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youandtom2 · 2 years

Note

omg the insomnia fic was so CUTE! can i request like roommate peter and reader? maybe reader has a “i don’t date roommates” policy but they’re still really into each other?

OOOOOOOHHHHH I like. Okay *cracks knuckles* here we go. I wrote this really quickly so I hope this didn't turn out too much like garbage...

Insomnia fic mentioned > Sweet Dreams My Love

DEFINITELY YES NOT

"No. No way. You are not adding anymore hot sauce-"

"But it just needs a slight kick, I'm telling you-"

"Who's cooking here, Peter? Me. I'm cooking. Feel free to add hot sauce to your own portion but you're not adding it to the whole pot."

"But then that means I need to add it every time I take a portion-"

"Boo hoo, Peter. Suck it up."

Peter huffs and directs a critical, scathing look towards you with the hot sauce in hand. It's bad enough that your kitchen is barely big enough to fit the two of you, but when you are both equally possessive over the kitchen and the cooking, it makes for a very argumentative dinner time. And tonight is no exception.

During the semester when you had two other people living in the apartment, you would all religiously follow the kitchen rota so that everyone had a chance to cook what they wanted, but it was primarily used to keep the peace between you. With Spring break around the corner and the apartment being two people short, the rota became completely redundant. You quickly sensed that the peace was at threat of being breached, because without the other roommates, who was going to cook on the days they're not here?

It was the million dollar question.

Worse yet, your roommates were the prime distraction for your ever-growing attraction towards Peter; people who could dull the murmur in your heart when he was near, or who could calm your nerves when Peter would casually flirt with you. You needed them there because you couldn't allow yourself to fall for another roommate again, not after last year when your ex banished you from the apartment and left you struggling to get back up onto your feet for weeks. It was a relationship that completely broke you and you vowed to never make the same mistake again.

With back-up gone, you're now left to your own devices. Alone with Peter.

Peter's presence soon looms behind you, his head hanging over your shoulder supervising as you stirred the boiling pot in front of you. He's so close, in fact, that you can just feel the swift brushing of his chest against your back, so close that you can feel the breezing of his breath fanning down your neck, and close enough that his scent lingers aimlessly in front of you.

Oh my God-

No, no, no. No way. No roommates, remember? It fucked you over last time. It's not happening again.

You try and not let Peter affect you, keeping your mind focused on not burning the food.

With one hand on his hip and the other resting on the counter beside you, you can just tell that he's judging you in some way. You don't even need to look.

"You're not stirring quick enough, you're going to burn it!" He exclaims. Instantly, he encases your hand in his own, taking control of the wooden spoon and speeding up your movements. It only takes a few seconds to realise when his other hand grabs the handle of the pot to stable it that you're completely surrounded by him, trapped in his presence and you can't escape. This isn't helping...

"It wasn't going to burn, calm down."

"Oh, is that right? Look at the bottom of this pot." You raise to your tiptoes to see the slight blackness of the mince congregating below with just the hint of Peter's stupid smirk in your peripheral. Pfft, barely burnt..."I think I'll take over now."

"No way."

"This isn't up for debate. It's my turn now sweetheart, you've had your chance."

Before your stomach even has a chance to flutter at his words, you feel the weight of Peter's arm wrapping neatly around your waist, growing in pressure as he effortlessly lifts you from where you stand and carries you out of the kitchen. "Peter!" He keeps a firm hold of you even as your feet flail madly in the air, cruising easily through the hallway and into the dining room. Peter's hands curve easily around your waist and threaten with a soft squeeze every time you try to slip from his grasp. Your movements cease the minute he sits you down at head of the dining table, already prepared with a napkin, cutlery and a glass of wine. The exact same set up is prepared just ahead of you, separated by two small tea candles. When did this get set up?

"What...what is this," you softly chuckle, suddenly feeling unnerved by it all... "I'm just gonna get back-"

A soft squeak is let loose the moment Peter swoops in to kiss you, resolute and confident. His finger tips sidle along the length of your jaw, holding you down and keeping you in your seat as you melt to his touch. "Can't you just let a guy make you dinner?"

You're too stunned to speak, releasing just a single stutter while you watch him leave the room with a cheeky grin plastered across his lips. His kiss leaves a buzz on your lips and in the stillness of the room, you sit with your fingertips tracing along the edge of your lips, adoring the way his warmth lingers. The moment replays over and over again, stuck in a loop in your mind until your diffidence is completely contradicted by the immediate groan of frustration that leaves your throat. Everything Peter is doing is going against every single rule you set yourself, and it's making you question your own moral integrity. It just makes everything so much more complicated. He is just supposed to be your roommate and nothing else. A friend, perhaps.

But what is he vying for?

The shock doesn't quite alleviate and your still chewing on the ends of your fingers by the time he returns, holding two platefuls of food, its aroma immediately flooding the room.

"Thank you," you mutter quietly.

"I hope it's not too burnt," he chuckles, sitting directly across from you. "I tried to salvage what you ruined."

"Hey, it wasn't ruined."

"It would never have been burnt in the first place if you just let me cook!"

"Well you know I wouldn't have given in so easily."

"I was accounting for that. You were never going to give into me easily, were you?"

You look up, eyebrows scowling in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I made it so obvious to you that I really fucking liked you but you didn't respond to any of it. At all. I just kissed you and you've completely brushed over it. I didn't understand why until MJ told me about your 'policy'." You note the way his voice deflates, eyes drifting further and further away from you.

"It's nothing against you, Peter." Without thinking, your hand reaches over to his, fingers curling around it almost desperately to plead your case. Peter's eyes glance at it, a soft twinkle flickering with affection. After a short sigh, he finally returns to you.

"I know. She also told me why you have that policy. I guess I thought that I needed to prove to you that I'm not like your jerk of an ex-boyfriend, I would never do anything like that to you! I would do anything to convince you of that."

Your eyes latch onto the meal in front of you, the wine, the lit candles, the way he stares at you longingly from across the table, and for a fleeting moment, his lips. He did all of this for you.

There's an unmissable sincerity in his voice, and partnered with the devotion in his eyes, it wipes away the doubt in your heart and any remnants of the pain from last years' heartbreak.

You take a large breath in, letting it fill your lungs for just a couple of seconds before relieving the tension.

"I believe you." And you really do.

Peter halts mid-mouthful, shock evident in those wildly brown eyes of his. He swallows and looks up to you with an endearing hope.

"So...so are you saying you'll take a chance with me?"

Your lips stretch, heart fluttering. "Yeah," you whisper.

Peter instantly throws his napkin onto the table and you laugh as you watch him march over towards you with a beaming confidence that has you swooning. His hands find the warmth of your cheeks, practically lifting you from your chair to meet with his lips and just like before, you melt into him with a hum. The kiss lasts a few seconds longer than before with Peter finally knowing that his efforts had paid off.

"There's one thing though..." you mutter against his lips, breathless.

"What?"

"Stop putting a whole bottle of hot sauce in the fucking food. My mouth is on fire."

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff #blurb #request #fluff #no way home #tom holland #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Not So Easy

prompt: Harry and Y/N have both had a rough week. Ivy is in the prime of her terrible twos. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

word count: 6.2k

warnings: swearing, smut, a little angst

AN: Fulfilling this request ***. This is part of the CEO!Harry verse. If you enjoy please like, reblog, and come chat with me about it x

*** <--- click for visuals

-----

It was a gorgeous, cool Saturday evening and Y/N had been cooped up in the house all week due to nasty rainstorms that lasted the whole week. All of Y/N’s friends had canceled plans for one reason or another. Anne came down with flu and couldn’t visit like she was suppose to.

Harry had an extra awful week at work - which was saying something - and hadn’t been able to let it go. The frustration and irritation he usually was good at leaving at the office at the end of the workday hadn’t been happening.

Ivy was in the midst of her terrible twos and quite frankly it was disaster for all of them.

They decided on one of their favorite restaurants about an hour outside of London near the beautiful, green countryside. ***

It was a family-owned Italian establishment with outside seating on the patio. The tables were filled but Harry always managed to squeeze himself into a non-existent reservation with his charm (and wallet).

