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towerframe2 · 2 years

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Information To Connecticut Cell Caterers

Make your playlists forward of time and pick the songs you like — that is about welcoming visitors into your area after all — so long as they will make you and your visitors feel happy and relaxed. It’s good to have some completely different choices on offer so visitors can play D.J. This is very a lot about who you would possibly be and what you want your visitors to experience. “Decorations ought to mirror your character,” says Angela Missoni, inventive director of the Missoni brand. Indulge visitors in your individual taste rather than excited about what’s correct. Planning a party and executing the party perfectly takes a ton of preparation and onerous work. If you aren't, send this weblog to the host in hopes that it will make their job a lot simpler. If you have a ton of household coming to celebrate the vacations with you, don’t purchase presents for every single one. Ask your family in the occasion that they need to do a Secret Santa so everybody solely has to buy one reward for one more individual. If you may have your brother and sister coming to your house with their households, swap families to buy items for a draw name. From our store-cooked hand-rolled meatballs to our recent made Italian sausage, we take pride in our traditions and we are certain that when you’ve tried our store-made specialties, you will agree. Our mouthwatering Texas-style BBQ and southern sides have a particular regional flavor and are cooked to perfection. Our meats are sluggish smoked for 6-14 hours using "Big Daddy's Rub", a secret family recipe, for a flavor true to Central Texas BBQ. Stay in the loop by signing up to obtain e-mail updates from the Melting Pot. You’ll be on the within observe when we have an event close to you and you’ll get first dibs on particular presents and promotions. Facilitating over ten million meals since our inception, we know what it takes to make your occasion a yummy success. By ardour, and renowned for the gatherings he has at his house — which frequently turn into dance parties. He encourages avoiding monotony along with your choices and mixing music genres so everyone finds one thing to love. “I assume it’s enjoyable to get people from age 18 to 70 to dance collectively — which occurs frequently at my parties,” he says. Cleansing Services Catering jobs can differ from small to giant occasions which might be set in a large number of areas, corresponding to a home, hotel, enterprise, or entertainment website. Caterers could also be unbiased operators, or part of a restaurant. We additionally work with licensed organic waste haulers to recycle inedible food items. If you’re looking to streamline your whole waste management, we might help with that too. Recyclinghas principally been mandated by the federal government, particularly for catering companies, as the environmental hazards are reacting to all the human abuse over the past few centuries in more ways than one. It might appear to be a tedious exercise, but plenty of restaurants that have adopted recycling declare to have lowered their operational costs in waste disposal. Non-recyclable non-hazardous waste is transported to incineration vegetation or landfills. The incineration course of produces energy in the form of steam which can both provide district or industrial heating networks, or be transformed into electricity using turbines. Restaurant meals waste can be broken down into pre-consumer and post-consumer waste. Pre-consumer food waste contains something thrown away before food is served to friends, like rotten meals that wasn't used, byproducts from the prep process, or the packaging your elements got here in. Food waste turbines are exempt from recycling their supplies if there's not a composting or anaerobic digestion facility inside 15 miles of the institution’s location. Some of the supplies essential to hold a sanitary restroom include mops, soap dispensers, toilet seat covers, toilet paper, paper towels, hand dryers, and waste containers. At the tip of each day moping the restroom flooring is essential for all restaurants. Moping might help rebel against odor and in addition maintain the general look neat. Each of the wells are connected with piping to kind a community. Blowers are used to create a vacuum on the community of wells and the gasoline is used as gas to run engines inside the gas to energy plant. Initially, the county and both cities provided employees that had been being paid additional time to staff the occasion. The whole price of the occasion was divided equally between the three companions ($43,900 in 1992; $37,917 in 1993; and $40,748 in 1994). The challenges that the partnership confronted included finding a great place to carry the occasion and finding chemists to volunteer to help to sort the wastes obtained. Luckily, the county discovered several skilled volunteers from the Idaho National Laboratory and the native fireplace department. Event Catering In Danbury, Ct On breaks from college, I elevated my hands-on experience working at The Breakers Palm Beach of their banquet kitchen, and half time at Chez Gourmet. After graduating, I returned to Chez Gourmet as a Sous Chef and became their Head Chef in 2015. I will at all times be a student of the culinary arts, continually learning and rising and experimenting. That works properly and doesn’t depart you with concentric strains of individuals queuing across the block when they’re ravenous . However, whereas some catering companies additionally offer event planning services, strictly speaking, full-service catering doesn’t include occasion coordination. You or your event coordinator are answerable for every little thing from decor, leases, and tablescapes to loading presents into the automotive on the end of the evening. You could make your catering business a one-stop shop by offering table and seating leases to your shoppers. It gives your customers peace of thoughts to know their event is being handled by one firm as a substitute of purchasing around for particular person leases. You’ll additionally need show tables in your meals stations, as well as canopies or tents for outdoor catered events. Great entrees of , sazon bbq chicken , nation pork ribs , and vegan option of Buffalo Cauliflower and far more. We can cater small events, celebration and different occasions. If you might be serving the meal buffet-style, make positive to label the particular dishes, so folks with particular dietary necessities know what their choices are. Catering Menu Concepts Making across the board modifications might make things easier and less costly. Agreeing to a nut-free surroundings may fit for everybody at the convention not simply these suffering from allergy symptoms. Flowers are an attractive addition to any cup of tea and a delightful shock for your friends. Add edible flowers to all your favourite beverages. Create trash can-shaped nachos for a enjoyable and scrumptious centerpiece. I like it as a end result of it avoids having to stack things , keeps issues neat and arranged, and takes up little counter or table space. I love utilizing baby food jars or leftover tupperware to serve sauces and toppings. Wrap a cute ribbon round them, put a label on or subsequent to them, and there you go. I purchased a birch Lazy Susan table from Ikea for under $15. People can spin the desk, seize what they need, and it doesn't take up much house. It looks neater and helps folks get what they want with out reaching over all the food. For an immersive experience, design vintage-inspired menus and menu cards that match the throwback theme of your marriage ceremony. Finally, spotlight your favourite classic meals by serving them on vintage trays and stands. You can choose between metal, picket, and paper options to go properly with your taste or coordinate the design along with your marriage ceremony stationery and invites for a inventive nod to your theme. No matter which fashion you choose, place a clearly labeled menu card in front of each serving platter and tray to let your family and friends know what's inside. If you are making spicy food, ensure a minimum of one is mild as not everyone likes chilli. Here are some easy ideas for structuring your ceremonial dinner menu, from prepping canapés forward of time to selecting a centerpiece and serving up cocktails and sides. I'm making an attempt to raise un-entitled children in an entitled world! You'll find recipes, crafts, travel, and money saving tips right here. I love my entrance porch, my family and decorating ideas too! 外燴 & Duties For Catering In some instances, shoppers will retrieve the ordered food objects to serve friends themselves, and, in different conditions, caterers are required to move the meals to an off-site event location.Read More... Catering was once the prerogative of wealthy, manored households who would have their in-house cooks or cooks put together meals for big events or events. In the late-1800s, because the tap-room gave method to the fantastic restaurant, these households started to anticipate the same high quality and repair they received at eating places at their non-public occasions. Deals were initially struck with these eating places to offer service, and restaurateurs began to see a market. In the mid-twentieth century catering concerns blossomed, and they continue to do so at present. Caterers will still face the roller-coaster of success that has marked the business for the previous twenty-five years. However, the main meal at a reception or event isn't all that a caterer will put together. They will often be responsible for putting numerous snacks collectively, hor d’oeuvres that can keep the friends from turning into ravenous earlier than the meal is prepared for serving and consumption. Return to the kitchen and full the preparations of the main meal service. Make sure that you've good warm plates and other items like gravy boats, and so on. There can additionally be a wage data tool to seek for wages by zip code. Managers have many various obligations, including scheduling and overseeing workers, budgeting, and maintaining monetary information. Food service managers’ work is commonly hectic, and dealing with dissatisfied clients could additionally be stressful. Food service managers’ schedules vary and should include nights, weekends, and holidays. Some managers add up the cash and charge slips and safe them in a protected place. They also could examine that ovens, grills, and other equipment are correctly cleaned and secured and that the institution is locked at the shut of business. 10 Things Your Wedding Ceremony Guests Do Not Care About Your guests won’t forget their evening after experiencing what our workers can do. If you have an occasion in Central Park or greater NYC, including Manhattan, Long Island, Hamptons, Yorktown, and Brookville, contact Elegant Affairs today. I’ve been married for 30 years and I had a guest book. Never hired caterers before, so it was all new to me. Owner or manager walked me thru the process, I didn’t feel pressured when he was explaining what I would need and what else they might provide. Broke it down simply, how many plates, cost per visitor, deal, and so forth. Going for the classic designs always does the trick. The friends only need to know the date, time, venue and when to be there. P.S. To the woman who feels the favors are required as a outcome of she brought a gift, disgrace on you. Instead of driving yourself loopy over the teeniest particulars, save your self the headache by figuring out what issues to your visitors, and more importantly, what does not. Everyone raved about the meals and also you made the entire course of straightforward and stress free. As a non-profit we're at all times on a very tight budget, and your generosity really did help to make this event possible. Make it straightforward for your guests, and yourself, by adapting your space to fit all of your event’s hosting needs. Plated Dinner Catering We can be found to discuss your catering needs by way of email, phone and appointment from 9-5 Tuesday via Saturday. Name cardsare not just there to look pretty and show your friends the place to sit – in addition they help guarantee that every visitor receives the entree that they chose of their RSVP. Having aset menu with specific portionslets you know precisely how a lot you will want. After your friends send of their RSVPs and meals requests, greater than half the battle is gained. Having a set menu for dinner means much less stress on the day of your marriage ceremony. As people, we now have an innate want to connect with each other and spend time with the folks we care about. Yes, all of our weddings and occasions embrace an on-site coordinator to be positive that your day is flawless. These little pies can be personalized or a combination of completely different flavors to accommodate all guests. Popular wedding pie flavors include apple pie, sweet pecan pie, and berry marriage ceremony pies. These treats take a model new spin on a conventional dessert. Addition to barbeque, they specialize in American, Mexican and Southern delicacies. For couples wanting a more casual environment, this reception style is a good environment the place guests can socialize and meet each other. The hors d’oeuvres are often a mix of hot and cold meals and are usually only one or multiple chunk portions. Our plated service type allows your friends to remain seated through the meal while servers bring food to the table. Disposable Take Out Containers, To Whether it’s a dedication to sustainability or you’re attempting to raise awareness for important social points, your packaging can convey what your restaurant values. For instance, biodegradable packaging is a simple way to show your clients that you’re committed to defending the surroundings. The difficult part is, there are a number of components to think about when selecting your restaurant food packaging. For the restaurateurs on the opposite finish of this equation, the easiest way to resolve this type of situation is to begin with correct packaging. At PFS Sales, we’ve been providing disposable plates, trays, and bowls to businesses throughout North Carolina since 1988. This contains plastic plates and cups, two-piece paper and plastic bowls, to-go trays, and bins for pizza, deli, and dinner deliveries. Our vary of take-out food containers can be found in a variety of types. We offer multi-compartment containers, hinged containers, microwavable carry-out containers and extra. This means your meals supply packaging needs to be designed with comfort in thoughts. It ought to be light-weight, simple to carry, and resealable (so it doesn’t must be eaten all in one go). Customers are shopping for the convenience of ordering and eating meals on the go, or in the safety and luxury of their own home – without having to cook dinner or do dishes.

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draconic-ichor · 3 years

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In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 23: Desperate Passions

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, oral sex, penetrative sex, nipple play, nipple piercings, scars/stitches, fingering

Summary: Juniper is fully healed and ready to get back to one of their favorite hobbies!

Feedback appreciated. 18+. This is a smut heavy chapter

“What are we having tonight, love?” Heisenberg asked, sitting back in the wooden chair. He had returned from working to find her over the stove, a simmering pot filling the apartment with a delicate fragrance.

“Pilaf.” She answered sweetly.

“Ah…alright.” Heisenberg nodded, her answer not making anything more clear to him.

He cut open a cigar, lighting it and bringing it to his lips as he watched her.

She pulled two deep plates out of the cabinet, looking towards him, “Get anything exciting made today?”

He made a prideful rumble, speaking through the cigar, “Mhm. The Soldat Zwei is almost finished. Give the bastard one, maybe two, good days of work and he should be up.”

“They are the ones with two drills right?”

“Correct. Moved the reactor core to the back as well.”

“When are you starting the….the Pan..pan?” She couldn’t find the words, placing a glass of water and silverware on the table.

“The Panzer?”

“Yea that one! They looked big.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it will be.” He gave a devilish smile, “Gotta wait till I get a bastard built like a shit brick house for that one.”

“Like Sturm?” She scooped food into the deep plates.

“Unfortunately…yes.” He frowned, that creature still brought him nothing but grief.

Juniper placed a plate before him, before taking a seat with her own.

Fuck me…what is this?

Heisenberg gulped looking at the meal. It was a pile of rice with chicken, carrots, mushrooms and herbs mixed in. It smelled normal and appetizing but left much to be desired to the eyes.

Juniper took a bite, looking at him through narrow eyes.

“Love, did you make bread as well?” He asked hopefully.

“No, there’s rice in here.” She pointed her fork at him, “And vegetables. Eat it.”

He made a little grumble, tucking into his food. It tasted good, the rice made with the broth from the chicken and the herbs giving it a homely taste.

…Thank god.

Heisenberg thought, mercifully, as he started eating with more gusto. Juniper loved to cook, and loved seeing him eat what she made even more. But her passion for the craft was almost matched with her desire to strive to make each meal healthy. Even if it meant throwing in things that tasted like death to pack more nutrients into every meal.

Heisenberg didn’t know if it was her trying to curb his lack of anything healthy or some Devine force punishing him for his terrible daily diet for decades. In any case, it was a small price to pay for her happiness.

He finished his plate, even going back for a second. On the way back to his seat he paused, giving Juniper a soft pat on top of her head with his free hand. She beamed up at him.

They spoke more of his upcoming Soldat plans over dinner. Heisenberg explained how the Panzers should be immune to most types of damage, save for heavier explosions. They would be risky to produce and time consuming but a good last line of defense.

“Will all the armor put stress on the core?” Juniper asked.

He nodded, “I’ll have to use the bigger exhaust port like on Sturm but take in the energy production per energy draw to the multiple drills.”

“So they don’t overheat?”

“Precisely. I don’t want them spitting fire like the big boy.” Heisenberg pointed out.

After Juniper cleaned up the mess from dinner, Heisenberg ushered her into the bathroom. She followed him, used to this routine, she pulled her dress off and sat on the sink. Heisenberg leaned on his palms against the counter on either side of her, dipping in to give her a kiss. She deepened the contact, hands finding the sleeves of his button up shirt.

He gave a happy little rumble, pulling away enough to inspect her incision. She sat still, waiting as he looked her over with a critical eye. The infection was completely gone, the tissue a healthy healing pink.

