets. We talked about dinner, with me checking out what he liked and didn’t like. He assured me, "I'll eat pretty much anything you put in front of me. Except for fennel." He shuddered, "It comes from the devil's asshole. Fennel and anything licorice."
We ran to the grocery to get supplies then back to my place. We changed things up a little based on what produce looked good. Sebastian grabbed some shortcake cups and we loaded up on berries and some whipping cream. Back at my house, Sebastian unloaded the groceries on the counter and I put away, leaving out the chicken to marinade and the potatoes to boil.
"Give me a job." He seemed uncomfortable not doing something.
I pointed to the pots hanging overhead, "Fill one of those with enough water to cover the potatoes and get them boiling. Another for the eggs. It won't take me more than a few minutes to get the chicken done."
We were finished with our tasks at the same time and headed toward the couch. I pulled back, "I'll be right back."
"I'll look up train times."
I came back down to see Sebastian standing behind the couch, his butt on the back with his ankles crossed, looking at his phone. Jeans did good things for his legs. I wanted to stop and stare, but he looked over. It was strange having him here. Not strange in a bad way. The level I felt like I knew him didn’t match the time with which I knew him. Some quick math told me that was because on average our dates lasted fourteen hours if you counted today as four dates and just counted the hours up until now.
"You changed." He checked me out with a smile.
"I was in yesterday's clothes." I went into the kitchen to turn down the heat on the stove and set a timer. The chances of me getting distracted and burning something was high. "What did you find out?"
I was anxious about when he was leaving. I was anxious about when I'd see him again. I wanted him to leave as late as possible or super early in the morning where we could both get to work on time.
Sebastian came up beside me by the stove, "You looked fetching in your walk of shame clothes."
"I feel fresher."
Sebastian raised his nose and looked for the smell. He squatted beside me and ran his hand up my calf. "You shaved your legs." His tone of voice was sweet and endearing. "You didn’t have to for me."
"Yes, I did." I turned to face him, "I want to look pretty for you. Today part of that meant shaving my legs." We hugged, "Just in case a situation arose when you might be touching them again."
He took my hand, leading me to the couch. He sat me in his lap where my back was supported by the arm of the chair. He put a hand behind my neck and the other stroked my legs. "So soft."
"Thanks, glad you like."
He hummed appreciatively. "I like touching your legs very much. See.." He shifted his focus from my legs to my eyes, "You looked pretty in gym clothes at the groceries, in jeans and a peach and white shirt at dinner, jeans and top for the festival, and ratty shorts and well-used t-shirt yesterday. What you wear doesn’t matter, you're always pretty to me. More than pretty."
The way he used my word, pretty, and remembered everything I’d worn made my stomach flutter. I kissed his cheek, "I’m still going to do things to try to turn you on."
"Don't waste your efforts. I'm very easy. For you, anyway." He leaned in and kissed me, his hand moving up my thigh to rest on my ass. “Train schedules?”
I nodded.
“Latest tonight is ten.”
“Ten?” Oh, no, that wasn’t going to work at all. I mean, having to be at work in the morning dealing with a room full of six and seven-year-olds means I can’t really be up all night, but ten is early. I think I pouted.
Sebastian’s face cracked into a slow grin, the hand on my ass pulled me closer and we kissed again. “Latest I can leave in the morning is seven. What time do you have to be at work?”
“Seven-thirty. Fifteen-minute drive.” I bit the side of my lip, “Wanna have a sleepover?”
“Very much.”
“What shall we do with ourselves?”
“I think I promised we’d make up for the lack of kissing.”
“Good thing I set the kitchen timer.”
We made out until the timer went off, at which point I dumped the potatoes and eggs in the sink, reset the timer, and went back to his lap. Needless to say, I was enjoying the hell out of the make-out session. Things stayed relatively calm. Everything stayed above the waist. Hands roamed, mouths kissed, and things would amp up every now and again, but mostly it was this lovely leisurely kissing and touching. I highly recommend.