When they’re escorted onto the deck, Ivy had Harry hitched up on his hip and wriggles her into her wooden high-chair with little difficulty - she had just woken up from a nap and was in a seemingly okay mood.

Y/N notices a few pairs of eyes watching them from the table close to theirs but decided that she was just being paranoid. And if she brought it up to Harry she knows he’d immediately tell them to fuck off and mind their business.

They get Ivy settled with her favorite little sensory book and her plush baby doll ***, as they look at the menu, “I’m so hungry,” Y/N grumbles, unable to decide what she wants to eat, Ivy literally running her around all day with no time for refueling.

“Me too, y’didn’t let me finish my meal earlier,” Harry murmurs cheekily, looking at his wife over his menu with a raised eyebrow, “Guess I’ll just have to wait for dessert.”

“Baba’s asleep, she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow,” Harry tells his wife, trotting in their bedroom. He’s already stripping the shirt off his head and wriggling his running shorts down his narrow hips.

Y/N’s laying on the bed, too distracted by her romance novel to notice Harry’s actions - well until he yanks at her ankles until her bum skids towards the end of the bed, she lets out a surprise yelp at her husband’s strength.

He plucks the book from her hands and tosses it to the floor with a thump. His hands are hurriedly reaching to pull down her shorts and panties with impatience at having his wife bare before him.

“Someone’s a bit horny,” Y/N teases, raising her hips to let him slide them down before they join the book on the floor. He ducks down to bite at the soft skin of her hip bone, suckling a dark mark there in ownership.

“Have y’seen yourself, pet?” Harry replies lowly, unable to help himself as he dips down and swipes a long, languid lip up her center with no warning. It has her moaning and pushing herself into his mouth.

“We don’t have long, H. Need you in me,” His wife whines, pulling him up by his hair until he’s slipping his tongue right into her mouth, wasting no time to hike her hips up around his waist and pushing in with one strong, directive thrust.

Y/N blushes and darts her eyes back down to the menu, “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you.”

Harry laughs, eyes wrinkling around the corners, “Y’know even when I’m not good, y’let me.”

It was very very true.

“Oops!” Ivy squeals when her doll falls to the ground. It was one of the new words she’s finally understood in context and it’s unbelievably cute to hear her high, little squeaky voice.

“S’alright, here you go bab,” Harry titters, reaching down to toss it back onto the table for his daughter. She looked so fucking adorable tonight in what Y/N had dressed her in a little Gucci jean jacket with matching jeans. ***

Ivy manages to keep herself pretty occupied until she needs a diaper change. The meals had just arrived, steaming hot and smelling like heaven, but Y/N slings their diaper bag over her shoulder and totes the baby off to the bathroom.

Harry watches them, like the protector he is until they make it to the bathroom safely. He can sense eyes on him (the same group Y/N thought was watching) but unlike his wife, Harry makes eye contact with the table who were staring directly at his wife and then him.

“Can I fuckin’ help you?” Harry asks bluntly, not hesitating to stare down every single person at the table. He didn't want anyone staring at them, staring at Y/N, staring at Ivy. He wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace with his family. He assumed they probably worked for him.

They avert their gaze from the intense man, acting nonchalantly and sipping at their glasses filled with wine as if they weren’t just staring at them. It makes Harry scoff loudly enough so that they can hear it.

When Y/N appears back with Ivy and attempts to plop her back into her seat, her limbs go wiggly and her eyebrow knits with refusal, letting out little kicks, “No mummy, no!”

“Baby, we’ve got to eat now. How ‘bout after we’re done?” Y/N hums in her daughter’s ear, attempting to steady the toddler’s legs to slide into the slots of the chair.

Y/N knew it was going to be a struggle since Y/N told Ivy she couldn’t have the big stuffed animal that was in the gift shop on the way to the bathroom.

“Mummy! Don’t wanna!” Ivy protests loudly, her face pinched with her terrible twos anger as she squirms and twists in her mother’s grip.

“S’okay, give her to me,” Harry tells his wife, taking Ivy in his lap. She smiles with deep dimples up at her father before going to reach her little fingers into his pasta. “No, Ivy. S’hot, it’s goin’ to burn you.”

Ivy pulls her brows together, decidedly not liking what her dad had to say, because she’s reaching out once again. “Ivy, daddy said ‘no’. Be a good girl and listen.”

“Mine.” Oh god, her favorite word at the moment.

“Ivy Elizabeth, s’not yours. S’daddy’s. Mummy ordered you chicken, which she very nicely cut up for you. You need to eat that, lovie,” Harry uses a bit of a firmer voice with the little girl, pulling her plate of cubed of food over.

“Here, bub,” Y/N takes a small piece, bringing it up to her daughter’s full lips. Only to be met with a hand batting it away until it’s being flung limply to the wood floor with a screech.

“No, want that,” Ivy huffs, once again reaching for her father’s steaming plate. She’s nearly close to getting her finger into the burning sauce so Harry has to scoot his chair out a bit so she can’t reach it anymore.

The parents give each other a knowing look because of what is surely about to come. The baby was struggling with being told ‘no’ as of late, as well as claiming nearly everything as ‘mine’. Tantrums were in their prime right now and they thought the pre-dinner nap would have helped.

Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t.

When Ivy realizes she’s no longer able to reach the food, she furrows her brow and pulls back her little fist, hitting at her father’s shoulder. It wasn’t often she tried to hit, likely because most times it landed her on the step for two minutes, but it’s like she knew they couldn’t do that here.

“Ivy,” Harry takes her small hands between his, “We do not hit, do you understand Daddy? S’not nice. If you can’t behave, you’re not getting ice cream before we go home.”

At that point, the little girl would normally calm down a bit and readjust because she really loved ice cream but it didn’t do anything to quell her anger tonight. She shakes her head, curly hair bouncing, before the tears start rolling.

“Should we just get this to go?” Y/N asks, knowing that the whole restaurant doesn’t want to hear the sobbing baby throwing a fit over not being able to dig her hands into her father’s dinner plate.

“Probably best,” Harry grunts when Ivy wriggles and twists in her father’s grip with a frustrated whine, “She’s not goin’ to settle.”

“Down, let me down!” Ivy demands against her father’s grip, like she’s the one running the show.

“Here, give her to me,” Y/N mutters, wrangling the toddler into a tight hold while Harry gets the waiter’s attention to get take away boxes and the check. He’s pulling out his wallet to slide out his black amex and put it on the table.

“Ivy, I’m going to put you down so I can get the diaper bag and your toys. Are you going to stay right next to mummy?” Y/N asks her daughter firmly, making sure her daughter’s little green eyes are meeting hers.

Ivy nods but as soon as her feet hit the solid ground, she lets out a giggle and dashes from beside her mother. She doesn’t get very far because she’s running straight into the legs of another patron and tumbling on her bum.

She’s not at all hurt but takes it as an advantage to throw herself onto the floor, screaming and tears - the whole dramatic show because she’s not getting her way and well....she’s a two year old - that’s all the reason she needs, right?

Harry’s in full dad mode now, “I’ll get her to the car. Y’got this, love?”

Y/N nods, sighing at the loss of their nice dinner as her daughter has all eyes directed on their family - the last thing she wanted to happen. But she just focuses on shoveling the still hot foot into the plastic containers to take home.

“S’enough of that, Ivy. This isn’t how we act, hmm?” Harry hums, pulling his daughter off the floor and into his arms - “What’s gotten into you, bug?”

Ivy sniffles, knuckling at her wet eyes, “Home, daddy.”

“We’re taking you home, don’t you worry,” Harry chuckles, smiling softly when she tucks her head into the crook of his neck, thumb finding her lips. His large palm came to rub at her back and bounce her lightly.

When Y/N finally gets everything together, one of the waitresses - an older woman, stops by the table, “How old is your daughter?”

Y/N smiles, “Just turned two a month ago.”

The grey lady has a kind, knowing grin on her face, “What an age, huh? She looks like a little replica of your husband.”

The girl laughs, they can’t go anywhere without hearing that from someone, “Oh, believe me. They have the same attitude too,” She jokes, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“I wish you two luck. Two is a very hard age, I have five kids of my own. Just appreciate it, even though the tantrums are a pain in the arse,” She says, patting Y/N on the shoulder before heading back to a table who was waiting on her.