“I can probably remove the stitches, if you’d like.” He concluded.

“Please.” She almost begged, “They itch.”

He stood, chuckling, “Itching is good, means it’s healing.”

He retrieved a sharp pair of scissors, pouring a bit of peroxide over the blades before kneeling before her once more. With careful cuts he snipped through the stitches, pulling them free with deft fingers.

He tossed them away one by one into the trash can. Juniper watched him with big eyes.

“Will it scar?” Juniper asked quietly.

“Afraid so, Darling.” Heisenberg frowned.

Her eyes looked glassy, glancing over the pinkish new tissue.

Heisenberg took her face in his hands, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze. She wilted a bit.

"What's up?" He asked, concern in his gaze.

"Hmm…" She almost didn't answer, looking away, "I don’t want you to think I’m ugly…I have really bad scars…”

“Are you fucking serious.” Heisenberg’s lips were a fine line, “Look at me.”

She met his eyes, him correcting her, “No look at all of me. Look at all the shit my body has been through.”

Her eyes wavered, scanning him over. He was covered in scars, his skin was a patchwork of pearlescent lattice, even his face sporting a few.

“I am a scarred, fucked up old man.” He said plainly, “You are so fucking beautiful. A few scars can’t change that.”

Her eyes watered, cheeks growing rosey.

His face split with a grin, “Have I ever hesitated to bend your ass over every flat surface in this factory?”

“…no.” She mumbled.

“Don’t you even start to think I don’t find you sexy as all hell, ok love?”

“Mmmm.”

“What?”

“You haven’t bent me over anything in months.” Juniper pouted in his hands.

Heisenberg looked at her a moment before throwing back his head and barking out with laughter.

“You were healing!” He bared his teeth playfully, “But you’re all fixed up now, how about I show you how much you drive me fucking wild?”

Juniper smiled, nuzzling into his cupped hands, “Please, master?”

“Oh Honey.” He almost purred, “Keep that up and you’ll be bedridden again.”

They made their way back to the bedroom, Heisenberg catching her up in a messy kiss. While she was distracted he removed the rest of her clothing, backing her up until her calves touched the bed.

He lightly pushed her back, Juniper making a little ‘oof’ as she hit the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows, smiling as Heisenberg fell to his knees before her.

He didn’t dive straight into her heat like she expected, instead pulling her by the ankles closer to the edge.

His eyes were dark and hungry as he dipped his head in to drop rough kisses up the length of her leg. Juniper shivered at the heat of his mouth as he trailed ever closer to the place she wanted him desperately.

His lips lingered on the softness of her inner thigh, sucking a dark blotch there. He pulled free with a wet pop, meeting her gaze. She was already flushed.

“I’m going to have to re-mark my claim on you.” He almost purred the words.

“Make me yours in every way.” She spoke sweetly.

“I plan to.” He promised, kissing upwards.

He dropped a kiss just above her clit, smiling when her breath hitched. She made a little sound of want when he pulled away, thrusting her hips up in an effort to urge him back. Heisenberg growled as his large hands found her legs, pushing her down against the bed.

Juniper whimpered, watching him move higher.

He kissed along her scar, eyes flicking up to meet hers. The new tissue was sensitive under his lips, his beard making her skin prickle.

“Fucking perfect.” He concluded when he covered its length, his hands forcing her thighs more apart, “Every part.”

“…stop.” Juniper’s cheeks reddened further.

“Oh no.” He gave a devilish smile, “No mercy for you my little wifey.”

She gave a little mewl at his tone, her core clenching air.

“I was looking forward to dessert all night.” His face split with a mirthful grin.

“Then come get it!” She bared her teeth a bit playfully

Heisenberg dove into her sex, eating her like a starving man. He was messy and forceful, causing her to melt in seconds. He growled into her flesh, already feeling her tighten under him. He pulled away, scoring his thumb over her clit as he licked slick from his lips, “Already such a damn mess for me.”

“It’s…it’s been a w-while.” She spoke between pants.

“Too long.” He agreed, going back in.

He made sure to pull multiple orgasms from her with only his mouth and hands, stopping every so often to trail kisses up her abdomen. She was breathy and blissed out, completely forgetting her earlier self-consciousness.

He stood, giving her a moment of mercy. Juniper watched him, breasts quaking as she regained her breath. Her skin was already glistening with a light sheen of sweat, stray onyx curls stuck to her forehead. Heisenberg slowly removed each layer of clothing, almost making a show of it under her hungry gaze.

Finally kicking off his boxers he crawled onto the bed. The bed creaked under their combined weight as he loomed over her.

Juniper eager hands found him quickly, squeezing the thick ropes of muscle that made his arms.

“Pretty impressive eh?” He smirked cockily.

Her fingers slid upwards, fanning over his chest. She gave him a little devilish look as she found his only nipple piercing.

His breath hitched a bit as she toyed with it; coming almost unglued entirely when her head quickly dipped in to take the metal into her mouth.

The movement was almost too fast for him to react before the sensation rippled through his body. Juniper was spurred on when she saw how his body shivered in response, deepening the contact.

Heisenberg pushed her away, holding her down against the bed with strong hands. He swallowed, “That’s enough of that.”

Juniper licked her lips, the taste of metal and skin on her tongue, “Seemed to like it.”

He ground his teeth a bit, aware of his hard cock. He caught her lips up with his own before she could continue.

He kept her occupied, grouping down her body as he lined himself up. She gasped into his mouth when she felt the weeping tip bump her folds. He pulled away to brace himself over her.

“Fuck, I missed you.” His voice was low and almost wavering as he pushed into her. Juniper’s back arched, moaning as his cock stretched her out deliciously.

Her core was tight from the months without him.

He started pumping into her almost desperately, lifting her legs to hook around his waist. With the better angle he was able to reach deeper, rubbing against her g-spot with every thrust.

She clawed down his back, crying out every time their hips sloppily met together.

The sex was messy and raw, both needing to feel the release of pent up passions. Heisenberg groaned out breathily, hands finding purchase in the mattress to buck into her harder.

He felt her tense under him. “F-Fuck! Come for me Doll. Come on my cock!” He grunted out, moving a hand to her clit. His thumb scored quick circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Juniper buckled under him, sobbing out her release. A surge of slick coated his cock as her cunt clamped down on him.

She felt divine, like liquid velvet around him. Heisenberg became a mess of sounds himself, balls slapping into her ass roughly as he chased his own release.

His hips jolted, bottoming out in her. She felt him pulse as her insides were flooded with hot ropes of come.

She felt extremely full, bits of his release oozing out around his cock.

He settled over her, wanting to stay slotted within her walls. Catching her breath she pulled his face closer, peppering his jaw with kisses.

He gave a little rumble of amusement, letting her fawn over him.

They tangled into one another, the darkness filled with the sounds of their heavy breathes and soft moans. A hunger of the flesh deep in their minds. Words weren’t needed. Their touches, tinged with desperation for an act both had feared would be lost to them, was everything in that moment.

Skin to skin, a heartbeat felt under fingertips. The world outside the bed didn’t exist, the nightmares couldn’t reach them.

Heisenberg pressed his body against Juniper’s, his cock never leaving her. In the soft lulls between rounds of sex he held her close, wanting to feel over every inch of her. She thankfully held onto him, losing track of the hours. He nipped into the soft flesh of her throat, huffing out hotly when he heard her mewl.

He felt her tense under him as he rocked into her afresh. Juniper didn’t know how many rounds or orgasms they shared, the night becoming a blur of pleasure and overstimulation.

Eventually exhaustion overtook her and Juniper fell asleep against his chest. Heisenberg stayed fully inserted inside of her, softly tracing her spinal scar. Their bodies were stuck together with sweat, he could feel every breath and heartbeat of hers.

He let his mind wander to work. With the spring thaw here it would make collecting bodies from the grave easier, but also he would have to be much more on top of watching the village for casualties.

Juniper was his favorite distraction but she was a distraction nonetheless. He wouldn’t force her away, no, she gave him more purpose to strive to escape. She made his hunger to explore the world deeper, he wanted to give her a better life than the factory.

And he would give it to her.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #in the steel steeds heart #resident evil #heisenberg smut

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transguyedgeworth · 3 years

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HALLO i hope all has gone well with bugs and such ur probably dealing w that as i type this but i have more headcanons >:) so! i hope these are helping deal with evil evil bugs

-maya still has a bunch of mias clothes she gave some to lana and some to pearl but sometimes she’ll wear a sweater or something that was mias

-phoenix doesn’t really like hospitals

- reminds him too much of bttt and falling

- yes i think capcom should have realized that falling off a damn bridge should give a man a good bit of upset and trauma capcom i am outside your door

- miles bottles up his feelings A LOT because there wasn’t any place for feelings in the von karma house. he’s trying to get better though

- he mostly bottles up his anger because he sees mvk in himself whenever he gets angry because mvk would be angry a lot

- fran also does the same but with any happiness or personal pride she may feel

- they both try to work on it, maya and phoenix are good influences on them

- miles has visited mvk in jail once. he won’t again

- franziska will never visit him

-miles likes to knit

-maya is sooo superstitious not like ohh if i break a mirror i’m dead but like Bigfoot Is Real and I Saw Him At Gourd Lake

-edgeworth and phoenix go often to a little coffee shop and always get a pot of tea

-sometimes phoenix brings flowers

-LMAO edgeworth asks what they are sometimes and unless they’re the two types of flowers phoenix knows he has No Idea

- the bathroom at wright and co is haunted

- maya attracts ghosts like nobodies business

-fran is afraid of spiders and maya is Violent towards spiders

- fran will shriek from the other room and maya will run in flip flop in hand, take one look around the room, and chuck her shoe at the spider. she never misses.

-maya LOVES that bakery they investigated in that one case i cannot remember the name of the one with the like. french dude? and tigre?

-pearls and maya make a scrap book for wright and co

-phoenix still draws (he was an art student and i am projecting onto him) sometimes but always drags edgeworth to art museums and talks about the art

-building on game night with the wrights they also have video game nights. phoenix is so bad and maya is still competitive but fran and edgeworth when paired against each other are Scary

-fran also sometimes lets her little brother win and gets dramatic about losing but it makes her happy to see edgeworth excited

- edgeworth has a journal bc someone once suggested it and he writes in it so often

- he also carries a certain picture of him larry and phoenix when they were kids and his signal samurai keychain in his inner pocket and fiddles with the keychain

-maya loves decorating the office for holidays

-the only thing phoenix can make well is soup and hot chocolate and he makes them at least twice a month when it’s cold

-edgeworth won’t admit it but he’d rather eat phoenixs almost burnt soup and melted bar hot chocolate than the stuff from the fanciest restaurants

- when edgeworth and phoenix propose they both propose at the same time and it’s so awkward but so so funny they both say yes of course but phoenix will tell that story to anyone who listens

ok that’s all for now! idk if i have any more (that’s a lie i have so many thoughts about them but idk how many of them are coherent) anyway i wish you best of luck with all the hubbub!!!

everything is going well thank you for the concern!! housing sent someone out to fix up the hole in my wall that they were coming through and the pest control guy just left and is now treating the outside of the building. these are absolutely helping me deal with the stress so thank you for sending them in!

starting strong with the clothing thing, i love love LOVE your interpretation of the fey clan so much. it is canon in my brain now. capcom wishes they could think of this shit. also giving some to lana? precious, sentimental, amazing. lanamia nation rise up. thank you for my life. the detail about maya believing in cryptids and the bathroom being haunted? accurate and hilarious. and yes big agree that she still likes tres bien (i’m pretty sure that’s the name), she worked there briefly so of course she’d have a soft spot for it. i literally adore the idea of maya being hella Into Stuff, like cryptids and holiday decorations and winning at game night, and the scrapbook idea slayed me on sight. i am in tears.

LITERALLY WHY DOES CAPCOM IGNORE THAT PHOENIX HAS BEEN THROUGH SOME SHIT??? like what the hell. man almost died and then like two days later he’s like “lol i’m Completely Fine :)”. unrealistic. capcom let him be Affected by experiences please.

kinda building off of that, AGAIN WITH THE WRIGHTWORTH STUFF MAKING ME TENDER??? i love them goin on little dates and being domestic... art museums and coffee shops and phoenix being Dumb about flower breeds and miles loving his cooking.... i am Soft i am Yearning. AND THE PROPOSAL THING!!!!! I HAD THIS SAME FUCKING IDEA GET OUT OF MY BRAIN!!!!! IT’S JUST SUCH A THEM THING TO DO...

and oooh edgeworth. good for you king, journaling and knitting and stimming and learning healthy ways to cope with your emotions. also the anger thing i totally get. like not to Overshare or anything but i used to have a lot of issues expressing my anger because when i did it reminded me too much of my dad so i feel that.

the vk sibling stuff also spot-on tbh. good that they didn’t visit manfred except for miles’ one time. fuck that guy. let him rot. they are Learning and Growing together.... fran letting miles win at a game also perfect. she cares about her little brother even if she has trouble showing it sometimes. also love that her one weakness is spiders. that seems very fitting to me and i LOVE the image of maya just. chuckin a shoe across the room to defend her Wife from the eight-legged terror.

also you are free to send me incoherent thoughts if you want that’s the form most of my thoughts take anyway fjnfjsf i’d still love to hear them if you’re willing to share!

#i promise i will share some of my own headcanons at some point #i just. have like a whole lit project/paper to finish and i have finals next week so OOF #in the meantime thank you headcanon anon for my life #maya fey #mia fey #pearl fey #lana skye #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #manfred von karma #franziska von karma #larry butz #lanamia #von karma siblings #wrightworth #franmaya #t&t spoilers #miles answers #headcanon anon

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oddsnendsfanfics · 3 years

Text

Thankful

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader Warnings: It’s kinda cute? Rating: G Length: Drabble 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: In the event I took a rare request, here you go Anon. I hope you like it.

“What's the matter, duck?” Henry gently rubbed your shoulders. Tension seeming to melt, slightly, with his touch. “You've been off the last few days, talk to me.”

A faint smile, you wave it away, leaning into his touch. “It's nothing, Hen. Nothing to worry that pretty little head of yours over.”

What were you going to tell him? Tell him that you were homesick? Like a child at summer camp, you were devastated that you weren't able to fly home to spend at least part of the holiday season with your family. It was selfish and childish, but damn it you didn't care.

This would be the first year that you didn't get at least Thanksgiving with your family. The first year, in many, where you wouldn't spend the day listening to your dad argue with the football game on the television. The first time you wouldn't be at the brightly decorated table, enjoying your mother's prize winning cornbread stuffing. You hadn't seen your parents since early January and it was beginning to weigh on you.

You weren't the only person in the world struggling with this, why should you wallow? At very least you had Henry to share your time with. Having one another was more than some people in the world had right now. Sighing, you shake your head, trying to keep the tears away.