The timer rang and I pulled away with a groan, “Want to help?”
“Kinda.”
I laughed and headed to the kitchen, “Why don’t you put on some music? Just plug your phone into the dock and it will do the rest.” I’d pulled what I needed out of the fridge by the time he joined me. I put him to work cutting up the potatoes while I cut up onion, pickles, and the hard-boiled eggs.
“Who knows what we’re going to get.”
I assumed that meant he’d just hit shuffle, “That’s the most fun.”
Sebastian finished the potatoes and stood beside me watching. “Who taught you to cook?”
“Mostly my grandparents. My papa taught me biscuits, gravy, and all sorts of fried things. My nana did more healthy things. They used to have a barbeque place. Nothing fancy, just a big smoker and some picnic tables.” My mouth was watering at the memory or maybe that was about the man next to me. Either way, I closed my eyes and moaned happily, “Best coleslaw ever. I can’t recreate it. I think it’s about ingredients changing. Papa would die if he could see how little cans of Crisco are now.”
Sebastian laughed, “Does anyone even use that anymore?”
“If you want good biscuits you do.” I threw about three quarters of the onions, pickles, and eggs in the potatoes with a healthy amount of mayonnaise, salt, and pepper. I tasted and added until I was satisfied. Only then did I load up a spoon and hold it out to him, “It’ll be better once it’s chilled a few hours.”
“Wondered why we were making this so early.”
He opened his mouth and let me feed him. The flutter in my stomach was back. This was my go-to for school potlucks and I always got requests for my recipe, so I knew it was good, but different people like different things. I watched his eyes go wide and he covered his mouth with his hand, “This is delicious.”
I got a thrill from him liking something I’d made. Boy, did I have it bad. Emergency leg shaving and feeding him homemade food. What was next? I laughed to myself. This was my thing. I enjoyed taking care of people. Shaving my legs wasn’t really in that category. Cooking was. I hadn’t cooked for a man in a very long time. “Thank you. Does it need anything?”
Shaking his head, Sebastian pointed to the bowl, “I’ll need to taste again.” I didn’t even consider giving him the spoon. Way too much fun to feed him. He chewed happily, “More pickle? I love pickle.”
I scraped the rest of the chopped pickle into the bowl. I liked him giving me feedback. I pressed my lips to his briefly. “For telling me what you wanted different.”
“How will you know if I don’t tell you?” A slow smirk formed, “Not just food.” A new song started and he took off for the family room, “Fucking love this song.”
Before the lyrics started, he’d turned the volume way up. He quickly turned and pointed to me with one hand, arm outstretched and singing along. “You can dance.” He repeated the move with his other arm, “You can jive. Having the time of your life.” He flipped over his hand and motioned for me to join him. What followed was him singing and dancing with infectious joy. I was laughing while I ran across the room. When I got in reach, he took my hands, holding them out and swinging them in and out. He let go and twirled me around before taking my hands again. We sang along and danced like we knew how, both of us laughing because we didn’t.
The next song was something much more appropriate for slam dancing in a mosh pit. Sebastian dropped to the floor with arms and legs spread, “I wanted a slow song.”
I stood with feet on either side of his hips, looking down at him, “Playlist management.”
“Wouldn’t matter. Shuffles and plays what it wants.”
“There’s a button to turn off shuffle. It’ll play whatever order you put them in.”
His lips were tight and he looked annoyed, “Didn’t know that. Give me a week, maybe two, and I’ll have the perfect playlist.”
I knelt over his hips, putting my hands on his stomach, “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” The idea of slow dancing with him was very appealing.
“Me either.” He ran his hands up my arms to my shoulders before pulling me over him, “Come down here.” As I lay down on him his hands smoothed down my back to my waist. “Much better.”
I kissed him, pulling at his lower lip, “Your lips are so soft.”
“I have good lip balm.”
I ran my finger through his hair, “You make me laugh.” I kissed him again, long and deep, “Let’s see what I can make you do.”
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