---

Both the parents were frustrated, more so than they usually are with Ivy’s tantrums. They thought she’d simmer down once they’d gotten home but it had just revved up again when she realized she really wasn’t getting any ice cream.

“Shouldn’t have even promised her ice cream in the first place,” Y/N mutters with frustration as they stand near the staircase. Ivy sat on the step for two minutes in timeout, kicking her little feet against the marble.

“Right, because I knew she’d decide to have tantrums all night,” Harry shoots back, matching his wife’s tone. The screaming was echoing through the house, high-pitched and it just made you want to cover your ears from it.

Y/N rolls his eyes at him, motioning towards their daughter, “Well, this is your doing because you reminded her that she wasn’t getting it. You deal with it, I’m going to shower.”

“You’re not doing much to help anyways,” Harry hisses, their voices both low so that their daughter doesn’t hear - not like she would over the screaming match she’s having with herself.

They rarely fought to be honest. This wasn’t even a fight - really. It was hard raising a two year old and they were learning as they went along. The couple was good at communication and working through their problems most of the time.

“I’m not doing much to help?” Y/N asks in disbelief, “Then if I’m no help at all, why don’t you put her down for bed? You don’t need me, obviously.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, his hand gripping the railing with a hard grip, “Don’t go twistin’ my words, that’s not what I said. Now you’re just lookin’ for a fight.”

“Yeah, because on top of a fussy two year old - I want to deal with a childish husband. I’m surprised you're not on the stairs, cryin’ about ice cream too with how you’re acting,” Y/N laughs - the sound crawling under Harry’s skin with irritation at her fake carefree attitude when she’s just as annoyed as him.

“You’re being an even bigger brat than our daughter right now,” Harry tells her, trying to keep his voice at a low volume but it comes out louder than intended. He felt himself straighten up and kept direct eye contact with his wife.

Y/N’s lips form into a tight line before gritting out, “Do not raise your voice at me. We agreed that no matter how frustrated we got we wouldn’t do that in front of our daughter.”

“Then don’t act so immature, ever think of tha’?” Harry bites, hating the he hears his work voice being directed at his wife when he never wants that.

“How am I being immature? You promised her something that she didn’t get, then reminded her that she’s not getting it. I’m allowed to be frustrated with you!” Y/N whisper-shouts, Ivy is now distracted by taking her little shoes off and watching them tumble down the stairs.

“I have so many better things I could be doing right now than stand here and fight with you over our daughter having a stupid tantrum. I’ll be in my office,” Harry replies, because when he doesn’t know what to do and refuses to admit he’s wrong - he falls back to his best excuse, work.

And he automatically regrets it when he sees a flash of hurt cross his wife’s face. Harry wants to swallow back those words and wrap his wife up into a hug. Never wanting to make her feel like his work is worth more of his time.

Deep down, they both know she knows that it’s not the truth but in the midst of the fight it doesn’t sting any less. He opens his mouth to apologize, to tell her that he’d rather put their daughter to bed together any night than be in his office.

But he can tell she’s already past the point of being pissed when she replies calmly, “I’ll put our baby to bed. Go work on whatever is more important than us, Mr. Styles.”

Harry wants to reach out and grab at her arm, tug her into his chest, and murmur in her hair how much he loves her more than anything. He said that because he knows it’s hurtful and it’s his only way to win an argument with her.

However, she’s moving up the stairs, scooping the somewhat calmed down baby into her arms and trudging up without another look at her still brooding husband.

Harry hears Ivy shout back down the stairs, “Daddy, come on!”

He hears his wife tell his daughter, “Daddy’s too busy with work, Ivy. S’just mummy.”

But that has Harry absolutely fuming, storming up the stairs after then, “Do not make it seem like I’m ever too busy for my daughter. That’s completely uncalled for, Y/N.”

Y/N doesn’t turn back to face him, instead keeps walking, and says with a monotone voice, “Oh, but you just said you had better things to be doing than dealing with your family. So go take care of your work, hot shot. I’ll take care of our daughter.”

“Why are you making it seem like I put my work before Ivy? I’ve literally never let that happen and you know that. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion because Ivy’s been having tantrums and you can’t put on your big girl pants and deal with them.”

That’s when Y/N spins around on her heel, letting Ivy down and encouraging her to go play in her room for a little before bedtime. Her face is turning red - which rarely happens unless they’re really about to get in an argument.

“Big girl pants? Really, I’m at home dealing with her tantrums twenty-four seven. You get to come home from work and only deal with it half on the time. Do not act like you know how stressful it is to stay at home with a toddler in their terrible twos all day.”

“Do not act like it’s harder than running a multi-billion pound business,” Harry scoffs, his voice becoming lower with frustration with an argument that was going nowhere. He had a cocky lift to his voice that made her want to scream.

“Oh, because it’s so difficult half the time? Last week, you got to go on your private jet to Paris for three days for business aka dinner and golfing while I sat at home alone!” Y/N raises her voice, angry tears forming over her lids.

“Sat in our 35 million pound house with a pool, playground, plenty of shops in town, unlimited money doesn’t sound like a hardship, love,” Harry replies, jaw clenching but his fingers itching to brush the tears away.

“You know what? It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’m going out. You watch her for the whole fucking day and see how easy it is. For now, enjoy the guest room,” Y/N spits out, storming down the hall to Ivy’s room to get her ready for bed.

“With pleasure,” He tells her, retreating back into his office and slamming the door. He wasn’t a fucking inadequate father.

He never put work before his family. He knew it wasn’t easy being at home and as soon as he sat his arse in his leather chair - he realized what a douchebag he was being to his stressed out wife.

Harry didn’t want to sleep in the guest room, he wanted to be spooned up next to his wife, whispering apologies for letting the stress of the week get to him. Remind her what an amazing partner and mum she is to him. How lucky he is.

The issue was - Harry had pride issues. He wasn’t one to admit defeat even when he should. He thrived on challenges so he was eager to show his wife that he’d have no problem taking on his terrible twos daughter.

He sneaks into his daughter’s room after she’s fast asleep in her crib, checking on her to make sure she’s okay before hesitantly entering their bedroom where his wife is fast asleep but a pile of clean clothes for him on the floor tells him she was serious about him sleeping in the guest room.

It was torture, not being able to be in the same bed as his wife. The love of his life. He thought about it multiple times - going in and groveling but his stubborn brain wouldn’t allow it. After such a long week, he was looking forward to sleeping in and his head hit the pillow in no time.

“Rise and shine,” His wife's voice wakes him up, it wasn’t with her normally cheery tone but with the same irritation as the night before. She definitely hadn’t magically forgiven him yet - dammit. Her voice is nearly drowned out by a fussy curly-haired baby.

“Wha’s wrong?” Harry grunts, sitting up to see Ivy still in her pajamas with sheet wrinkles across her face. Skin pink and warm from her nice, peaceful sleep.

However, she decided to wake up today with a massive chip on her shoulder.

“Ivy’s upset because she can’t find her ballerina doll,” Y/N replies.

Harry notices she is already fully dressed *** and made up for the day. “Might want to get up and help her find it. I’m heading out like we agreed on.”

“Fine,” Harry replies with a tight lip, rubbing his eyes as he’s still half asleep. “Y’look pretty.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replies nonchalantly, leaning over to kiss Ivy on the forehead, “I’ll see you later bug, I love you.”

Ivy looks at her mother in betrayal as she leaves Harry to manage their little ball of fury. He tries to tug her in for a big, warm hug but she shrieks and screams at her father, “Ballerina!”

“Ssh, okay. We’ll go look for y’ballerina, dove. No need to yell, s’too early,” Harry grumbles, sitting up and automatically being pulled by the hand off the bed to search for this doll that could be anywhere in this thousands upon thousands of square foot home.

After extensive searches, Harry realizes that he’d left it on the roof of the car when he was tucking her into her carseat last night. The cute little plush doll is now mostly likely roadkill on the country stretch.

“Ivy, y’literally got a whole room dedicated to stuffed animals and dolls. Let’s go pick somethin’ from there, yes?” Harry tries, his daughter’s arms crossed and glaring at Harry like he had just killed her hopes and dreams.