“I have to go FaceTime mom, I told her that I'd call before they ate dinner.” You break away from Henry. Pulling your sweater tighter around your shoulders. Leaving him with a peck on the cheek, you pat Kal on the way by.

“Tell her that I said Happy Thanksgiving,” Henry frowned, his words setting in a realization.

Watching you disappear to chat with your family, Henry would give you a few minutes before casually wandering in to have a chat with his in-laws. Allowing you to catch up, gave him a few minutes to put his sudden plan into action. Enough time to send a few quick texts and order some sort of roasting bird for the following day.

Finishing his onslaught of messages and dictations, Henry glanced at Kal who was stretched out on the kitchen floor watching him intently. The big dog yawned and rested his head on his paws. “I know bear, I know. Don't you worry, I'll save you some too.” He bent to scratch Kal behind the ears.

In the other room, Henry could hear the voices coming from the laptop. Your voice sounded more chipper than he'd heard in days. No doubt to the benefit of your family, not wanting them to worry or feel bad that you were on the other side of the ocean. Confident in his planning ability, Henry strode into the next room a deliriously happy smile on his own face as he greeted your parents.

Checking the time, Henry didn't want to appear rude, but he did have to sneak out to the shops before they closed. If he was going to give you a Thanksgiving. Kissing your cheek, he smiled fondly at the screen. Informing your parents that he had some errands to run, insisting that you keep talking when you asked if he wanted you to accompany him.

“Non sense, I can do this. I need to grab Kal some more food. You talk with your mum and dad. I won't be long, duck.” Another kiss on the cheek as he waves goodbye to your parents. Rising from his seat, preparing to head out in search of the perfect yam.

Whatever Henry was up to had kept him out longer than a typical run for some dog food. Sending him a text, he assured you that he would be back shortly not to worry. He wanted this to be a surprise, parading in with an arm load of groceries for a roast dinner would not be the easiest thing to hide or explain.

Giving up on Henry and whatever he was up to – no doubt after grabbing Kal's food, he went off to the gym. That would keep him out for at least a couple of hours. You opted to ready for bed, a little early, but perhaps a good night's sleep would refresh your feelings in the morning. Henry running off to whatever it was he was up to didn't help your homesick mood.

He knew that you were upset, the least he could have done was stay to comfort you. Whatever. You groan and step into the shower. Fuck it. No use in going to bed mad, when you are already this damn gloomy. Downstairs, you hear Kal whimper a few seconds after stepping into the warm stream of water. At least Henry would be home to snuggle a little before you went to sleep.

“Hey bear,” Henry greeted the dog, taking into account that you were nowhere to be seen. “Where is mum?” Listening he smiled at the sound of the shower. Perfect!

Secretly lugging groceries into the house, Henry was pleased with his accomplishments. He'd be up before you in the morning, naturally, which is when he would begin prepping the feast. Storing the last bit of his surprise, he made a cup of tea and headed upstairs.

Sitting the cup of tea on your night table, Henry waited for you to finish in the bathroom. A soft plume of steam escaping the door as you stepped out. Towel around you, ignoring his presence for the moment. A soft silence fell while you took time selecting your pyjamas. Henry sitting on the bed watching you quietly. Satisfied with the fuzzy blue pants and matching tshirt, you continue to ignore Henry walking back into the bathroom.

“Duck?” He calls after you, not wanting to push. He should have known that you'd be upset on his running out so abruptly.

“What?”

“When you're changed, I brought you some tea. Do you want to read for a bit? I can go let Kal out, then grab my book.”

“Sounds nice, Hen. I'll be here when you come up.” You call back, pulling your shirt over your head. A little annoyed but less homesick knowing that you will have Henry to keep you company.

Spending a home sick evening in bed cuddling with Henry and Kal, a cup of tea, while you and Henry fall into silence as you are each lost in the pages of your respective books isn't so bad. It's not your mother's homemade cranberry relish, but it is a pretty good way to end the day.

As predicted, Henry was awake about an hour before the sun thought to rise. Carefully slipping out of bed, making sure to tuck in the covers to keep you from growing cold he kisses your cheek and retreats downstairs. Kal hot on his heels. After a quick run around the small garden, the pair are back inside the kitchen. Henry staring at the turkey he had bought. He may have gone a little over board on the size. Surely you had a pan to fit.

Once the bird was crammed in the oven, as if by some strange magic the damn thing fit! He went to work on the next item, peeling potatoes. After that it was on to the yams and then the green beans. Henry was a confident cook, but making your grandmother's special green bean casserole was daunting. How bad could it be? He'd watched you make this at Christmas. Damn it, he should have insisted he helped you and not listened when you told him to go enjoy his brother's company.

Recipe on the counter top, he eyed Kal as if he would give some untapped wisdom. Kal yawned and licked his lips, his main concern was the bacon that would be topping the questionable squishy green strings.

“We can do this.” Henry tapped his fingers on his thigh. “We've got this.”

“Got what, Hen?” Your voice startled him. Flinching in surprise, Henry spun around to face you. “What are you doing?” Looking around the kitchen at the mess of vegetables, pots, pans, and...was that dough?

“I uh,” Henry rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “It was supposed to be a surprise. So, surprise! I am making you Thanksgiving dinner.”

“You're what?” Your brow furrows, pulling your dressing gown tighter around your body. “Henry, sweetheart.”

“I know that you're upset about not being able to go home. I know that it's a bit late, but...”

“Henry, Henry, Henry.” You coo shaking your head. Walking across the kitchen to where he stood, glancing at the recipe on the work top you giggle. “You're doing this for me?”

“I am,” He wraps his arm around you, drawing you close and kissing the top of your head. “Why don't you go relax, it will be a while and I will get your coffee.”

“Or,” You hug him tightly, “I can make the coffee, then we can do this together.”

“It's your surprise, though, duck.” Henry pouts and you kiss him sweetly.

“I know, but I want to help. Besides, Thanksgiving dinner is a huge undertaking. It requires at least two chefs and probably ten people to eat. Please, tell me we're having guests. I don't think we can eat an entire dinner this size.” You look at all the food he has laid around the kitchen.

“That part I have covered, my brother and his family will be here for four. As well as a few close friends. What do you say?”

“I say Happy Thanksgiving?” You giggle at the look of pride on Henry's face.

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfic

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chemicalvelocity · 3 years

Text

Happy Friday! I need therapy

So I wrote a fic for Fingers in my mouth Friday! Hope Y'all enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No warnings apply

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Word Count: 3545

Read Below the Cut:

Dean's not a creep. He's not, he swears. It's just that he's... noticing things now that he's not on high alert for monsters anymore.

He remembers the first evidence of Castiel he'd ever seen, an angry burn scar of a handprint. He thought it was a demon's for christ's sake. He hadn't paid mind at the time to the fact that it took up his entire deltoid.

Now, however, he was absently tracing its outline after a shower, staring more through the mirror than at it while recalling the events of breakfast. Jack had playfully started the comparing hand sizes game that seems to entertain kids so much.

Dean hadn't even put any thought into it until it turned into everyone else doing it to humor him; which culminated in Dean foolishly slapping his palm to Cas's and then realizing just how much smaller his hand was.

Naturally, he'd joked it off and found his way out of the conversation, acting like it wasn't a bruise to his ego. He had thousand-yard stared his way through a shower, and now, here he was.

He carefully fitted his hand over the scar tissue on his shoulder, and yep, there it was, a literal physical reminder of Cas's massive hands. He got over himself as quickly as he could and threw on his clothes before going to the garage to wash Baby.

That turned out to be a bad idea, as many of Dean's ideas do. Cas was sat in a lawn chair with the tunnel doors cracked, rolling a joint. Dean had pointedly ignored him, turning to rinse the car until Cas spoke up.

"Would you like some?" He asked, looking over at Dean with a twist of his slender fingers as his tongue darted out to wet the rolling paper's adhesive. Dean swallowed.

"Y'know that shit's bad for you, right?" Dean grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He opened a drawer to pull out sponges and brushes, tossing them into nearby buckets and setting them down near Baby's rear fender

"I think you know that's not true." Castiel hummed, placing the fresh joint between his lips, bringing the flame of his zippo to the end, and inhaling deeply.

"Whatever, Stoney baloney... Don't you usually smoke out on the roof, anyway?" Dean asked, filling up the first bucket with hot water and suds, the second with only cold water.

"It's raining," Cas replied, voice husky from the strain of holding in a hit. "Frankly, the Bunker is well ventilated enough that I could smoke in the library... where we still keep ashtrays on the table, but I figured I'd come in here to keep it away from Jack." He mused, blowing his lungful of smoke out the door.

"Right... Gotta say Cas, I'm sure second-hand smoke doesn't affect 20-year-old Nephilim toddlers." Dean chuckled, saturating the sponge in the first bucket and slung the soap across the Impala's roof, leaning up to scrub away the dust and bugs that come from hauling her back and forth across the Midwest.

"No, but I don't want to influence him, he's very impressionable, you know." Cas flicked the collecting ash into a labelless beer bottle that sat discarded in his chair's cupholder.

"I wonder where he could've gotten that from. Claire came to visit for one weekend and all of a sudden you're Bob Marley!" Dean teased, and Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am not a musician, nor a Rastafarian, Dean. Claire simply pointed out that I think too much, and that cannabis is known to help." He drew in a deep hit and outstretched his arm to Dean, the cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke twirled lazily into the air around him.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes before coming over to pluck the smoke from Cas's possession. Cas watched him appraisingly as he took a drag, then another, and Dean almost choked when Cas's lips parted for the stream of smoke to travel neatly into his nostrils.

Okay, so Claire taught him how to french inhale. Dean idly wondered if he knew what ghosting was, before passing it back and returning to his task, pretending like his lungs didn't burn from the comparative lack of practice.

Dean hit the wall hard, his breath punched out of him with a grunt. He scrambled to his knees and whipped his head around to see Sam in a similar position nearby. Cas was still standing though now surrounded by three, very pissed-off demons, one of which had Dean's angel blade. Dean attempted to gather himself and help out, but his vision went sideways and he steadied himself against a table, opting to call out the angel's name, stupidly.

Cas had slashed the leg of the demon to his right and grappled the one to his left. As the first one went down, his palm met its forehead and smote it out of its meatsuit. The middle one charged him, but he spun the demon in his grip, shielding himself by launching his captive forward onto the blade, then seizing the neck of the remainder, holding him in place firmly. He turned to the bewildered hunters casually.

"Did you need him for anything else?" Dean bit down on his tongue in a failed attempt to reintroduce moisture to his mouth.

"N-No, Cas I think we're good, knock yourself out..." he rasped as Castiel tightened his grip on the demon's throat, and light burned out from under its skin. Sam and Dean had picked themselves up off the floor by now and made their way to the middle of the room.

"Good work, buddy," Dean panted as Cas piled up the bodies at his feet, and wiped blood away on his jeans. "Guess you hardly need us."

"Of course I do, You made an excellent distraction." Cas smiled and while Dean was sure it was a genuine statement, definitely felt the hit to his pride. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit. Sam snorted at something and walked out. Dean didn't know what, but he didn't want to hit him any less for it.

"Hey, Cas, I have a bit of a concussion from the hunt the other night. Can you work a little magic?" Sam rubbed at his eyes, setting his laptop aside. Dean raised his eyebrows from his seat, taking a sip of beer. He wouldn't have asked Cas to expend any healing energy on himself, but Cas didn't protest. Instead, he hardly looked up from his book and snapped his fingers. Sam visibly relaxed. Dean did not.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I'm gonna go grab some grub, probably just pick up a pizza and some beers or something." Sam held his hand out for the impala keys. Dean tossed them to him with half a mind.

When Sam was gone, he was still staring at Cas in confusion.

"Can I help you with something too, Dean?" He quirked an eyebrow over his book. Dean cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Nope, no, I'm okay, just a few scrapes. Can't have you wasting your mojo on that... I was just wondering why you didn't, uh, y'know," He tapped two fingers to his forehead and Cas's eyes turned up in a half-smile.

"I don't need to do that to heal."

"Oh... okay." He'd already asked a weird question, probably best not to pry into why Cas always touched him to heal. He tipped back the rest of his beer and fumbled around for an excuse of some sort to break the silence, but Cas stood first.

"I'm going to go find Jack. Let me know when Sam's back with dinner." He passed Dean with a warm squeeze to his shoulder. Dean watched him go, then realized just how long it's been since he's been laid. Too fucking long, apparently.

Yeah, no. Way too long. Dean's half-convinced Cas is fucking with him, too. His suspicion stemmed from Cas's sudden love of eating every meal with them and requesting things like wings or fries.

"Morning sunshine, Sam and Jack already left to go check out a case. I made pan...cakes..." Dean's sentence fell flat when his eyes met Cas entering in a half-buttoned-up shirt. His long fingers slipped buttons into place as he yawned his greeting and trudged his way to the coffee maker.

Dean was a little concerned that he noticed Cas's hands before he noticed the toned and tanned chest underneath the shirt. He ran a hand down his face and moved to pour more coffee. Cas passed over the pot and turned to the stack of pancakes, tossing two onto a plate and proceeding to destroy them with fruit and whipped cream.

"When was the last time we cleaned our firearms?" Cas asked, swirling his finger through the toppings of his breakfast before popping it in his mouth. Dean set his mug down, a little too hard. Cas gave him a look.

"Are you fucking with me?" Dean tried not to sound petulant, but he can't catch a single break. Cas bit his lower lip, and then cleared his throat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Was his response, innocent and hid behind a sip of coffee. Dean pursed his lips.

"You- you don't?" Dean was momentarily taken aback. Was he so unbelievably tense that he'd imagined the whole problem?-

"No, Dean, you've been staring at my hands all week, I have no idea what you're talking about." he deadpanned.

Dean's face burned. He didn't think he was being obvious about it or anything. Cas was observant, though.

"At first I thought you were just insecure about your hand size, but surely you'd have gotten over that in a day. Then I did some research and decided to... Encourage you." He continued casually as if Dean wasn't praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

"I uh, appreciate that, Cas... Um, what conclusions exactly did you draw?" Dean squeaked out because frankly he still wasn't sure what was going on here.

"You may have a sexual preference for hands, which makes sense, given your previous statements regarding slapping." Cas hummed into his coffee and, yeah okay Dean needed to end this conversation before he melted from shame.

"Okay, right, got it, I'll stop staring." He managed, grabbing his mug and turning to leave before Cas grabbed his arm. He glanced down at the sudden warmth around his wrist, then up to meet Cas's cobalt gaze.

"I never told you to stop," Cas said calmly, loosening his grip to slip his fingers into Dean's hand and pull him closer. "Dean, I researched it." His expression was earnest, and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

"Listen, man, It's not like, a thing... It's just, well, you have nice hands, and you kinda marked me... with your very large hand." Dean still wanted to disappear, but Cas didn't seem too bothered.