“No! No!” The toddler absolutely wails, plopping her little diaper-clad bum on the ground before kicking her feet against the marble. She had herself worked up until her cheeks were cherry red and tears were staining her shirt.

Harry couldn’t lie - he’d only been watching her for about two hours and he was starting to feel anxiety creep up in his throat over what to do. It wasn’t that he couldn’t parent her, but it was a lot of crying and he hated seeing her upset.

“Why don’t we go eat some breakfast? Does that sound good, lovie?” Harry offers hopefully, having to contain a laugh at how much she looks like him when he’s angry. The little crease between her eyes, the green in her eyes sparkling a little darker than usual.

Her eyes peek up at her father, “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry sighs in relief, scrubbing at hand down his face, taking her into the kitchen, strapping her in the highchair before whipping up some cheesy eggs for her.

When he puts down the plate in front of her, he has to say she’s surprised when she slaps it off the tray and onto the floor, spilling everywhere. “No, want mummy’s breakfast.”

Her father looks at her with a comically bewildered expression before turning on his dad voice, “We do not throw things on the ground. Do you understand me, Ivy Elizabeth?”

Her full little lips are drawn into a tight pout as she tosses her baby fork on the ground to join the still warm eggs in a heap.

“Mummy’s breakfast.”

The scolding goes in one ear and out the other, she doesn’t acknowledge her father but continues on her demands.

He caves after trying to no avail to decipher what ‘mummy’s breakfast’ means.

Ivy threw her eggs on the ground. She’s demanding mummy’s breakfast.

She’s hated eggs for the past two weeks now. Vanilla yogurt with diced strawberries and blueberries in her red baby bowl.

He does as she says, arranges a nice little bowl of yogurt with the fruit. He couldn’t find the red bowl so he substituted for a blue one.

It results in the yogurt also being smacked to the ground.

She threw that on the ground too.

Did you put it in a red bowl?

I couldn’t find it, just put it in a blue bowl

She only wants to eat breakfast out of red bowls right now

Harry groans, he didn’t know his daughter was this difficult about breakfast time. He was usually gone by the time she’d woken up for the day. Y/N usually let him sleep in a bit on the weekends until ten or so.

After digging for the specific red bowl, doing up her breakfast again - Ivy happily begins eating until it drips down her sleep clothes, rubbed all over her cheeks, and it even manages up in her tangled locks.

“S’that just so yummy, Vee?” Harry hums after she’s finished. “Looks like it’s bath time.”

He really should have guessed at this point when she shakes her head and squeaks, “No!”

“Yes, s’bathtime,” Harry says sternly, traipsing upstairs with the wriggling toddler who is doing everything in her power to fight against her father’s hold.

“No, no, no. Ballerina,” Ivy brings it up again, making it a near impossible task for Harry to wrangle her out of her clothes and diaper.

While he’s running the bath, she darts from the bathroom and through the hallways, right towards the grand staircase where the baby gate isn’t closed. Harry really really didn’t want to yell at his daughter but she could seriously get hurt.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, if you don’t get your little bum over to Daddy right now, you’re going on the step and y’not having playtime at all,” Harry orders loudly, but breathing a sigh of relief when his daughter skids in her tracks to a halt.

The little girl turns on her heels, eyes wide in fright at her dad’s raised voice - which rarely ever happened unless she really wasn’t listening. She begins to cry but not in her now typical anger-induced haze but in a legitimate sad wail.

His heart aches as his daughter toddles obediently back over to him with her little head hung low in regret, “Daddy, hold me?”

Harry can’t deny her so he scoops her up into the crook of his arm, “M’sorry for yellin’, bug. But y’need to be good for Daddy? You could have gotten really hurt and that would have made Daddy sad, okay?”

Her eyes are watery as she looks up at him, her hand curling around his neck before burying her still yogurt-sticky face into his skin, hiccuping with sad whines, “Sad Daddy.”

“Mhm, now are you going to be nice and get a bath f’me? Y’dirty, bubby,” Harry smiles down at her to brighten back up her mood and it works because her dimples pop out of her cheeks and she flashes her small blocky baby teeth.

Ivy surprisingly does well in the bathtub, allowing her father to get her all cleaned up until she accidentally opens her eyes and gets baby soap in them, it’s another round of tears that cannot be controlled.

Harry totes the sobbing toddler into a cute little Moschino onesie and brings her into their bedroom. He’s so fucking exhausted and it was barely noon. His stress level was near a hundred as he couldn’t keep her from being pissed off for more than twenty minutes at a time.

Luckily, it seems like the screaming and crying for the last how many hours had taken a toll on her because as soon as she sprawled on her stomach on Harry’s chest, she’s out like a light. The cutest small snores coming from her as she smacks her lips together while she dreams.

He gives her a few minutes to fall into a deeper sleep before tiptoeing her into her nursery and laying her very carefully into her crib. She doesn’t wake, just whimpers softly and turns on her side, away from her father.

When he’s sure she’ll be okay, he goes back into their bedroom, and well...he just breathes. He didn’t realize how high his anxiety had been up to this point and his whole morning had been nothing but trying to get his daughter calm. He didn’t even have one moment to think about himself.

It really wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Y/N being a stay at home mum - of course, he did. He already knew how bloody amazing and strong she was as a person, he didn’t need this to prove what he already knew. It was his stubbornness to not decline a challenge and they both knew that was the case.

Y/N really didn’t think that Harry doubted her abilities. He nearly spent most of his days telling her how proud he was of her and her abilities as a partner and mum. It doesn’t mean it didn’t sting when he brought up his job compared to hers.

Harry’s in his own world of thoughts that he doesn’t notice a figure leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, “You got everything under control, H?”

His eyes darted up to meet his wife’s, “Not really. She’s a little terror,” He jokes (kind of).

“It’s easy compared to your job, right?” Y/N asks but it’s obviously rhetorical. She drops a few shopping bags on the floor before leaning down to unstrap her high heels, kicking them off along with throwing off the blazer to the floor.

“I never said your job was easy. Y’puttin’ words in my mouth,” Harry argues, sitting up straight and moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re right. It’s just not as hard as your job,” Y/N huffs, unbuttoning the tight jeans and shucking them off her thighs. She didn’t have any idea what she was doing to him right now, his mouth nearly watering when her thighs jiggle a bit.

“You’re right, it’s not as hard as my job,” Harry replies, studying his wife’s face when she looks up in surprise - that he was really going to take the fight that far.

“Wow, you re-”

“It’s not as hard as my job, it’s harder,�� Harry murmurs, reaching out to pull his wife to stand between his legs, her looking down at him with her hands on his shoulders. “

What I’m doin’ is nothin’ compared to your job. Y’raising our little baby, shaping her into a good person, spending every moment of y’day with her, giving up a lot of who you are for her. That’s more difficult than what I do any day.”

“Har-”

“M’sorry, lovie. Y’know I think you’re the most amazing mum and wife. You do everything for the baba and I. I shouldn’t have taken my anger from my week out on you yesterday and then said the things that I did,” Harry apologizes, his face sincere and open as he leans forward to nuzzle at his wife’s stomach.

When her hands come to run through his unruly locks, he knows he’s forgiven, “I appreciate how hard you work too. I really do, H. You’re the best husband and daddy to Ivy we could ask for. I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you as well.”

“Do you ever feel like I put work before you or Ivy?” Harry asks softly against her thin tank top, his hands come to massage at her full hips. There was a hint of insecurity in his tone that made Y/N’s heart sink a bit.

“No, I really don’t. I was just...I was just upset and I knew that would upset you. I’m sorry, baby,” Y/N murmurs softly, leaning down to kiss at the top of his head.

“Y’going to let me show you how sorry I am, how good of a wife and mum you are?” Harry drawls, his hands going to tug up the fabric of her top and humming appreciatively when she lifts her arms to let him do so.

“Yeah, remind why I married your crabby ass,” Y/N teases playfully, reaching behind herself to let her bra fall down to the crooks of her elbows before tossing it to the floor with everything else. As she’s doing that, Harry takes it upon himself to shimmy off her panties.