"I wanted to tell you, I touch you when I heal because I like the excuse to," Cas murmured, raising his other hand to cup Dean's jaw. Dean's breath hitched. "I enjoy the warmth. Everything else is always so cold." Cas whispered, running his thumb lightly across Dean's bottom lip. Dean couldn't stop the noise he made as it caught on his nail.

Cas's pupils grew wide, and he curiously pushed his thumb deeper. Dean closed his lips over it and sucked gently, noting the faint taste of the strawberries Cas had put on his pancakes. Dean pulled back before he embarrassed himself any further.

"Uh," Dean's brain replied dumbly. "Can I kiss you?" His dick helped with that one.

"I just put my thumb in your mouth and you feel the need to ask-" Cas's snark was cut short by Dean pressing him up against the counter and slotting their lips together. Cas gripped the front of Dean's shirt and kissed him back like a man dying of thirst. This is why Dean's thought process is filled with question marks when Cas puts a hand firmly on his chest and pulls back to speak.

"I don't think the kitchen is the best place for this." He rumbled into their shared space. Dean perked back up when he realized the proposition.

"Did you wanna finish your breakfast first? I can't guarantee we'll be back in here any time soon." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at the angel.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Dean," Cas smiled. "I'd love to. While I do I think you probably want to go get ready." Cas wiped the look off Dean's face when he reeled him back in for another kiss.

"O-oh, yeah, okay. Meet you in my room in ten." And then he was speedwalking out of the kitchen.

Dean turned off the shower after a very thorough cleaning and wrapped his towel around his waist, hurrying back down the hallway to his room. Cas was sitting on the bed patiently.

"Hello, Dean." He smiled, reaching up to tug off his tie. Dean's throat went dry again.

"Hi," Dean was clutching his towel like a lifeline. Cas observed him fondly as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Did you want me to put something on? Or..."

Cas just chuckled and beckoned him closer. Dean stood between his legs and his heart dropped out of his ass when Cas took his hands and pulled gently, signaling for Dean to kneel. He lowered himself slowly to his knees and looked up at Cas, expectant, and not at all freaking out on the inside. Cas leaned in to kiss him again. That, he could work with.

"I want you to put your hands on my knees, and you can't move them unless I say so, is that alright?" Castiel spoke when they parted.

Oh.

Apparently, hand kink isn't the only thing Cas researched. Dean felt the command go straight to his dick. He nodded hastily, but Cas said nothing, only waited, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, Cas." He breathed, and Cas grinned and shrugged off his shirt, tossing it into Dean's desk chair.

"Good. Get comfortable." Dean sat back on his heels and placed his hands on top of Cas's thighs. Cas placed both of his hands on Dean's shoulders, rubbing small circles in the muscle before he slid them upwards to massage the back of Dean's neck. When Dean was staring up at him with hooded eyes and humming his appreciation, Castiel's patience grew thin.

Cas held the back of Dean's neck steady, tracing the fingers of his right hand down Dean's temple and across his lips. This time, Dean didn't have any reservations about darting his tongue out to meet them. Cas inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed his index and middle fingers into Dean's mouth.

Dean sighed and let himself go, he lapped at Cas's fingers like he was starving. He held Cas's heated gaze and felt his dick wake back up, twitching underneath his towel.

"So good, you're such a good boy for me, Dean." Cas praised. Dean thought he might pass out. The feeling of Cas inside him, even if it was just his fingers sliding along his tongue was heady. He looked down and took notice of the increasing tightness of Cas's pants. Cas slid his fingers out and leaned back on his elbows. Dean panted, his fingers gripping Cas's thighs with the effort of keeping still.

"Would you like something else, Dean?" Cas smirked down at him. "All you have to do is ask." Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed his pride.

"I want," He let out a shuddering breath as Cas ran a hand through his hair. "I want to suck you off."

"You can move your hands now." Cas hummed and leaned his head back. Dean practically sprung forward, ignoring the ache in his calves as he latched his mouth onto one of the angel's nipples. His hands made quick work of Cas's belt and fly, tugging firmly at his pockets to get them off. When Cas's flushed erection came free, Dean leaned forward to mouth at the head and cup his balls.

Cas wove a hand into Dean's hair and pulled. Dean moaned around the cock in his mouth, drawing a deep groan from Cas in response. Dean drank in the sound and relaxed his jaw to swallow him down further, bobbing his head rapidly.

"Dean." Cas sounded wrecked, and Dean's head snapped up to attention.

"Yeah?" He asked, breath heaving as he leaned up to his eye level.

"May I-"

"Anything, Angel, seriously." He pressed his lips to the heated flesh under Cas's jaw, sucking hard and nipping gently.

"I want to fuck you." Cas gasped, leaning into Dean's mouth. Dean nodded and climbed to his feet to get the lube from his nightstand. Cas sat up and wrenched Dean's towel away. His eyes roved Dean's body appreciatively before pulling him down on the bed. "Lie down on your front, please." He purred, and Dean was on his elbows in an instant, handing back the lubrication.

Cas caressed the contours of Dean's back reverently, before gingerly parting Dean's cheeks and licking a broad stripe across his hole. Dean felt his whole body twitch.

"Fuck, C-Cas..." Dean whined out, completely sideswiped by Cas's impromptu rimjob. He helplessly thrust his hips back against Cas's grip. Castiel reeled back a single hand and gave Dean's ass a hard smack. Dean dropped his face into his pillow with a keen from the back of his throat.

"Sit still, Dean. Let me take care of you." He growled, mouthing kisses from the base of Dean's spine to the cleft of his ass again. He laved his tongue in tantalizing circles, fucking it in and out nimbly and drawing a chorus of breathy sounds from the hunter.

"Please, Sweetheart... I need you... Need you inside me, c'mon." Dean whimpered, writhing under the sensation of Cas's hot breath and slick tongue. Cas finally gave in and sat up, reclaiming the bottle of lube to squeeze a sizeable portion directly onto Dean's entrance. Dean shivered from the sudden cold, only to cry out again when Cas's strong index finger slid in with very little resistance.

Cas continued to pepper Dean's shaking shoulders with wet kisses as he thrust his finger in, curling it hard against Dean's prostate and savoring the faint sound of Dean nearly wailing into his pillow. He slid in a second finger and scissored them back and forth to make way for a third. At this point, Dean had lifted his head and turned towards Cas with pleading eyes. Cas leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

"You're doing so well, Dean... Are you ready?" Cas mumbled into Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, Christ... Yes, Cas, please." Dean managed to get his knees under himself and Cas slicked himself up, working the head of his cock into Dean's fluttering hole. He clutched at Dean's hips and slowly rocked himself in deeper. "Fuck!" Dean yelped, trying to meet Cas's thrusts to no avail.

"Relax, my love." Cas moaned, rolling his hips into Dean, captivated by the catch of skin around him. "Do you want to move?" He asked, and released his iron hold on Dean's waist with a chuckle when Dean nodded eagerly. Dean thrust back against Cas with abandon. A surprised gasp was drawn from both of them as Cas sped up his thrusts to match. Dean was going to come if Cas didn't slow down, so he gathered his thoughts enough to speak up.

"Cas, wait. Can I flip?" He panted, and Cas's onslaught came to a stop.

"Of course, Dean." He pulled out carefully and leaned away for Dean to position himself on his back. Castiel admired the flush that spread down Dean's neck and covered most of his chest. He leaned forward to suck dark hickeys into Dean's collarbone to contrast. Dean reached down to guide Cas back inside, sighing amorously when he was seated again.

Cas rocked in and out once more with renewed enthusiasm. He snapped his hips forward, causing Dean to arch up off the bed with a shout. Stars burst behind his eyelids as Cas lifted Dean's legs to wrap around his waist and repeated contact his prostate shot sparks through his bloodstream.

"Ah-fuck, Cas, Baby... I'm gonna come. Are you almost there?" Dean gasped and reached up to pull Cas down for a vehement kiss when he grunted his confirmation. Dean felt the heat of his release coil deep in his gut and rocked up into Cas with a fervor, moaning heavily into Cas's mouth with each collision of their hips.

Then the tension in Dean's core snapped, and he was coming without so much as a moment's attention to his dick, clinging to Cas's shoulders with a fucked out whine. Cas kept going and Dean's synapses felt like they were being deep-fried as Castiel's stuttering hips drove him in deeply one, two then a final time as he emptied himself into Dean with a low groan. He then pulled out slowly and rolled off a now depleted Dean to spoon him.

"I think I'm in love with you." Dean wheezed, and Castiel grinned into his hair.

"I'm glad I could help you come to that epiphany. I love you too, Dean."

#Spn #spn fanfiction #destiel fanfic #my writing #minors dni #dean winchester #Castiel #Fimmf #Happy Friday!!#destiel #deancas #casdean #dean x cas #supernatural fanfiction

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homerjacksons · 3 years

Text

Sonny Carisi Week Day 2: off duty Word Count: 1847 Pairing: Rollisi, pre-bensler? Summary: Sonny and Amanda host a dinner party for the squad. AO3

As Jesse chattered away to him, stirring the pot diligently, Sonny heard the door open again, a string of barely-discernible greetings ringing through the apartment, and his heart felt fit to burst.

He’d been wanting to do this for a while; have everyone get together, cook for them, pamper them, show his found family just how much he loved them. He’d never had the space to host in his tiny apartment, though, and he couldn’t ask someone else to host just on his behalf, so more often than not, on the off chance they did all get together, it was for takeout, and a kid-free night.

This was different. Special. This was what he’d been wanting all along.

Amanda slid up behind him at the stove, winding her arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder which Jesse pretended to find gross despite the absolute glee in her eyes.

“You doin’ okay in here?” She asked softly.

The question was directed at Sonny, but Jesse piped up with a very happy, “We’re great, momma,” which startled a laugh out of Sonny.

“Yeah,” he said gentle, turning in her arms to press a kiss to her cheek. “We’re great.”

“You’re behaving?” She asked Jesse, who nodded solemnly in return. “Good.”

“Go,” he said, punctuated by a chaste kiss to her lips. “Entertain our colleagues.”

“When you were planning to use my apartment to host this, you said they were our friends.” She tried to look stern, but she couldn't quite manage it and he laughed, turning back to the stove.

“Go,” he insisted. “I’m doing what I do best here. And it’ll be done in 10 minutes so make sure the kids have washed their hands.”

He could feel her watching him, and he turned to shoot her a smile before she left.

He felt warm and fuzzy again as he brought out plates piled high with homemade spaghetti and meatballs for everyone. He couldn’t help but watch as his friends helped themselves to salad and garlic bread, laughing and talking all the while, as though his food wasn’t an interruption to their previous conversation but merely a welcome addition.

“This smells great,” Kat exclaimed, eyes wide and hungry as she grinned at Sonny.

“Tastes great,” Fin added around a mouthful of pasta.

“Thank you for inviting us into your home,” Garland said gently, giving his wife’s hand a squeeze.

“Uh, it’s Amanda’s home, but—“

“Shush,” she said, swatting his arm playfully. “It’s just as much your home as it is mine.”

His heart melted at that, and he had to take a moment to let that sink in as the conversation started up around him once more. On a surface level, he’d known this was his home too. He spent just as much time here as Amanda did, maybe even more now. But he still had his tiny apartment going to waste, slowly emptying of everything he could ever need as his belongings migrated here, and they hadn’t discussed him moving in, officially.

“You okay?” Amanda asked, mouth close to his ear so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Course,” he said with a grin, squeezing her hand under the table.

And he meant it. He was sure he’d never felt better.

“Never known you to be this quiet,” Elliot said, settling beside Sonny and handing him a beer.

Sonny laughed. “You barely know me at all.”

“Touche.”

Elliot was quiet for a moment, watching Liv and Amanda where they sat on the couch, heads close together, cheeks flushed with wine and eyes alight with laughter.

“Feel like I do, though,” he said after a beat, not tearing his eyes away from the scene across from them. “The way Liv talks about you all, I feel like I’ve known you just as long as she has.”

Sonny turned to look at him, not sure how to respond to that. He couldn’t return the compliment—Liv had never mentioned Elliot directly in the time he was gone, and even since he’d come back, she’d kept whatever was going on between them private, barely spoke about him unless prompted—but it felt wrong to leave a comment like that hanging.

“She’s a good woman,” Sonny said thickly, looking down at the beer in his hand.

“The best,” Elliot agreed with a grin, clapping Sonny on the shoulder. “Although you didn’t do too bad.”

That startled a laugh out of Sonny and he looked back over to Amanda again, warmth thrumming through his veins.

“Yeah,” he said a little breathlessly. “Still pinchin’ myself, y’know.”

Elliot nodded slowly, finally tearing his gaze from the women to look at Sonny. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“So you and Liv…” he trailed off, not sure it was really his place despite Elliot starting this thread of conversation.

“Getting there,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. But she’s worth it.”

Sonny nodded. He knew what that felt like, knowing someone was worth every bit of effort and pain, knowing someone was worth waiting forever for.

“Carisi!” Kat called from the kitchen, beckoning him over excitedly.

Sonny feigned annoyance, grinning the whole while, as he left Fin and Garland to continue their conversation without him.

“Watcha doin’ in my kitchen?”

“Your kitchen?” She raised her eyebrows. “Thought your kitchen was on the other side of Manhattan.”

Sonny felt his cheeks heat up, and he hoped the alcohol and warmth of the room would have already given him enough of a flush that she wouldn’t notice.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a hand, still grinning. His cheeks hurt but he couldn't quite stop.

“This s’posed to be you?” She asked, pointing to a stick figure drawing pinned to the fridge, front and centre, Billie’s name scrawled in the corner.

“Yeah,” he said proudly, almost like he was challenging her.

He knew he was listed as daddy in the drawing, knew that topic had stayed between him and Amanda as they worked out exactly how they wanted to proceed and what was the right way to go about all this, but in that moment, with love and affection and alcohol flowing through his veins, buzzing in his brain, he couldn’t help the way his chest puffed with pride or the way he stood a little taller in the face of someone else seeing, someone else knowing.

Kat softened, giving his elbow a squeeze. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, turning to grin at her. “Me too.”

He was about to say something else, but at that moment, Billie barrelled into his legs, tears welling in her big eyes, and everything else was forgotten in favour of helping his little girl.

“Noah, come on,” Liv insisted from the doorway, exasperated and tired and fond all at once. “It’s time to go.”

All she got in response was a shriek of laughter and pounding footsteps as Jesse and Noah continued to chase each other around the table, high on far too much dessert and the leftover excitement of being part of a ‘grown ups party’.

Liv sighed, rolling her eyes, but she didn’t insist again. Instead, she settled a hand on Sonny’s arm, expression soft and warm.

“I’m really happy for you, Sonny,” she said quietly, giving his arm a squeeze for good measure. “You deserve this; to be happy.”

Sonny glanced past her out into the hall where Elliot waited, checking his phone for their Uber.

“So do you,” he said with a nod in Elliot’s direction.