“Y’sayin’ you just married me ‘cause I fuck you good?” Harry grunts, standing up suddenly and pulling her up into his arms until her legs are wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck.

“Mmm, mostly. Also for your bank account was pretty good-looking too,” She lies blatantly but he still rewards her with a bruising kiss to her lips as he backs her against the wall so he can use one hand to tug down his running shorts.

“I’d still have married you, best decision I’ve ever made,” Harry says, sobering up from their playfulness. He slows down to be careful as he slides up into her warm heat, her head falling back with a thud against the wall.

“Harry,” She moans approvingly, heels of her feet digging into his backside to goad him into moving faster, “Right there.”

“So bloody in love with you. Please tell me y’know that baby, c’mon, tell me,” Harry begs, leaning down to smear kisses against her collarbone.

“I know, H. You’re so good to me, I love you,” Y/N whines and Harry knows that whine like the back of his hand, she needs more. He reaches down to rub tight, rough circles against her swollen bud until she’s tensing and coming.

“You feel so good, every single time. Don’t know how you do it, s’like you were made just for me,” Harry chokes out, stuttering and coming with his lips suckling a deep spot onto her breast as he rides it out.

After they redress and are cuddled on the bed, murmuring sweet little apologizes and affirmations of love, they interrupted by an angry squeak from the baby monitor - signaling their daughter’s woken up.

“Ballerina!”

hope you enjoyed. please inbox me what you think, like, reblog.

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on-a-lucky-tide · 3 years

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Spicy Pheasant

A gift for @piranhainallcaps and my lovely pack of Aces in @continentcakeshop. Happy Ace Week, my friends. No content warnings apply, unless you have a fear of culinary disasters/a brief mention of murder.

Jaskier glared at the sizzling pan with ire and loathing. The meat, shrivelled and charred at the edges, spat back insolently, daring him to add yet another teaspoon of spice. “This,” Jaskier murmured, “will be perfect. I have applied my Oxenfurt education, my experience as a witcher’s companion. This shall be the finest meat, bread and dripping that Lambert has ever tasted.” He spoke out loud to reassure himself. The truth was, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. The spices all looked the same, with names he didn’t really recognise, and the recipe itself was one of Valdo’s old favourites. He’d left it behind, along with a plethora of other items, after their final split.

The flatbread was laid out in the dishes ready to receive a generous helping of spiced meat and chopped vegetables. It was his second anniversary with Lambert. Not only did it mark two glorious years of wit, fun and excellent cuddles, it was also the longest period of consecutive time that Jaskier had ever been in a romantic relationship. Lambert deserved a medal, but he would have to settle for a meal and a nice cuddle in front of his favourite movie. It had been a long week for both of them—Jaskier had led almost back-to-back lectures and seminars for the last two days, covering a colleague’s absence, and the start of spring always meant a deluge of new contracts for Lambert. He would be tired, achey. Prime for snuggles. Hmm, perhaps Jaskier should run a bubble bath?

The door flung open, letting in the smell of fresh rain and a man that resembled a drowned rat more than a witcher. “Fucking—barghest,” Lambert growled, lifting his swords from his shoulders. The iron hook by their front door groaned under the weight of them, and puddles of rainwater gathered on the floor. “It would be so much easier if they came clean straight away, and I could salt and burn the source. But no, always claim they’re whiter than a virgin’s knickers and I nearly get my bollocks bitten off—hey, mm, thanks,” Jaskier was the only one allowed to cut off Lambert’s tirades and he never did it maliciously; a gentle kiss on his stubbled cheek, a mug of hot mead pressed into his cold fingers, “Yeah, just… pisses me off.”

“Barghest,” Jaskier repeated. “Like packs of hounds. Created by the concentration of ill will.”

“Yeah,” Lambert said. “One of the local bar owners had a young lad strangled in an alleyway for siphoning off money from the tills. Poor kid had a rough end—fuck, what’s that smell?”

Oh, that wasn’t good. Jaskier rolled his lower lip between his teeth and followed Lambert over to the pan. “It’s spiced pheasant, an—um, an old family recipe. Delectable, I’ve had it before.”

Lambert squinted suspiciously at the contents as he grabbed a wooden spoon from the drawer. He dipped the tip inside the sticky sauce clinging to the meet and dabbed it against his tongue. The reaction was almost instant; he spat into the sink and snatched up his mug for a long drink. His neck, his cheeks, the very tips of his ears, all flushed bright red.

Jaskier frowned. “Oh, I—not good?”

“How much spice did you put in that?” Lambert gasped as he came up for air.

“Two teaspoons of each,” Jaskier said, holding up a tablespoon.

“That—,” Lambert’s eyes were watering, and he rubbed his wrist through them as he grabbed the recipe card, “bard, it says a pinch of hot chilli, you put two tablespoons in it.”

“Pish posh, it says an equal measure of each! And you know, there was a lot of meat in there.” Jaskier thwapped Lambert with the spoon and leaned in to read for himself. “Oh, yes, a pinch of—which one was that?” He looked at the rows of bottles on the nearby shelf.

“Only the one that cost three times as much as all the others,” Lambert said bitterly, removing the pan from the flames. “This is inedible.”

“You can’t cook either!”

“I pretend not to be able to cook so that no one ever asks me to,” Lambert said. “Noodles again, Lambert? Guess we’ll just order in.” He did his best imitation of Eskel’s low rumble as he doused the flames with sand.

Jaskier’s shoulders fell. “Oh, I—I’m sorry, I thought that—you know, because it’s—.”

“Our anniversary,” Lambert said as he reached inside his jacket. From within, he pulled a flower carefully pressed in a small frame. Jaskier’s hands clapped to his mouth, drawing away only when Lambert nudged him on the shoulder.

“Aelirenn’s Bloom,” Jaskier whispered, in awe. They only grew in one place—Shaerrawedd, at the very top of a waterfall. In the clearing, on the eve of Beltane, tears of dew clung to their white petals and glistened in the moonlight. Jaskier remembered running his fingers through them as Lambert led him through the clearing by the hand; the witcher had told him they were the tears of a thousand elves, a reminder of what had been lost and what still existed to be fought for. “Lambert, you—.”

“I might have lied about the werewolf contract,” he said. “I figured it was worth it ‘cause—.”

He didn’t get to finish. Jaskier threw his arms around Lambert’s shoulders and pulled him close. The rainwater from Lambert’s gambeson soaked through his doublet, but he didn’t care. He nuzzled into that scruffy beard, his toes curling, his eyes scrunching closed, his delight almost tangible in the air around them. “You’re such a terribly outrageous romantic, you darling man, you beautiful rogue, you adorable scoundrel.”

Lambert sniffed and did his best to pull off ‘nonchalant’ as Jaskier drew back, but Jaskier, after all this time gazing into them every day, could see the pride and happiness shining brightly in glittering amber eyes. “Yeah, well. Hmm. Glad you like it.”

“I love it,” Jaskier said, clutching the frame close to his chest. It would take pride of place in his office so that he could gaze upon it every day. “I love you, Lambert.”

There was that flush again. Lambert wasn’t used to it. At first, he had bitten back with sarcasm and gruff rebuttal, but they had progressed now to bashful silence and a murmured ‘you too’. It wasn’t that Lambert didn’t love. It was that he loved so fiercely that it frightened him, threatened, at times, to overwhelm him. He was a man that needed to be in absolute control, and exposing his heart was a risk that had hurt him in the past. “Do you—uh, do you fancy a shower? I’m just—it’s cold. Keep us occupied while the pierogi gets here.”

Jaskier sighed. “We’re ordering in then.”

“Jaskier, you could pay me a rock troll’s weight in gold and I still wouldn’t eat that.”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Jaskier waved his hand dismissively and headed to the bedroom while Lambert called in a take away.

Barely ten minutes passed before they were both wrapped together beneath a hot stream of water. Nudity with Lambert was always different. There was no fear of expectation. Jaskier could touch and hold Lambert with abandon and not worry that things would escalate to a point neither of them wanted. He placed his palms flat on Lambert’s chest as they kissed, strong arms wrapped around his back, warm water flooding over their heads and shoulders. Lambert’s lips were a delight. Sometimes, Jaskier liked them on his neck and chest too, cherub-bowed and so very soft.

Jaskier convinced Lambert to sit on the shower stool to have his hair washed, and reduced his big, gruff, scary witcher to relaxed sighs with a thorough scalp and neck massage. The cold and the smell of the outside left their skin, replaced with the soft glow of gentle affection and the subtle scent of Jaskier’s expensive soaps. When Jaskier had rinsed Lambert’s hair, Lambert stood and wrapped around his back, chin tucked over his shoulder, and eyes closed. They stood, wrapped together, and Jaskier felt his witcher relax against him, the occasional squeeze betraying a sudden rush of love that Lambert couldn’t contain. He was such an adorably soppy bastard on the inside.

They stayed until their fingertips and toes began to prune. Jaskier wrapped Lambert in a soft towel from the airing cupboard, and yelped when another was used to flick his backside. “Brigand!”

“Shouldn’t bend over in front of me naked, it’s an invite.”

They chased each other around the bedroom until Lambert conceded his obvious advantage and took a truly momentous whip-crack across the backside. “Fuck, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

“I’ll kiss it better,” Jaskier said airily, and Lambert chuckled.

They bundled up in their fluffiest dressing gowns, snatched the comforter from the bed, and made a small nest on their couch. The pierogi arrived fifteen minutes later, steaming hot and perfectly seasoned. They picked it apart together, a bottle of red wine passed between them, no glasses necessary. Lambert left their snug cocoon only long enough to light the fire nearby, stacking the logs nice and high, and returned quickly to Jaskier’s waiting arms. This was the best part. When Jaskier got to hold Lambert close, relaxed and safe, where no monsters could reach them, human or otherwise.

Lambert nosed aside the hem of the gown so he could press his face into Jaskier’s chest, nuzzling through the soft hair with a huff of contentment. “Love you, stupid bard.”

“Love you too, stupid witcher.”

Jaskier gazed at his framed flower as Lambert slept on his chest—a symbol of all they had overcome to be where they were—and smiled.

#rawrkinwrites #ace week #continent cake shop #sfw #no smut #Lambert #Jaskier #Lambert/Jaskier #Lambert x Jaskier #Bombard

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justalittletomato · 3 years

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Dad!Maul and Baby Tomatoes 🍅: of catsup and toast

@eyecandyeoz @by-the-primes @kimageddon @patchiefrog @apocalypticwafflekitten @shadow-pancake9 @hannagoldworthy @itsjml @lovelyzabrak-meadow @spookiifi @dvthomir @literatureandqueen

Not me picturing Maul making the tomato babies scrambled eggs and trying to introduce them to hot sauce, he is trying to kick their ketchup habit…

Cress gives it a sniff and pouts, that is not ketchup! “Catsup!” The baby boy grumbles

“Just give it a try little one, look Daddy likes it.” Maul takes a bite to show him, “tasty! Princess you have some.”

He encourages the other little Zabrak who sniffs at the plate

Aster takes her spork in hand and stabs at food before plopping it into her mouth.

It’s a moment of quiet, followed by the little baby girl happily taking another sporkful and wiggling happily, “ Picy egg! “

Cress pouts still, he much prefers ketchup not spicy.

“I’ll tell you what, if you try it, I’ll get you some toast with strawberry jam.” Maul knows he shouldn’t barter with a 1 1/2 year old but here he was…

Cress pouts and puts the egg scramble into his mouth. It burns his little tongue but in a delightful way! Better than ketchup!

Before Maul can offer another bite the little Zabrak is using his hands instead to grab at more egg.

“ yummy right?” He smiles.

“Nummy!” The twins cheer as they devour their breakfast.

——

As Maul clears the plates away, Cressie puts a chubby little hand on his. “Toas?” Starlight eyes bright, “ Tawbewyy toas”

Maul sighs, “Don’t tell your buir.”

He stops when another little hand takes hold of his sleeve, “ Choco toas”

The older Zabrak breathes deeply, he needs to stop bartering…

#welcome to the wholesome dad!maul blog #dad!maul #maul #darth maul #baby tomato #star wars oc #cress #zabrak oc #aster #tomato twins au #cw food mention #tw eating mention

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blinkngone · 3 years

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Written for the hinny Extravaganza by @harryandginuary

Prompt: “You really don't want to open that door.”

..........

CHERRY

Though it is snowing heavily outside, and it's indisputably the coldest day of the year, Harry is incredibly warm. His legs are tucked under a warm quilt, his palms are wrapped around an incredibly appetizing mug of hot chocolate, and the fire is burning bright only a couple feets away. All in all, Harry has very little reason, in fact no reason at all, to believe that the warm feeling that's stretched from his temple to his toes, and is especially potent in his chest, has anything to do with Ginny sitting next to him.

In spite of all the dreams he's having about her, her sitting next to him isn't even remotely romantic- all her brothers are scattered about in the same room, after all. Besides, Ginny keeps on biting her lower lip that's also slightly chapped, and she’s constantly brushing her arm along his.

Obviously she's not doing it on purpose; she can't possibly see the bulge in his jeans because he is covered from waist down, isn't he?

But then she does something that just makes him want to either stroke himself or strangle himself.

She picks up a red cherry from the bowl in front of them that's overflowing with the fruit, dips it into a bowl of chocolate sauce and pops it unceremoniously into her mouth. Harry stares, first as she licks away the chocolate from her fingers and then at the luscious chocolate dripping from the side of her mouth.

“ Daydreaming Harry?” she asks, dipping another cherry into the chocolate sauce; she doesn’t look his way, but the corner of her mouth is ticked up.

“ Uh, no , i.. I just, you've got, um, you've got something here,” he says. With his stupid, treacherous and currently rapidly hopscotching heart, he reaches out and wipes the chocolate from her lips.

Truth to be told, he'd much rather use his tongue than his finger but then he is reminded of Dean and Ron.

It's difficult really, to stay away from her. She's like a bubble magnet of fun, full aware of the effect she has on others. She's Ginny Weasley, fierce, funny, beautiful and brilliant, simply brilliant. And he? He's Harry Potter. Lanky and awkward with wobbly knees, and most importantly the prime target of things concerned with psychopath murderers and dark magic.

“ you don't really want to open that door, Harry,” she tells him. He has just only realized that his hand is still very close to her face. He's about to pull it back when she grabs his wrist. Nervous, he asks, “what door?”

“ That door that opens in your mind and makes you all grumpy.”

How does she even know-

“ you are thinking again about the ordeals of being Harry Potter, aren't you?”

“ No , I wasn't really-"

“ harry, it's Christmas, give yourself a break. Here have a cherry,” she says brightly. She let's go of his hands and picks up a chocolate covered berry. As she pops it into his mouth, she's sure to smear some chocolate on the tip of his nose.

#harrypotter #harryxginny #hinny #hbp #harry potter and the deathly weapons #fic

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loominggaia · 2 years

Photo

DAMIJANI CUISINE

(lore under cut)

The Empire of Damijana has just one hold, a mega-city simply called Damijana. This highly technologically-advanced empire has polluted all of the land around it, making it unsuitable for farming. Because of this, Damijana cannot produce enough food for its population and must instead import it from other Great Kingdoms.

Though they import ingredients from all over the world, the Damijani people still add their own personal touches that make their cuisine unique.

BREAKFAST BAR

Life in Damijana is fast-paced, and many locals simply don’t have time to sit down and eat breakfast. Breakfast bars are a massively popular staple for the working class because they can be eaten on the go. These bars are made from oats, nuts, seeds, dried fruits, and are loaded with sugar. They have little nutritional value, but they provide a quick burst of energy to get through a long morning commute.

SUGAR CEREAL

Sugary grain-based cereals are hardly unique to Damijana, and are usually imported from Zareen Empire where they originated. However, 95% of Damijana’s population is made up of red elves, and elves are notorious for their relationship with sugar. This artificially-sweetened cereal is already very sweet, but not sweet enough to satisfy the Damijani pallet, so they add a few sugar cubes to their bowl. So much sugar would sicken other species, but the elven body processes it with grace. Most Damijani do suffer from lactose intolerance however, so instead of cow’s milk, they eat their cereal with “silk milk”, a lactose-free product that is made from giant caterpillars.