Liv followed his gaze, a soft, wistful look taking over her face for a moment before she turned back to him, looking so much like his boss again that he instantly stood a little straighter.

“I know,” she eventually said, expression softening again. “Just making sure he knows that first.”

Sonny laughed, covering her hand with his own where it still rested on her arm. “Trust me, he knows.”

She studied him for a moment before looking back over at Elliot, who was now looking at them in return.

“Uber’s here,” he said, waving his phone.

Liv turned to call for Noah again, but he came bounding towards her just in time, eyes bright and curls bouncing.

“Thanks again,” Liv said softly, taking Noah’s hand in hers to join Elliot.

“Thanks, Uncle Sonny,” Noah echoed, waving behind him.

Elliot nodded to him from the end of the hall, raising a hand in farewell, and then they were gone.

He closed the door behind him, resting against it for a moment, letting the success of the night sink in.

“Uncle Sonny!” Jesse squealed, wrapping her arms around Sonny’s legs.

“Shh,” Sonny stage whispered. “Your sister’s asleep.”

“Uncle Sonny,” Jesse repeated in a whisper. “Read me a story?”

Sonny looked up to meet Amanda’s gaze across the room where she was gathering plates and glasses to take back to the kitchen. She gave him a small shrug and a warm smile in response, and he, once again, felt awed that she trusted him enough to make any decision about her children without consulting her, even if it was just a bedtime story way past her actual bedtime.

“Okay, Jess,” he agreed, ruffling her hair. “You go get ready for bed and pick out a story and I’ll be in in a moment.”

He gathered a few stray plates and glasses, following Amanda to the kitchen to dump them beside the sink.

“Hey,” she said softly, turning to face him at the counter.

“Hey,” he echoed back, heart thumping against his ribs almost like he was nervous, or excited, or both.

“We’re real adults now, huh?” She joked, straightening his collar before winding her arms around his neck.

His arms fell easily to her waist, pulling her in close. “Dinner party, tick.”

She laughed, tilting her head back, eyes shining in the light, and god, she looked so beautiful she took his breath away.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

She kissed him properly, pulling him in close, almost desperate, like she’d wanted to do this all night and was just waiting to have him all to herself.

“Careful,” he mumbled into her mouth, reluctantly withdrawing. “I still gotta read Jesse a story.”

“Your mistake,” she said with a sly grin, pressing one last kiss to his lips before letting go. “Off you go, then.”

He watched her for a moment, just as she had done earlier that night, thinking of the ring he had tucked away back at his apartment, the only thing of any real meaning he still had there.

If anyone had asked him even a month ago, he would have said he wasn’t sure she’d say yes, but as he watched her washing dishes after helping him host their first ever dinner party as a couple, with her eldest waiting for him to put her to bed and her youngest already calling him daddy, he knew. He knew he could ask at any moment, and she’d say yes without a moment's hesitation.

#carisi week #dailysvu #rollisi #bensler #amanda rollins #sonny carisi #olivia benson #elliot stabler #christian garland #kat tamin #fin tutuola #jesse rollins #billie rollins #noah porter benson #svu #law and order svu #svu fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction

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theaspers · 4 years

Text

sappy love songs for the romantics ✨

thank u for participating in my scientific research that was honestly just me looking for new songs to listen and write very corny and very lame fics to hehe

— that’s where it is | mammon

his grip around your wrist is tight as he tugs you along. he’s too fast, way too fast for you, but you’re way too high on adrenaline and the way his loud laugh rings and melds with yours to care. you can’t feel anything but a swelling happiness inside you, so much so that it almost hurts, and the sting of the cold devildom night air as it rushes against your cheeks.

“mammon!” you yell, between laughter and gasps for air, “this is all your fault!”

and it is. always getting into trouble, always dragging you along with him somehow. curfew is creeping close and when you get back, lucifer will probably be ready with an earful but there’s not a single part of you that cares at the moment.

“hey!” he counters over the pounding of both your footsteps, “you were there too!”

you laugh again, “shut up! now hurry, before they catch up!”

he comes to a grinding halt, grin mischievous as you stumble into him with a loud cry of pain. before you can complain, he leans over to press his lips against yours. when he pulls away, there’s a glint in his eyes that’s captivating.

he beams as he tangles his fingers with yours and starts back up again, “i’m not gonna come back for you if you fall behind so you better hurry up!”

— can i have this dance | diavolo

this is the third time, you think, and it doesn’t seem like diavolo’s keen on stopping any time soon. one of your hands is still clasped gently in his, the other resting on his arm. his hold around you is steady, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that’s even brighter than the blinding golden lights of the ballroom. it is indulgence in its finest definition, the future king of the devildom against gilded decor and bright reds and pink petals of roses with eyes only for you.

by now, the murmur of the crowds have returned, a constant thrumming over the smooth music that’s playing but you hear none of it. he’s been whispering charming little secrets into your ears, voice low and soft, silly observations about his guests, his plans for later on in the night. it’s exhilarating, the happiness that fills you is unlike no other.

“they’re all talking about you,” he tells you, grinning, pride lacing his voice.

you laugh as he guides you into a sweeping motion, footsteps fluid as he does, “i think they’re talking about you.”

when he pulls you close again, you return his grin, “but i don’t blame them.”

— can’t help falling in love (light version) // state of grace | simeon

when you see finally see simeon again, everything stops.

the time, your breath, the tiniest specks of dust suspends. the loud trumpets, the rushing winds, the fanfare comes to a still. there is only you and him and a rush of overwhelming emotions that crashes over you.

there’s a knot in your throat, painful and difficult to swallow around, a stinging in your eyes but the tears never come. seeing him - looking as wonderful as ever, resplendent in all his golden glory, the breathless beauty that you remembered him to be - is cathartic. laughter leaves your lips slowly, quietly, as you fumble, stumble your way into his embrace. his steps are as clumsy as you are feeling.

everything comes rushing back as soon as he draws you close, a non-violent violent crashing of bodies and limbs and emotions long pushed away. and it’s good. his embrace, the way his arms wrap around you. his laughter, pleasant like the ringing of chimes in the wind. his steady heartbeat, beating at the same pace as yours. the words spilling out of his mouth, of reassurance and comfort and love. nothing could be better.

— it’s not living if it’s not with you | leviathan

he looks.

always for you, always to you.

he’s lying on his back on his floor, eyes following the curls and waves of blue that spills across his room, fingers thrumming against his abdomen. even now, his attention is all on you.

your rapt attention is on your phone, watching something that he’d recommended. you’re close. close enough that he can feel your warmth against his side. if he just reached over, he would be able to-

he can’t even finish the thought before his face burns.

he gives into the urge and yells out loud and you jerk in surprise, a small yelp leaving your lips.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed.

a lot of things, he wants to say, like how nice you look in this light and how your laughter has snuck under his skin and he saves them for moments you’re not around and how he just likes having you around. but even thinking about those things has him flustered and on the cusp of shutting down so he just launches into a rant about the show he has you watching instead.

— white blood | beel

beel doesn’t make it all go away.

it has nothing to do with him. everything about him is big - himself, his appetite, his emotions, his love. encompassing, engulfing. it helps, even if he does not realise it. but the exhaustion is bone-deep and too heavy for that - the weight of the worlds, endless thoughts that do not tire as they run in your mind, things you need to do and the things you have yet to do and the things you want to do.

it would be easy to slip away unnoticed, you think. to dissipate into the hustle and bustle of dinner prep, the hiss and sizzle and crackle of steam and oil and fire, beel’s occasional murmuring as he worked over a huge pot of dinner. nothing’s shaking off the biting coldness that you’ve been feeling, not even the usually welcoming warmth of the kitchen.

but he turns to you, eyes twinkling in anticipation, holding out a spoonful of the meal he’s been working on for the past hour and it’s grounding.

he doesn’t make it all go away, but that’s okay.

— just wanna be with you | demon brothers

this is nothing if not the epitome of unbreakable bonds: the brothers all sitting around you, chatting and laughing about mundane things over take-out. no one says anything about the dinner attempts that’s staining the kitchen counters, or at the bottom of a burnt pan or splattered over the walls. not even lucifer. no one says anything about your impending departure either, but it’s a gray cloud hanging over the room that’s easy enough to ignore over levi and mammon’s bickering.

there’s a softness around everyone’s eyes, a lightness about them that you’ve only just noticed - for just this moment, everyone is content. longing curls around your heart, squeezing lightly. oh how you wished you could save this moment, keep it close. it’s between a chorus of laughter that the thought comes to you - there’s nowhere else you would rather be.

— symphony | lucifer

lucifer’s hummed midway through a song you’ve been singing under your breath for the past week before it clicks. it’s an odd little tune, and along with it comes an odd little thought: when was the last time he felt this free?

but it isn’t just him. even now, as he stops to think, you’re everywhere. in the squabbling between mammon and asmo, in the music that’s echoing throughout the house, in the low hum of the kitchen appliances. the house is no longer so quiet, so tense. it is one of the undeniable traces, proof, of the lives you’ve somehow managed to change in the short amount of time you’ve been here. levi’s and satan’s and beel’s and belphie’s and his.

he leans back and sighs but does not stop the small smile from curling on his lips. he’s never been too fond of anything too loud but this. he could live with.

— adore you | asmo

a downright shame that it’s always dark in the devildom, you think, because asmo looks good in the setting sun. loud and beautiful against pink and purple and reds, the best shades, the perfect shades for him. you just can’t look away.

he’s leaning against you, comfortable. he’s talking about something that happened to him in the past, smooth voice carried away by the cool evening winds. one of his pinkies is still curled around yours and cradled close. his laughter is a siren’s song. addictive. and it’s. how do you even explain how you’re feeling in this moment?

your icecream is melting, and your palm already feels sticky, and you should probably just throw it out. but instead, you lean over to press your lips against his, bursts of strawberry and lemon, tacky and soft.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me imagines #obey me x reader

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bangtiddies · 3 years

Text

Plastic Trees & Hot Chocolate

Pairing: none; dad!Seokjin with his son on Christmas Genre: Angst, Fluff Rating: PG13 Words: 1.3k Warnings: character death, grief, crying

Summary: Seokjin used to love December. There’s his birthday, Jaesun’s birthday, and then Christmas. December was Seokjin’s favourite month. And then suddenly, it wasn’t.

Note: unedited because I’m a fool.

It’s December 1st. Jaesun is excited to finally be able to put the Christmas tree up and decorate it. Seokjin still thinks it’s way too early to put up the Christmas tree, but he can’t say no to his son’s puppy dog eyes.

They work together in excited giggles. When the tree is finally up, Seokjin makes sure to support all of Jaesun’s creative decisions in decorating the tree, even if one side of the tree is packed with more decorations than the other.

After decorating their cheap, plastic Christmas tree, Seokjin goes to the kitchen to fill two Christmas themed mugs with hot chocolate. He adds a little bit of cold water to Jaesun’s mug to make it a little less hot, so that his four year old son wouldn’t burn his poor tongue when eagerly drinking the sweet beverage.

Jaesun sits excitedly on his highchair in the dining room, making grabby hands for his small mug of hot chocolate when he sees his dad walk in with the two mugs. He giggles with delight when Seokjin hands him the mug and starts happily drinking the warm drink. Seokjin smiles fondly at his son and drinks his own cup of hot chocolate.

Two hours later, after the smears of chocolate is wiped away from Jaesun’s face, Seokjin reads his son a Christmas story to bed. One about a snowman that flies through the sky with a boy and melts the next day.

It’s stories like these that makes Seokjin feel sad.

He tells the story animatedly to Jaesun anyway, smiling for his son’s happiness. This year, for sure, Seokjin will make sure that his son enjoys Christmas to the fullest.

But after Jaesun falls asleep, Seokjin goes to his room to mourn on his own.

Seokjin used to love December. There’s his birthday, Jaesun’s birthday, and then Christmas. December was Seokjin’s favourite month. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. His love for December went when his whole life came crashing down and the one that mattered to him the most was ripped away from him. And now, all that’s left of December is a faded memory of happiness.

Nevertheless, Seokjin keeps his head up. He lets his smiles linger for a little too long, and forces jokes and laughs whenever there’s an uncomfortable silence. He wants his son to see him as a beacon of happiness, and not sadness. Because who wants a dad that cries when the laugh he was expecting after telling a joke never came?

This year, Jaesun is excited for December. He’s old enough to understand that December equals presents. Presents for dad, presents for him, and then, presents for everyone. He can’t wait for December to come.

So, Seokjin does his best to make this a great December for his son. He puts his grief at bay and does what his son wants to, including putting the Christmas tree up early.

And for the first couple of weeks, Seokjin does enjoy December.

He celebrates his birthday with a party organised by his friends – something that’s become a yearly tradition since he first met them. It feels like every year, the guests for his birthday increases. This year, Jimin’s infant daughter is added into the mix of friends and family. Seokjin gets to hold her in his arms, and he almost cries at how small she is, how Jaesun used to be this small too.

He looks over to Jaesun, who’s made it his mission to be the centre of everyone’s attention despite it being his dad’s birthday, and Seokjin’s heart warms with pride. His baby boy has grown so much. Oh, how time flies.

And a little over a week later, Jaesun’s fifth birthday comes around. Seokjin actually sheds some tears this time at how much his boy had grown.

The lights turn off and a cake in the shape of Jaesun’s favourite cartoon character is carried to him, the smile on his face widening as he stares at the cake. He asks his dad to blow the candles with him. Seokjin can’t help but smile with pride as he stands next to his grown boy and blows the five candles with him.

In that moment, Seokjin couldn’t be happier.

But he fears, as the dreaded day gets closer, that this happiness won’t last long.

During the early hours of Christmas Eve, Seokjin has a nightmare.

It’s a nightmare that he has often, but when he wakes up and sees the time and day, his lungs start to constrict.

It’s been three years.

The nightmares remind him of how he felt on that day, on the night of Christmas Eve. Waiting at home with Jaesun, waiting for the love of his life to open the door with warmth and hugs, bright smile on her face. The nightmares show him what she might have gone through that night, out on the road, out in the snow, how she wouldn’t have expected that the drive back from her parents place would be her last.

The nightmares shake him with the cruel reality, gruesome images of the scene that plays out, the light disappearing from her eyes as she draws her last breath.

In some nightmares, Jaesun is in the car with her. Joining her in the cold, leaving Seokjin to navigate the world alone. Those kind of nightmares, brings the worst pain to Seokjin’s chest, jolting awake and scurrying his way to Jaesun’s room in fear that his nightmare was real.

Because it looks so real. It feels so real.

With her, it was real.

It’s 5am, on Christmas Eve, but Jaesun’s awake, sitting up in his bed. It shocks Seokjin a little. He wonders what his son thinks of him now, tears streaming down his face, panic in his breath as he walks into Jaesun’s room with urgency.

But Jaesun just opens his arms, and Seokjin doesn’t need to think twice. He wraps his arms around his son’s small body, letting the little arms that just manage to drape over his shoulders comfort his pain.

“It’s twenty four twelve,” Jaesun says in a quiet voice, a twinge of sadness in his voice, even though he doesn’t quite understand the full meaning of the day. He knows that it’s a special day. And it’s the saddest day for his dad.

Seokjin can’t stop the tears from falling, soaking Jaesun’s pyjamas. “That’s right.”

“It’s okay daddy,” Jaesun whispers, patting his dad’s back like his dad always does when he has a boo-boo. “I’m here for you.”

Seokjin cries even more.

And Jaesun cries with him, small hands now gripping the back of Seokjin’s shirt, feeling his dad’s sadness with him.

It’s 7am, on Christmas Eve.

Later that day, they’ll visit the snow-covered field filled with big stones and pictures of loved ones. Jaesun will leave a new pot plant of poinsettia in front of the stone that has a picture of a happy face that he sees around his house. And Seokjin will leave a keep cup of hot chocolate next to the pot plant.

But for now, they’re sitting by the Christmas tree, hot chocolate warming up their hearts. Jaesun doesn’t let his dad go, one hand gripping onto Seokjin’s shirt, a small sign of support. And Seokjin appreciates every second of his son’s support.

He wonders if the 24th of December will ever bring smiles and cheerful laughs again.

Looking over at Jaesun staring at the presents under the Christmas tree, excitement in his eyes as he sips onto his hot chocolate, Seokjin lets himself think that it might be possible. He holds his son’s hand and sips on his own hot chocolate.

Seokjin doesn’t think he’ll ever stop grieving.

But he also doesn’t think he’ll ever stop healing.

For the first time in three years, Seokjin lets himself smile on Christmas Eve.

And Jaesun smiles even brighter.

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little-red-rabbit · 3 years

Note

Will you tell us more about Loch'tamor? Also happy weekend! :)

Happy weekend to you as well Anon though I go this from you last weekend, sorry it took me so long to get to this ask. Been playing a lot of Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous.

So you want to know about Loch'tamor my plane that draws heavily from Arthurian legend? Heck ya, let me babble away from a bit about.

Like Ixalan, Loch'tamor get's it's name from a geographical location on the plane, namely the Tamor Loch. This massive fresh water lake located at the heart of the plane is where all of the leylines of this world converge. It's waters run as deep as any sea and in that depth churns unimaginable magical energy.

This plane is ancient world almost as old as Dominaria itself, once ruled by mighty kingdoms who are lost to folklore and legend. For once upon a time a wizard attempted to access the tremendous power bubbling away deep with Loch Tamor. The shear amount of magic sealed with in proved to much for the fool to handle and "cascaded" out of control and became a storm that blanked the entire plane.

In the forest water by it's enchanted rain elves began to walk and from the silver rays the peeked threw the roiling clouds did angels descended. But no greater change came to the leylines that swelled with the raw magic of the storm until the earth buckled and cracked. Until five elder dragons where born.

Avalas Devourer of Souls, Bors Plague of Men, Escara Churner of Seas, Helgeth Scorcher of Skies and Tor Braker of Kingdoms.

This dragons would leaves the old kingdoms of nothing but ruin and memories, leaving their people scrambling for any safe place they could find. A brave knight Syr Augusta first of his name was given a vision and led his people across the narrow sea to a cluster land know as the Bright Isles. There he would meet the Lady a angel of great power who would bless the knights sword with her holy blood.

The Lady then gave Syr Augusta the quest to seal each of the elder dragons beneath the earth with his blessed sword. Syr Augusta would be successful in binding each of the elder dragons, but would lose his life bind Avalas the greatest of the dragons. His sword know as Dragonsend would be returned to his son, would would become Augusta the second first king of the Bright Isle.

Since that time new powers have settled into claim the ruins of the old kingdoms. Around the highland of Loch Tamor settled clans of gains both of men and great lions. This clan boast long bardic traditions and warrior roots. Testing themselves against the beasts of the loch and each other, while occasionally raiding the low lands. They are men and woman and great passion and even greater prided.

In the Thurngul forest a court of elven folk has arisen. Know as the Shieda they are of skin like marble and night with moth like features. Ruled over by the Lord and Lady the Shieda are aloof and their interactions with the other inhabitances of Loch'tamor often preplacing.

Between them is the common wealth a vast track of disputed land between the the Isles, clan and court. That has become a sort of melting pot of their cultures. It is not uncommon to see a man hang fairy charms in his windows, say his prayers the the Lady at night and sing a highlander drinking song at the local tavern.

And while the storm that swallowed the world has long faded to not but legend, Loch Tamor has never recovered from the wizards tampering. Every so often another storm bubbles from her depths, "cascading" across the land. And deep in their prison the elder dragons churn and shake the world.

This plane is also the home plane of my sheep centaur Dillon, who sparked during the rise of the elder dragons.

And my good friend @leonin-pal-adin Planeswalker Alistair a leonine giant bard of the highland clans.

If there is anything in particular you wish to ask about Loch'tamor or any of my planes or ocs please feel free. I'm always happen to answer, even if I'm a bit slow.

#thank you for the ask #sorry I was a bit slow in responding #mtg #fan plane #magic oc #mtg oc #oc #Dillon #Alistair

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

Something with Kiyoomi Sakusa from Haikiyuu?? He just reminds me of Overhaul, but like hotter. And more sadistic. And hotter.

I don’t know a lot about this man, but he has the Bad Vibes we love to see. A germaphobe with a god-complex and some crushing anxiety to sweeten the pot… What more could you want in a ‘loving’ sadistic?

TW: Violence, Dehumanization, and Emotional Manipulation.

He liked to feel bigger than you.

You guessed it could’ve been worse. The basement was renovated, the floor covered in spotless faux-wood, and Sakusa made sure you kept it as neat as the rest of his home… or, you assume he did, at least, based on the few glanced you had of the upper floors you’d gathered over your months with him. He could’ve poured ice-cold water over your head, again, or gone back to forcing those little grey pills down your throat. This wasn’t so bad, in comparison.

You could live with this.

Still, your knees began to ache as you repositioned yourself for the thousandth time, attempting to find a stance that didn’t leave your legs sore and your knees bruised from the constant kneeling. You were relegated to the floor, but Sakusa felt free to make himself comfortable on your cot, pursing his lips as you nuzzled into his thigh, attempting to create the air of manufactured intimacy you knew would soften his resolve. In return, he ran a hand through your hair, his concentration devoted to detangling nonexistent knots and flattening imperfections you could never seem to find, on your own. He was good at that - pointing out all the things you didn’t were wrong.

He hummed as he worked, blunt nails scraping against your scalp gently, and you let yourself melt into the feeling, content to close your eyes and pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else. It was the closest you got to happiness, when your world was infested with your captor, whether his presence came in the form of the gifts he expected you to treasure or the sparse furniture he blamed for ‘spoiling’ you or the clothing he provided, made up of jerseys and his shirts and anything he decided he wanted to see you in, your tastes be damned. The temptation to complain was still there, to cross your arms and refuse to cooperate, but you’d learned your lesson. As far as Sakusa was concerned, if you didn’t want to wear what he gaze you, you could wear nothing at all, and you’d sooner swallow your pride than be so exposed again. Exposure meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant inferiority, and inferiority meant you weren’t human--

“You’re quiet, today.” His voice broke through the gentle silence, drawing you from your thoughts like an owner calling the name of their favorite pet. You perked up, crossing your arms over his legs to better stare up at him, but you didn’t reply, letting him scan over you with the observant, prying gaze that never failed to make your skin crawl. You weren’t sure what he was searching for, but he must’ve found it, averting his eyes to the wall behind you rather than attempting to meet yours. “No screaming,” He explained, bluntly. “You haven’t thrown a tantrum in… How long has it been? A week?”

“Nine days,” You corrected, more than a little offended that he hadn’t been keeping a record as diligently as you had. Still, you smiled, melting into his palm as it came down to cup your cheek, his rough skin contrasting sharply with your own. “My back still hurts when I lay on my side. I want to wait for it to heal before I try anything that might make it worse.”

That earned a laugh, albeit a soft one, barely audibly by the time it was off his tongue. He cupped your chin, tilting your head back, guiding you to straighten your back and hold still as he leaned towards you, kissing the top of your head. “And now you’re strategizing,” He mumbled, giving you time to peck his cheek. He didn’t react, but a pink tint was slowly spreading across his skin, a nervous tic he couldn’t seem to shake. You used to think it was cute. Now, it just made you wonder if he was stricter when he was embarrassed. “You’re supposed to behave because you want to behave, y’know. Not because you’re biding your time until you can do something bratty and turn me into the bad guy.”

“I’m still behaving.” He moved to back away, and you strung your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you, if only to hide your face in his shoulder. Sakusa sighed, beginning to toy with the edges of your shirt’s collar. “You’re always talking about punishments and repercussions… That’s what you want, right? For me to be scared enough not to act up?”

There was a moment of stillness, a second where the only thing you felt was his warm breath fanning across your neck, but it didn’t last very long. Before you could do so much as separate from him, his fist was around your collar, jerking you back and onto your feet as he stood, letting you stumble for a proper stance before you were thrown to the floor. You tried to push yourself up, but your joints were sore and your whole body felt so weak, leaving the last traces of your hope to be crushed as Sakusa’s heel collided with your diaphragm, knocking the air from your lungs and lodging itself in your solar plexus, keeping you pinned as a sharpened, electric pain spread through your ribcage. It’d been sore for weeks, if not months. Maybe he’d take away your mattress, again. Maybe he’d leave you alone in this hell, again.

“It’s not about you being scared,” He spat, the sound echoing off plain, concrete walls. He ground his foot down as he spoke, pressing a whimper through your lips before forcing out an earnest, genuine cry as he landed a kick to the center of your stomach, not bothering to hide his disapproval of your lacking response. He wanted you to scream. He’d never be satisfied until you did. “It’s not about fear, it’s never been about fear. You don’t get it, you still don’t get it.”

“I’m sorry!” The apology was automatic, and you scrambled to shield your head, but it didn’t matter. Sakusa was never one for theatrics, he didn’t have to be. He new your weak spots as well as you did, from the burn that stretched over your shoulder-blade to your recently fractured ankle, the one that now held the majority of his weight, bringing tears to your eyes with little more than the basest hints of his strength. “Please, I just… I said the wrong thing! I didn’t mean to--”

“I’m doing this because I love you.” His voice was calm, and you curled into yourself, unwilling to let him see as ragged, empty sobs began to rack through your chest. Sakusa showed his sympathy with a clink of his tongue and little more. “I love you. I want you to love me back. That’s why I’m doing this. If you’re scared, it’s only because you deserve to be scared.”

The pressure disappeared, thankfully, replaced by an iron-clad grip around your wrist as he pulled you onto your back. Using his free hand, he caught your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. He didn’t try to look away, this time.

You wished you were brave enough to try.

“Clearly, you still need to learn your place.”

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ao3bronte · 4 years

Text

Obey

4 | 5 | 6

Warnings: Characters are aged up but still drinking underage (legal drinking age is 18 in France). Wild parties, hypnosis and NSFW themes will ensue.

This chapter includes explicit sexual content. Reader discretion be advised.

Below deck...

“Marinette…” Luka chokes on his words, his hands unable to stay idle. He cradles each of her breasts in his palms and brushes his thumbs across her nipples, powerless to tear his eyes away as she inhales against the feeling, so new and addictive. He does it again and again until Marinette is mewling, the pace of her hips increasing, and when he finally looks up at her face again, it’s with the implicit understanding that if they go any further, there will be no holding back.

“I want it,” she throws her head back as he grasps her breasts and squeezes, “It feels good.”

Luka doesn’t have the ability to answer, his tongue thoroughly tied as he pulls one hand back to unfasten the button of his jeans. She watches him as he tugs the zipper down his length, exposing a sliver of his bright purple boxers beneath.

“Are you sure?” his voice hitches as she shimmies backwards, giving him a chance to push his jeans down his thighs. She nods as he steps out of them, gnawing on her lower lip.

“I’ve thought about this moment,” she admits, unable to keep herself from telling the truth even if she tried. The old Marinette had certainly mulled over her first time, with the boys in her fantasies alternating between Luka and the forbidden boy she was determined to let go of, “And I want it to be with you.”

“Oh god,” Luka babbles, barely able to stop himself from shaking. His hands twitch at his sides before reaching out and settling on her hips once again, “Can I?”

“Yes,” she whispers, shivering as he hooks his thumbs into the straps of her panties and drags them down her bare legs. When he looks up, he falls back onto the bed and locks eyes with her, his expression wrecked and helpless all at once.

“Your turn.”

It takes a moment for Luka’s brain to catch up with her words, her gaze impossible to shake as he blindly pulls his boxers off. His erection bobs and Marinette’s eyes widen as she catches a glimpse of something she’s only seen in a textbook.

“Marinette…” He squirms under her gaze, bashful at the prospect of being completely naked in front of her. His hands start twitching again for something to do and he drives his fingers into his bedspread and clenches, the sheets bunching while he tries to fight for his composure, “I…”

She silences him with a kiss, quelling both of their nerves as she slides back into his lap. He cries out a little as his cock brushes against the skin of her belly, sending a lightning strike up his spine.

“Remember what I told you?”

Luka pulls away and melts like putty in her arms, “Please…”

“Yes,” she breathes, “And whatever you do, don’t hold back.”

Intelligent. Clever. Bright. Luka is all of these things, although he doesn’t always show it. At first glance, he looks like the kind of rough-and-tumble twenty-something who grows pot in his bedroom window. But beneath the surface of his smile, Luka’s brilliance roars in like the tide and brings melodies in its wake, only for his heartsong to suck you into his orbit like a rip current. Marinette feels like she’s floating in the whirlpool of his soul right now, their bare chests pressed against each other, their bodies entwined as he falls back against his bedsheets and she falls with him for the very first time.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing,” he murmurs against her lips, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of lust and embarrassment as she brackets his hips with her own.

“Neither do I,” Marinette admits in kind, bracing herself on her hands and knees above him, “But that’s never stopped me before.”

Luka’s lips curl into a smile as he combs his fingers through her hair, lost in the wonder of her gaze. She’s always burned the brightest of the two of them and he’s addicted to the light she sheds on his life, even while they’ve been apart, “True.”

“And we’d still be together, you know…” Marinette brushes her thumb across his cheek and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his lips, “Maybe we could figure something out.”

Luka feels his blood burn like it never has before, “Do you mean that?”

“You’re going on tour soon,” Marinette sits up straight and runs her fingernails down the planes of his chest, “And Le Papillon can’t akumatize you if you’re in Berlin or Bangkok. You can still be mine, if you want to be.”

“Yes!” Luka cries out before he can stop himself, excitement and joy welling up in his chest. The surge of adrenaline spurs his body into movement and he lets his instincts take the wheel as he flips them over and pins her underneath of him, kissing her recklessly, “You won’t regret this. You’re mine .”