SPICY VEGGIE WRAP

Unlike so-called “green elves”, red elves are naturally resistant to burning, whether by fire or chemical. They simply don’t feel the heat of a flame or the burn of a hot pepper. For that reason, the Damijani elves have developed a taste for ultra-spicy cuisine, able to reap its flavor and health benefits with none of the pain. The spicy veggie wrap is a prime example of this. It is simply a toasted flour wrap stuffed with lettuce, tomatoes, mixed peppers, and onions, all drizzled with hot sauce. On the go, it is wrapped in paper and eaten by hand. But when eaten at home, Damijani prefer to eat this messy dish with utensils.

TEA AND SCONE

The Damijani people survive on caffeine, and tea is the most popular vehicle to get it into their bodies. Tea is typically eaten with a sugary scone or other pastry, both providing a burst of energy to start the morning or just get through the rest of the day. The most popular teas in Damijana are lemon, cinnamon, and green tea. Their preference for scone flavors tends to change through the generations, but blueberry and cherry remain time-tested staples.

DAMIJANI-STYLE PEPAJA

Pepaja is a dish that originated in Matuzu Kingdom and has since spread all over the world. Every culture seems to have their own unique version of this food, and so too do the Damijani. Matuzan pepaja consists of a piece of seasoned flatbread topped with cheese, tomatoes, pineapple, and chicken. Damijani-style pepaja replaces these things with hot peppers, green olives, fish, and pitter cheese—a lactose-free product made from caterpillars. The taste is said to be very different from its Matuzan cousin.

EGG SOUP

Egg soup is considered a Damijani “comfort food” that is popular across all wealth classes. Traditionally, it is made from chicken broth, thick buckwheat noodles, clams, onions, and topped with fried eggs. Poorer classes tend to omit some ingredients and may even eat it with only the broth and noodles, as eggs are particularly expensive in this empire.

HOT JELLIES

A star-shaped gummy candy that comes in many flavors, but cinnamon is the original and remains the most popular. They are coated in sugar and have a sweet and spicy taste. This candy is a point of pride for the empire, for it is one of its few foods that is not imported. It was invented locally and is still produced locally. It has always been massively popular with the locals, but especially with children. For this reason, the Damijani government has gotten involved with the original company, offering advertising subsidies under one condition: each package must contain government-sponsored literature. This comes in the form of a paper scroll, which contains a variety of “educational” puzzles, games, stories, and sometimes stickers or small toys. Heavy-handed propaganda is always worked into these activities, but that doesn’t stop children and their parents from gobbling it all up with the candy. Damijani police officers are even equipped with Hot Jellies, which they give out to citizens for free over the course of each shift. Due to subsidies, these candies are dirt-cheap and affordable even for the empire’s poorest.

ALMOND PIE

Almond pie is the traditional dessert of choice in Damijana. It is a given at any wedding or birthday celebration, and can be found on the table for many other occasions too. It is a pie filled with almond butter and fruit—usually apples or cherries—topped with whipped cream, crushed almonds, and berries. It is described as a “heavy” food which is dense in calories, primarily due to the almonds. A little slice of this pie goes a long way for the waistline.

GOSOPLI

An extremely spicy and astringent alcoholic beverage that is almost impossible to find outside of Damijana, because no one but red elves can tolerate it. It is made from fermented wheat, tomatoes, zestberries, and a concentrated blend of the hottest peppers on Looming Gaia. Humans and other species are often hospitalized after just one shot, left with damage to their esophagus and stomach lining. But for the red elves, it’s nothing but smooth sipping and a pleasant buzz.

GUTTER ROAST

Fresh meat is very expensive in Damijana, as the empire’s pollution has killed all the native wild game and local livestock operations. However, there is still one animal that has survived the odds and remains a rampant pest in Damijana’s lower sectors, and that is the humble rodent. Citizens in the Middle, Sun, and Star Sectors would never consider catching and eating one of these vermin. But for those in the poverty-stricken Shadow and Gutter Sectors, rodents are considered delicacy. Though these animals are plentiful and not particularly hard to catch, they do tend to be riddled with diseases and not always safe to eat. The Damijani government has spent a lot of money running campaigns in the lower sectors, warning citizens not to eat vermin. Many think that money would have been better spent simply feeding those citizens.

Questions?

Masterpost

#looming gaia #cuisine #lore

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paperficwriter · 4 years

Text

Your First Date

Some sweet, fluffy batarou. Being teens in love.

Cut is for length, not for content.

“Oi, Badd. Why didn’t we go on a first date?”

“Well, ya hospitalized me, and then ya went on some kind of monster rager and ended up becomin’ some kinda gargoyle thing? With horns, I heard? And then ya ran off for a hot minute until ya showed up here ‘cause Zenko thought you were some kinda stray to bring home, and here we are.”

“...Heh, yeah, that just about covers it.”

Somehow during months of living together, this conversation didn’t even come up until they were sitting together on the couch, watching an anime one evening that depicted a boy and a girl in a very typical ‘is this a date?!’ situation. They were quiet for a little bit after that, until Badd prompted him by elbowing him in the arm. “Did ya want to? I mean, I feel like we kinda skipped that whole thing, yeah? Usually ya date before ya start livin’ with someone.”

“So what’s the difference between going on a date and dating?”

Badd paused the television and turned to him, wedging himself into the back sofa cushion on his side. “The date’s kinda...the thing itself. Datin’ is when you’re, like, ‘Let’s see how this pans out and if I wanna be your girlfriend for the long haul.’”

“Does that mean we skipped straight to making you my girlfriend?”

“Psh. I’m savin’ my girlfriend status for The One. You lose.”

Garou chuckled and pulled one of Badd’s hands over to rub between his. “Never been on a date before,” he mumbled.

“Are ya serious?” Badd winced when Garou bent one of his fingers sideways. “Ow. I didn’t mean it t’ be shitty! You’re good-lookin,’ so I figured ya woulda had to beat ‘em off with a stick!”

Holy shit, did Garou just blush?! “It’s not like I really had a chance, with the whole ‘leaving home and living at a dojo and then dishonoring said dojo and everything afterward,’ you know?”

Badd dragged his thumb against one of the long lines across Garou’s hand. Then he realized it wasn’t actually the love line, or the life line, or whatever. But rather, it was the pink, faded scar left from his hero hunting. “That means if I take ya out on a date, it’s not just our first date but your first date. Officially.”

Garou nodded. “Which means it can’t suck.”

“Hey, my dates don’t suck.”

“They better not. You don’t have an excuse like I do, since it sounds like you’ve been on a million, you hussy.”

Badd snatched his hand back so he could grab him by one of his wild ‘ears’ of hair. “I ain’t a hussy! And I haven’t been on a million dates! Just a few!”

Thin fingers jabbed at his side right into one of his ticklish pressure points, and Badd’s body buckled in on itself. “No, no, you’re clearly the dating pro, so you better wow me or I’m leaving!”

“Fine!” Badd threw himself on top of Garou, grabbing him by his shirt. He dropped his face close to his with a huge grin. “Then I’m gonna take ya on the best damn date o’ your life. So get ready, wolf boy.”

Garou snuck in a kiss onto Badd’s round nose, flashing his own teeth in a smile. “Okay. I’m holding you to that.”

—

Badd ended up borrowing a car. Although he had gotten his license, he didn’t really need one in the city, since he either walked wherever he needed to go or took public transportation. But if he was going to take Garou on a date, they were going to have to head out a little distance from his normal stomping grounds, enough that no one would immediately recognize him or, worse, ask questions about Garou.

And even as it was, Badd still didn’t sport his normal pompadour, and Garou had one of his beanies over his trademark hair. “So, where are we going?” Garou asked as he reached over to play with Badd’s loose strands where they framed his face.

“It’s a surprise, ya goober. Also, I, uh...didn’t wanna talk about it so much in front o’ Zenko or she’d be sore we weren’t taking her.”

“Scandalous.”

“Shut up!” Badd gave him a shove, but he was smiling. The drive itself was nice; the air was cool, they listened to some music (and since it was just them, they didn’t even have to suffer through Amai Mask’s discography), and the sunset was a beautiful bleed of color across the horizon.

Garou grinned when Badd turned into a hotel. “Oh, so it’s that kind of a date, huh?”

“It ain’t like that! Don’t be weird!” Badd’s cheeks burned up to his ears. “I got us a room so we didn’t have to rush back tonight, and so I didn’t have to find some random place to park.”

When Badd got back from checking in, Garou had his face out the window of the car, sniffing, eyes big. It was like he was looking into the distance, at nothing in particular, an invisible interest.

Badd couldn’t help ruffling the top of his head. “What is it, boy?” he asked like he was talking to a dog, “Whattaya smell, huh?”

Garou rolled his eyes but didn’t really divert his attention, though his did close his eyes. “It’s been forever since I went to the beach. I can smell the sand and the water...and I can hear it.”

Badd turned his ear up, letting the wind hit him. He could just barely make out the salty scent, but he certainly couldn’t hear it. “Good thing that ain’t the surprise.”

Tipping his head curiously, Garou got out of the car, and they started walking down the road.

It couldn’t be but so surprising, because they could see the boardwalk from the half-mile mark as they walked up toward it. A large road right beside piers and docks had been lined with shops, stands and various attractions on either side, and there was a huge ferris wheel lit up with sparkling lights.

Badd had insisted on going during the week, so since it was Wednesday there weren't nearly as many people as there probably would have been on the weekend. On top of that, it was also late in the season, so there weren’t visiting tourists to contend with either. “I know ya hate crowds as much as I do,” Badd commented as he took his hand. “And I wanted your first date to be a good experience, ya know.”

Garou was staring in every direction, his mouth just a little bit open. Shit, was it too much? Had Badd overdone it?

What finally came out was: “I want to eat everything.”

Badd laughed. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

When Garou said everything, he wasn’t kidding. Like a bloodhound, Garou made a beeline for the spots that had the best-smelling greasy food scents, and Badd found himself being dragged to stand after stand to buy long skewers of yakitori, shioyaki and ikayaki. Each one was shoved into his face to try. “Please at least keep the squid in a different hand. If I think I’m gonna get chicken and bite into the ikayaki, I’m gonna hurl.”

Garou just took a bite of each. To spite him.

Now, the noodles he could get behind: yakisoba with deliciously tender pieces of pork; hot, sour Thai noodles that warmed him up to the core; a ramen burger made with prime beef and huge pieces of near-solid noodles. Garou was about to lead them to the taiyaki parfait stand, when Badd finally put his hand on his arm.

“Babe. Ya know I think the world of ya, but can we digest for, like, five minutes?”

“I guess.” He smirked and kissed a spot of sauce off the corner of his mouth. “You weakling.”

Next, Badd took him to an arcade. It was set up to look like one of the “classic” ones, with pinball, huge games with old displays that were probably twenty years old, and racing games that made Garou have to fold his long limbs inwards to get to the gas and brake.

When he caught Badd laughing, he glared. “I’m still going to kick your ass, even if I do dislocate my hip.”

“You are older than me, Stretch. That’s a real concern.”

“By a year!”

But they figured it was time to go when Garou laid into a test-your-strength punching dummy a bit too hard and snapped it off its support. In his defense, Badd absolutely should have been watching him closer. Garou had a tendency to get carried away.

As they explored the area even more, they came to a set of shops outside a mall connected to the boardwalk. Garou wandered over to an open stand and stopped so hard his heels screeched. “Oh my god, Badd, look at this.” At first, it just looked like they were selling little trinkets and random junk...until Badd got a closer look. “It’s fucking knock-off hero stuff like you find online!”

Badd nearly choked as he picked up a toy that he could only guess was supposed to be Genos with huge neon eyes and a perfectly rectangular mouth. One hand was on backwards, and the paint job was so abysmal it was like it was just dipped in random colors. A figurine of Atomic Samurai actually had a gun for some reason, Zombieman had been painted lime green, and then…

“You have to buy it.”

“I don’t have to do any such a damn thing.”

“Please. I need this as a memento of our first date.”

Badd sighed and paid the ridiculous amount for a Metal Bat action figure: the torso was so big his head was roughly pea-sized, he was wearing a skirt and his bat looked like it was a wooden one. “It’s literally in the name! Metal Bat! They had one job!”

Garou cackled as he pocketed his prize. “Villains beware! The amazing Wood Bat! Special move: Splinter Spirit!”

As the sky was just beginning to transition from a red-touched blue into night, Badd walked Garou out onto the pier that cut into the ocean far enough that it was actually quiet, compared to the street. A torii gate stood alone overlooking the water and the far-off sunset. Garou stared up at it as Badd explained, “There used to be a shrine on the water, but it got destroyed by a typhoon or somethin.’ They left the torii up ‘cause the sun falls right inside it, yeah? And it was still standin,’ so...yeah.”

“You know a lot about this place.”

Badd grinned, kind of lopsidedly. “Yeah…”

“Like you’ve been here before. More than once.”

“Heh, guess I’ve been caught.”

Easily hopping up onto it, Garou sat on one of the wooden rails of the dock and looked out over the easy-going waves. “That’s fine. There are only but so many places you can take dates, so obviously there’s going to be some overlap.”

“What? Oh god, no. Garou.” Careful not to push him over, Badd got between Garou’s long legs, hands holding his waist. “I ain’t...I’ve never brought another date here. Never. You’re the first.” He sighed. “I came here when I was a kid, with my folks. And Zenko after she was born, for a couple of years but I think she was too young to really remember it. This is, uh…” He cleared his throat. “This is the first time…” God, don’t cry, don’t fucking choke up. “Since…”

“Hey.” Garou’s fingers rubbed the back of his scalp and pulled his face into his stomach. “I got it. It’s okay. I like it. A lot.”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s the best first date. I thought you were just going to drag me out to something really lame and I was going to have to be like, ‘Nooo, Baaadd, I loooove it…’”

Badd snickered and jabbed Garou in the side of the leg. “Jerk.”

Garou continued on in the mock-patronizing voice as he jumped off the ledge and back to the dock. “‘Oh my gooood...no, you put soooo much effort into it…’”

“Well now if I ever do disappoint ya, I’ll see right through you!”

“Of course you will, because I am so transparent and you are so perceptive.” Garou tugged him toward the ferris wheel. “Come on, I think this is a good time for this one.”

Badd nodded, and when they got to the ramp, there really wasn’t much of a line. They climbed into the next available car together. It was one of the new, fancier ferris wheels, with a compartment that people could sit in facing each other while looking out a window on either side, at the sea or at the glittering city skyline in the near-distance. Slowly, they started the climb, and as Badd watched the crowds below get smaller and smaller, he could feel Garou’s eyes on him.

“So, I’m new to this, but it seems pretty obvious that this is when you’re supposed to kiss on dates, right? That’s a thing isn’t it?”

Badd turned his hand over when cool fingers rubbed his knuckles. “Yeah, I think ya kinda...play it by ear, and when it feels right, ya jus’ go for it.”

Garou leaned close, his smile reflecting the bulbs outside that lined the ride’s spokes. “I think you’re supposed to call the shots though, right?”

“Yeah...I think so.” Badd moved like he was going to close the gap between them, but then put his fingers up to block Garou’s lips. “Wait.”

“...seriously?”

“Trust me.”

It was only about a minute until they rounded the curve and there they were, at the top of the wheel. In the grand scheme of things, it probably wasn’t that high up but...here, it was the highest point, and for them it might as well have been the top of the world. And before Garou could ruin it by saying something dumb or complaining about the hold up, Badd yanked him into the softest, deepest kiss he could give, putting every ounce of himself into it.

They didn’t actually break it until they were almost at the bottom again, and even then they stayed close, gazing into one another’s face.

“You know…” Garou gave him another little peck, smiling through it. “I think I could get into this whole dating thing.”

Badd hummed, and he kept his fingers loosely holding his shirt so he couldn’t get far away from him. “Yeah...kinda figured ya might feel that way.”

#my paperfics #one punch man #batarou #metal bat #badd #garou #so much fluff #fluffy fluff fluff #this was fun to write

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