Marinette’s eyes widen with surprise at the sudden change of scenery and keens as Luka leaves a trail of wet kisses along her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. He draws one of her nipples between her teeth and she squeals at the newfound sensation that tingles all the way down to her toes. She knows why the old Marinette put this off for so long but now that the new Marinette has taken over control, she can hardly come up with a single argument to stop her from making love to him tonight.

“Does that feel good?” Luka asks, his expression hopeful as he rests his chin against her sternum. He waits until she nods before flashing her a toothy grin and going back to town like he was born to please her, to run his tongue and teeth against the sensitive skin of her breasts. She likes it when he circles her nipple with his tongue and she tells him so, burying her fingers in the shaggy blue hair at the nape of his neck to guide him.

“Use your other hand,” she whispers, a breathy gasp escaping her lips as he does exactly that. He swirls his thumb over her other nipple until the nub is impossibly hard and sensitive in a way Marinette can hardly stand. It’s like she wants more but she also wants him to retreat and her mind sings with the contrasting sensations, sending all sorts of strange and addictive signals to the apex of her thighs.

“Can I...?” he pulls away from her breast and his eyes easily betray his intentions, his lashes casting downwards as his gaze locks on her navel. She mumbles a shaky yes and suddenly she’s awash in a flurry of anticipation and need as he leaves wet kiss after wet kiss along her belly, tinted with hunger. He laves his tongue just below her belly button and his eyes suddenly bear the question they’re both too overwhelmed to ask; she can’t quite verbalize it, her nerve endings on fire, and hopes that spreading her legs as widely as she can answers his concern.

“Oh god,” Luka murmurs, having only seen this kind of thing through the screen of his computer. He’s orgasmed a thousand times to the tune of burying his face between her thighs and having her fall apart against his tongue. He doesn’t want to waste a moment — this time between them too fleeting to ignore — and peppers kisses against the inside of her thighs to try and reign himself in.

To Luka, Marinette has always been a puzzle to solve and this moment is no different as he parts her lips with his fingers and flattens his tongue against her core. She’s making those lovely noises again, the ones she’d been mewling over and over when he’d been kissing her breasts, and he pays close attention to their modulation and tone. He repeats the motion and draws his tongue up and against her clit, blooming with pride as she all but begs for him to do it again.

And who is he to deny Marinette, the heroine of Paris and his childhood crush for years ? She could ask him for the world and he’d present it to her on a platter, utterly committed to her every want and need.

He draws on what he’s watched on the internet, the amateur videos he jacks off to now and then in the solitude of his bunk on the tour bus. It’s always her he thinks about when he shuts his eyes and rolls onto his back, taking himself in his hand and pumping furiously on the nights where he can’t sleep. And now, lapping and sucking and fucking her fervently with his tongue, he knows he’ll never have to look at porn again. Not with this memory, with her taste on his lips and her cries of passion in his ears. She’s ordering him, begging him to go harder, faster as he slips a finger inside of her, the tight resistance of her entrance doing all sorts of wonderful things to his imagination.

“Please,” Marinette wrenches her knees upwards and Luka can sense that something’s about to change. She’s wound like a live wire and her heartsong is absolutely singing with harmonies he’s never heard before, building into a crescendo at five times the forte. She’s cresting at the decibel of a Jagged Stone concert and the giddy feeling in Luka’s chest swells as her thighs clench around his ears. He’s written songs about this moment as she clenches around his fingers and gasps his name like a supplication, tossing her head back into his pillow.

(And he’ll write a thousand more.)

She melts a few moments later, her eyes lidded and lovely as she beckons him back up towards her. He follows, completely under her spell and perfectly happy to be under her control.

“I’ve never felt like that before,” Marinette whispers, nothing but honest beneath the influence of Mesmer’s power, “I’ve...it’s so much different when it’s with someone else.”

Brimming with newfound confidence, Luka claims her mouth in a wrenching kiss, “Are you admitting that you touch yourself?”

“Well...yes,” Marinette gasps, the sting of his teeth on her lower lip quickly soothed with his tongue, “Once or twice. I wanted to know what it was like.”

“And now you’ll never have to wonder again,” Luka says, his cock brushing against her inner thighs. Marinette’s eyes sharpen with focus as she worms her hand down between their bodies. She caresses his side and slowly explores the vee of his hips before pausing, hesitating as her fingers brush through the tuft of black hair below his navel. She’s never done something like this before but she heeds Mesmer’s every word, every temptation; she is their Queen and she will show them what it means to be her lover! When she emerges on deck, thoroughly fucked and proudly his, everyone will see the true Marinette. She’s not innocent, not anymore. She’s a woman on the brink of destiny, a hero with the weight of the world on her shoulders and the weight of her lover holding her above water. She’s a force of nature and a sexy one at that if Luka’s whimpers have anything to say about it, mewling into her ear as she wraps her hand around his shaft and slides her palm from root to tip.

“I want you,” she whispers, intoxicated by his raw expression as she guides him towards her centre. He braces himself and draws the lobe of her ear between his lips, nearly deafened by the cadenza of this moment. He wavers, his apprehension of hurting her niggling at the forefront of his mind but there’s no stopping now; it’s just her and him and the need to obey Mesmer’s decree to allow themselves to be free from reservations.

“Let me know if you need me to stop,” he hisses through gritted teeth as he slowly pushes inside of her. Her slick, tight heat almost stops his heart right then and there and he’s never felt so good, so high, so utterly entranced as he feels right now, listening closely to her voice between the blood pumping through his ears. He pauses twice, sensing her tension and kisses her in the hopes of distracting her from the pain, her taste still heavy on his tongue.

“You can...move now,” Marinette takes a deep breath as he slowly drags his hips back and pushes them forwards again, committing to a steady rhythm almost immediately. She times her inhales to his inner metronome and soon the sting dissolves into a torrent of pressure that feels better than she could have imagined. The sensation of his cock rocking into her is addictive and she doesn’t know how to describe the friction except she never wants it to end, hooked on the slide and catch of his hips as his thrusts begin to accelerate in tempo.

He’s lost, panting and sweating as he tries desperately to clamber for control. He wants to make this good for her but she feels so so so good and he’s helpless to her whimpers and moans in his ears, a siren’s song that’s dragging him beneath the waves upon waves of pleasure she’s given him. He didn’t think his first time would ever be this good but, then again, he never thought Marinette would come back to him and make every single one of his dreams come true.

“Mari…” he groans against her lips, his rhythm stuttering. It feels like being struck by fireworks and lightning all at once as he comes inside of her, the sensation surging through his fingers and toes. His mind blanks for a moment and Marinette kisses him happily, catching every prayer with the sweetness of her tongue. Eventually, he braces himself on his elbows and flops onto his side, dragging her over into his embrace.

“I love you,” he murmurs, still buzzing somewhere in the stratosphere. She smiles and pecks him on the nose before burying herself in his arms.

“I love you too,” she says and she’s not even remotely surprised that she means every word. Mesmer gave her the opportunity to speak freely, to make decisions with a clear mind and admit everything she’s ever held back. A relationship with Luka wouldn’t be easy and they’d have to find a way around the long nights alone…

...she wonders if Luka would be willing to share.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #mlnsfw #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #luka couffaine

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seanfalco · 3 years

Note

I mean, If we're talking a Darren prompt i'm more than happy to help! How about a number 14 from the kissing prompts list? He strikes me as a "Hug from behind" kinda guy

word count: 525

a/n: thank you so much for the prompt! takes place post canon, obvs canon divergent. I’m not usually a fan of pregnancy fics, but i like the idea of reader starting a family with darren and having a happy ending

It was growing late, the sun already beginning to slip below the horizon when your phone went off. Picking it up off the counter, you smiled down at the message that lit up the screen.

“Perfect timing,” you typed back, “I’ve got supper started. It should be ready when you get home.”

Setting your phone aside, you resumed cooking, stirring the pot on the stove before bending with some difficulty to check the oven. You’d never been much of the domestic type before, but since Darren had gotten out of the game and you’d moved to the states, you’d started dreaming of a home, a real home, and a family…

The sound of your apartment door caught your ear, pulling you from the thoughts and moments later you felt Darren’s arms wrap around you from behind, his lips pressing to your cheek with a grin.

“Hello beautiful,” he murmured in your ear, his hands wandering to your pregnant belly. “How are my girls doin’?” he asked, pride in his lilting voice and you turned your face toward him, catching his lips.

“We’re fine,” you replied, a grin playing at your lips as your eyes flicked up to his, “better now that you’re home.”

For a moment you quite forgot you were cooking, lost in his gorgeous gaze until your fiance gave the air an appreciative sniff. “Smells grand. Whatcha makin’?” he asked.

“A little taste of home,” you answered, dipping the wooden spoon in your hand into the stew and holding it out for Darren to taste. “There’s rolls in th’oven and I’m makin’ boxty too.”

“Mmm not bad,” he mused, and you gasped, smacking him lightly on the arm with the spoon.

“Not bad?” you exclaimed, a little scandalized and Darren held up his hands lest you attack him again.

“Hey! Y’didn’t let me finish! I was gunna say it reminds me of me mum’s recipe,” he cried and you set the spoon down.

“That’s because it is her recipe,” you said, your frown melting away as he kissed you.

“Y’know I seem t’remember a lot less home cooked meals when we were in Dublin,” Darren pointed out with a smirk and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yeah well, don’t get too used to it,” you huffed, “I told yeh I ain’t no dainty housewife. An’ that ain’t gunna change just cause y’knocked me up.”

The barely concealed amusement on Darren’s face stopped you short. “Oh, believe me, m’little spitfire, I know,” he said, drawing you into his arms, your belly a little in the way, though he didn’t mind in the least. “Besides, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he murmured against your lips and you snaked your arms round his shoulders, swaying in his embrace.

“I love you,” you sighed, melting against him.

“I love you too, darlin’,” he replied softly before you pulled back, flashing him a smile.

“Now, if y’don’t let me finish dinner, I have a feelin’ we’ll never eat,” you said, reluctantly leaving his arms.

“Yes, ma’am,” Darren teased, moving around you to set the table, and in that moment you felt you couldn’t be happier.

#love/hate #love hate #darren treacy #darren treacy x reader #darren treacy imagines #my writing #prompt request #iamsexytrash #pregnancy mention tw #pregnancy tw

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fullmetalscullyy · 3 years

Text

the way it was - chapter 30

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

i can't live in a fairytale of lies

and i can't hide from the feeling cause it's right

Tensions were high in the Mustang household.

Roy spent more time in his work office after hours than was usual. He was planning, organising an attack, for what, Riza wasn’t privy to just yet. Her main focus was keeping Mia distracted and entertained so Roy could work in some semblance of peace, however even that was becoming more of a struggle for her nowadays. Her lower back was almost in constant pain by the time they were sitting down to dinner. Riza fatigued more quickly and her brain was frazzled. Headaches pestered her throughout the day, completely unwelcome, from two different fronts.

On one hand, she was nearing the end of her pregnancy, which was a blessing. According to the doctor yesterday, the child was at full term and could come at any time, even though she still had a few weeks until her due date. Riza would welcome that wholeheartedly. The aches and pains were a lot worse this time around than they were with Mia.

On the other hand, her final teaching exam had been looming. Throughout the day she had notes spread across every surface as she studied and crammed for it. Looking after Mia while Roy ‘unofficially’ worked in the evening was nothing Riza would ever complain about, however it would have been nice to have had the extra energy afterwards to at least look over some notes while in bed. By the time her head hit the pillow she was asleep.

After taking the exam, a huge weight was lifted off Riza’s shoulders. Then the nerves kicked in, waiting for results. The professor had advised it would take a few weeks to get back to them all, but Riza just wanted to know. She wanted to be successful. After years of work, she wanted it to pay off. It had been two weeks since the exam.

Despite working harder, Roy was as attentive as ever. He was worrying about her. Riza reassured she was fine, just exhausted. Roy thought she was stressed. Admittedly, Riza did think that was true as well. She was aware that would be bad for the baby but with everything hitting at once, and them not being able to do anything about the timing, it didn’t leave Riza with much choice. Powering through as best she could, Riza managed to juggle everything. Roy still fought to get away from his home office to help with Mia, however the ringing phone would draw him back to plan. With a defeated aura, he’d trudge back through and continue working.

Riza was incredibly curious. Roy would tell her when he was ready what was going on, but every day that passed and with every overheard snippet of conversation, the desire to know didn’t let up. It was so mysterious. She’d barely been awake enough recently for him to get a chance.

The ringing phone dragged Riza’s attention away from cooking dinner.

“I’ll get it,” Roy’s disembodied voice called through from the direction of his office. Followed by a muffled thump and a quiet curse as he tripped over or banged into something.

Snorting, Riza nodded and left him to it, rolling her sore shoulders. The stretching of the skin brought quick relief as she stirred the pot in front of her. A wave of heat washed over her, prickling sweat on her brow which was hastily swiped away with the back of her hand.

“Riza, it’s for you,” Roy called through.

That stumped her. She wasn’t expecting a call –

Was it her results?

“Mia, stay away from the oven, okay?” Riza turned the heat down low as her heart thudded inside her chest. It battered against her ribcage relentlessly as she entered the hall. Even more so when Roy shot her a grin and a thumbs up. He knew just how much she was waiting on the call from her professor.

With shaking hands, she took the phone from him. Roy winked and skirted around her, walking through to the kitchen to check on their dinner.

“Hello?”

“Riza,” a warm voice greeted her. “It’s Professor Stevenson.”

This is it.

“Hello, Professor.”

“I come bearing good news,” he chuckled, “although I knew before even grading your test you would pass with flying colours. My assumptions were correct. Congratulations, Riza! You passed!”

A light blush warmed her cheeks upon hearing the compliment, before elation completely overtook her entire being.

She’d passed.

“I passed?” She had to make sure.

“You did, yes,” the Professor confirmed, an amused lilt in his voice.

She’d passed.

“Thank you…” Riza trailed off. She wasn’t sure what else to say, too relieved just to finally know. Shoulders sagged as her posture slouched. A light laugh left her, happy and content that she no longer needed to worry and wait on the verdict. She felt free from it. Finally.

“I will be sending your certification over to Central University today,” Professor Stevenson announced. “It should arrive within a few days, but I will call you and inform you once it has been delivered, if that would suit you?”

“That would be very appreciative, thank you.” Riza tried not to gush but it was hard. She couldn’t wait to tell Roy.

“Not a problem, Riza. Any questions please do not hesitate to give my office a call. I’ll be back in touch in the next week or so about your next steps now that you’re a fully certified teacher. Congratulations.”

Riza quickly bid him farewell and hung up the phone. She rushed through to the kitchen, the hot flush from earlier hitting again as the wall of heat from the cooking food curled around her skin. Riza didn’t care that sweat was gathering on her brow or in her hands. Her eyes found Roy’s and everything else melted away, now that her results were finally sinking in.

“Well?” He was grinning expectantly. Given that Riza could not keep the beaming smile off her face no matter how hard she tried, he still waited for her to announce her news.

“I passed!”

Roy whooped loudly, causing Mia and Hayate to jump in fright at the volume. His arms wrapped around her shoulders tightly with a laugh as he rocked her side to side in his pride.

“Yes! I’m so proud of you,” he laughed in her ear. “I told you you’d nail it!”

“You did,” she laughed as her smile wobbled. Tears sprang to her eyes and she sniffed.

“Are you crying?” He laughed in disbelief, swiping away a tear with his thumb as he cooed softly, pulling her tightly into his embrace. “Oh, Riza!”

“Shut up,” she mumbled petulantly, burying her face into his chest with a laugh.

“Are you unhappy, Mummy?” Mia bit her lip hard, her knuckles white as she gripped the arm of her chair.

“No, Mia, she’s not unhappy,” Roy answered for her. “She’s extremely happy! They’re happy tears.”

Riza was grateful. Another laugh left her, remembering how prone to crying she’d been right after Mia was born. Groaning internally, she hoped that didn’t happen again. Rebecca had teased her about it but this time Roy would never let her live it down.

“Happy tears? Like when you told me you were having another baby?”

“Yes, just like that,” Roy answered as his hands rubbed up and down Riza’s arms. “Mummy passed her big exam so now she’s a teacher!”

Mia gasped and clapped together, eyes twinkling with glee. “Does that mean she’ll become my teacher? That would be so cool!”

“Not right now, Mia,” Roy laughed at her enthusiasm. “She has to wait a little bit but one day soon Mum will be teaching in a school just like yours.”

“Oh, wow!”

Riza pulled away from Roy, seeing his grin and the pride on his face. He pecked her on the nose, cupping her cheeks in his hands firmly.

“Congratulations, love,” he murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah, proud of you Mum!” Mia called to her from her chair at the table. Looking over Roy’s shoulder, she saw the bright smile on Mia’s face.

“Thank you,” Riza breathed, her eyes meeting Roy’s again.

He flashed her a grin. “We must celebrate!”

* * *

Riza walked through the streets of Central at sunset. The air was cold but at least there was no wind to chill her completely. Still, the winter jacket was pulled tighter around her neck, ensuring it was buttoned right up to the top. Readjusting her scarf, she picked up the pace to walk to Central University. Fingers flexed inside gloves, trying to move some heat to the cooler tips.

The university wasn’t far from home. The main campus was a few streets over, barely a ten minute walk. Roy had offered to drive her to the university, however Mia had homework that needed to be completed for tomorrow. So, after not venturing too far out of the house in recent weeks due to their hectic home life, Riza wanted to get out and go for a walk. It was easily manageable, even with her aches and pains, however they weren’t as ailing today as they had been recently.

Sucking in a deep breath, Riza enjoyed the light burn it left in her airways, smelling the cold in the air and the aftermath of the rain from earlier in the afternoon.

He hovered of course, as Riza slipped on her shoes, but she felt fine and wanted to go out and get some fresh air. The peace of the walk would do her good after what felt like running around after everyone at home for the past few days. Pouting, Roy had relented, easing up. A flash of irritation spiked within her chest at the assumption that she needed an escort to go anywhere, but Riza calmed herself. He just cared, that was all. Aftering being starved of it throughout childhood, Riza reminded herself that it was a nice feeling to experience, despite how worried he could be about the little things. Shaking her head fondly as she walked, Riza felt a warmth spread across her chest. Roy loved her and cared about her, that’s why he hovered.

As directed, Riza asked for her certification from the front desk. Idle wandering left her scanning the notice boards in the reception area while the receptionist exited into a room behind her to pick out Riza’s post. There was nothing interesting, some flyers for events that had already passed, but their posters forgotten about and neglected to be removed.

“Mrs. Mustang!”

Turning, confused, Riza stopped dead when she spotted who’d called her name.

Fuhrer Bradley was smiling broadly at her underneath his moustache, his one eye closed with happy cheer. A woman was standing next to him, her fair brown hair falling past her shoulders and pale pink dress skimming the bottom of the ground. A white jacket covered her shoulders, along with a scarf in the same blue as the Amestrian Military uniform. That was Mrs. Bradley, Riza realised in shock. And the small boy who’d shot her a smile was their son, Selim.

“What a coincidence running into you here,” Bradley chuckled in amusement as he approached.

Riza didn’t trust him one bit.

“Hello, Sir,” she greeted with respect.

This man, after all Roy had told her about his treatment of him and the threats that had been made upon her, deserved none of her reverence, however she couldn’t make things worse for Roy. She’d continue to play along and play oblivious to it all. That was the smart thing to do.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine, Sir.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” His expression was nothing but open and friendly. A ploy. “I trust your husband is recovering well from his injury?”

“He is, yes. Thank you for asking.”

“Good. I have not had the chance to drop in on him recently to ask personally. Could I ask you to pass on my regards?” His pointed stare felt like a message. Instead of the fear Riza had experienced initially, all she felt now was disgust and irritation.

“Of course, Sir,” Riza replied smoothly. Roy would definitely hear she’d run into Fuhrer Bradley tonight. “I know he will appreciate that from you.”

“Marvellous,” the Fuhrer beamed. “And I have been incredibly rude, I apologise.” Turning to his left, he motioned towards his wife and child. “This is my wife, Clarisse Bradley, and my son, Selim.”

“A pleasure,” Mrs. Bradley greeted warmly, so different from the hidden identity of her husband. As Riza took her offered hand and shook it, she quietly wondered if Mrs. Bradley was aware of what her husband was, or if she was unfortunate enough to be oblivious to it all.

“It’s very good to meet you, Ma’am,” Selim beamed. “I’ve heard all about your husband! He’s a hero!”

Riza almost flinched but caught herself. That was not a title Roy liked to go by in the slightest.

“Thank you,” Riza smiled politely, offering the child no more than that.

“Selim,” the Fuhrer admonished lightly for his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly.

“It’s all right,” Bradley assured. “We must be going. We have a private tour of the premises scheduled for this evening. Mrs. Mustang, it was lovely to see you again.”

His single eye flashed as his wife and son offered Riza the same sentiment. It was a warning. For what, Riza didn’t know. She just hoped she would never run into him ever again. With every look he gave her it made her skin crawl.

They left the reception area, walking down a hallway further into the University. Riza watched them leave as Selim excitedly whispered about meeting a family member of the Flame Alchemist. Patiently, his father tried to calm him as Mrs. Bradley smiled fondly.

“Riza Mustang?” The receptionist called to her quietly, probably wondering if she raised her voice to a normal level, it would startle Riza. It was certainly a possibility.

Giving herself a shake, Riza shelved the surprise meeting for the moment and shook off the uncomfortable feeling it left her with. Smiling, she thanked the receptionist and took the manila envelope from her hands. Inside was her teaching certification.

The receptionist sat back down in her chair and returned her attention to the notes on the desk, Riza already forgotten as she continued to work.

With shaking hands, Riza unsealed the envelope and opened it up, extracting the certificate inside slowly and carefully. Unsettling conversation forgotten, Riza smiled and felt some relief as she read the paper, citing her as a teacher. Finally. Nestled between shining gold leaf and beautiful swirls of black ink, Riza’s name was printed proudly on the dotted line.

Stepping back into the cold autumn night, Riza shivered, tucking the envelope underneath her arm. Winter was almost here. After being inside, the chill tugged at the exposed skin of her face, nipping painfully, as it fought to invade through her layers. Soon, frost would cover the concrete and the grass, creating a delightful crunch underfoot as everyone walked through it.

The campus was empty as she walked across it. In the night, the long, bare branches on the trees would look menacing to a child if they were to come across them. Like something from a scary story. They reached tall into the sky, often silhouetted by the lamps lining the walkway underneath Riza. Clouds hid away the moon in sporadic intervals, darkening the sky for a long bout once she reached the other end of the campus. A gentle breeze had kicked up, so she ducked underneath a sheltered walkway, glancing up at the sky to see the moon hidden from view once more. Walking here would mean a slightly longer walk home, but Riza decided she felt physically able enough to handle it, so relished in her extra time to herself. Heading in the opposite direction of home, Riza took her time and enjoyed it.

Suddenly, as she neared the road she had to cross to reach home, something felt… off. Riza couldn’t place it, and her brow furrowed as she approached the crossing, still underneath the shelter of the walkway. It felt like she was being watched. Subtly glancing around, she saw no one. Opening up her ears and focussing on that sense more so than her others, she heard no footsteps either.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken the small detour...

“Mrs. Mustang.”

Riza stuttered to a stop. She froze in place, fear seizing every muscle in her body. She recognised that voice from a short while ago, but there was an otherworldly quality to it. It echoed, like it was multiple voices speaking at once, but that was impossible. Only Selim Bradley spoke with a voice as innocent as that… However, this was anything but innocent. It sounded evil. The hair on the back of Riza’s neck stuck up in a warning, her instincts screaming at her to run. Trying to take a step, her feet were stuck, glued to the concrete beneath her feet.

“Please, remain still,” the boy commanded gently. “Things will be much easier for you if you did.”

Her heels relaxed and lowered back onto the ground, ankles succumbing to a sudden pressure, like someone was gripping them tightly. A breath was sucked into her lungs and she let it go slowly. Her free hand formed a fist, clenched tightly by her side.

“Selim?” Her eyes darted ahead, searching every crevice for where the boy may be hiding, but there was no sign of him. The cars in the distance continued to pass by, oblivious to what was happening under the darkened shelter.

“That’s right,” he answered, that voice echoing in the suddenly deathly silent night. Riza focussed, determining he was behind her, hidden out of view. “Although Pride is another name I go by. The First Homunculus. That’s the more preferable one, actually.”

Homunculus.

Suddenly, the shadows elongated in front of where she was standing with a darkness that was not natural. A large eye appeared, staring up at her. It was so unsettling, Riza shifted and wanted to turn and run. It was horrifying to look at, leaving her feeling violated as it stared relentlessly, unblinking.

Despite being urged to remain still, her flight response kicked in. Still unable to move, a pressure surrounded Riza’s wrists while another crawled up her ankles and calves, rooting her. Something tightened around her neck, shifting the fabric of her scarf gently, but not constricting enough to cause any pain. Just discomfort. Eyes widening, Riza felt true fear and a sweat broke out over her entire body.

“Please tell your husband that we say hello,” Selim purred.

The pressure around her wrists tightened and Riza felt warmth. Something bit into her skin, cutting into her flesh cleanly. She was sure he’d somehow managed to draw blood, but with what? The restrictions on her neck reminded her not to move to look down and examine the fresh wound. If it could cut into flesh that easily then she wouldn’t risk it.

“I told you it would be easier if you remained still,” Selim snickered as the pressure disappeared from her wrists.

Riza felt she could breathe easier as it did so, however, suddenly the pressure around her neck increased the smallest amount. Choking on her breath, Selim shushed her violently. Out the corner of her eye, Riza saw a black tendril of… of something appear, moving towards her cheek. It flicked towards her, like one would do to an irritation, and Riza felt it swipe at the skin of her cheek. Biting her lip, Riza squeezed her eyes tightly closed as she fought to remain as still as she could. Angering whatever this thing was would do her no favours at all.

“What do you want?” She pushed the words out of her throat, focussing on getting as much information out of the boy as she possibly could. But this was no boy. This… thing was something else entirely.

“Just to say hello. And now, it is time for me to leave.”

The restraints on Riza tightened for the tiniest second, all doing so together, cutting off her airway. Another choked breath left her, then the restraints disappeared. The shadows and the enormous eye disappeared in a flash, muting into nothingness.

“Tell him we say hello,” the boy whispered into the evening air. “And nothing else. We will be watching,” it threatened, fading out completely into silence.

Riza stumbled, spinning in place on shaky legs as she frantically searched for the sweet young boy she’d met only a short while ago. He was nowhere to be seen.

Just like his father, Selim Bradley was not as he seemed.

Rubbing the muscles of her sore neck, Riza panted for breath, eyes wide.

What just happened?

Her knees trembled as she struggled to catch her breath. Finally able to flee, she blindly walked to the road, electing not to cross but just to get away from the university campus. Riza didn’t even notice she was walking in the direction away from home. The hairs on her neck still refused to flatten down and her stomach roiled with unease.

Something trickled down her cheek gently, the smarting pain finally registering in her startled brain. Lifting a hand, she swiped at the wetness, feeling a slick liquid coat her fingers. In the lamplight above, Riza saw blood.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #the way it was #emma writes #👀👀👀

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mtwalker · 3 years

Text

Painting

I started writing these little Supernatural/Destiel one shots a couple weeks ago, and I’ve decided I might as well post them. This is a sweet one about Dean and Jack hanging out.

Jack’s Netflix obsession had taken a new turn. He had cycled through all of the Star Wars content he could find, and was now desperate for a new obsession to take hold. He liked the focus that came with watching a show front-to-back. It helped him relax, diving completely into a show so that the rest of the world would disappear like background noise. A brief break from the new danger of the week.

It was this search that brought him to Bob Ross. He had seen paintings before, but the idea was lost on him. Either the painting was of a real thing, and he could simply look at the real version instead, or the painting wasn’t, and he had trouble wrapping his head around it. To be fair, art was a rather abstract concept, especially for a boy less than a year old.

Bob Ross had a calming voice, though. One that made all of the tension in Jack’s body melt away. He had such a kind and positive outlook, one that reminded him of his father, Castiel. Jack hung on to every word he said, letting the messages cleanse his soul. If this man could think so highly of everyone, even people he hand’t met yet, then the world had to be as good as Castiel had told him.

He also was beginning to grasp the interest in painting. It turned out, watching someone go from a completely blank canvas to a breathtaking image of mountains and trees and water was quite inspiring. Jack could barely wrap his mind around how some smudges of paint could turn into a perfect fluffy cloud. It was a special sort of magic, one that he desperately wanted to master. Not to mention, Bob Ross always looked so happy while painting. Jack wanted to feel that same happiness.

This inspiration is what had Jack digging through various closets around the bunker at three in the afternoon. Dean, hearing the disturbance, leaned around the corner just in time to see four brooms fall onto Jack, knocking him off balance. Dean ran forward, placing a hand on his back to steady him.

“Careful there, Jack. What are you digging for in there?”

Jack smiled that wide, innocent smile that always warmed Dean’s heart. “I’m looking for paints. I want to paint like Bob Ross.”

Dean’s eyes widened, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah? Well, I know where to find some, I think. Come on.”

Dean lead him down the twisting halls of the bunker, eventually stopping at one of the many unmarked doors. He pushed it open, revealing a storage room packed full of the strangest assortment of things Jack had ever seen. They walked through rows of chained up books, old candles, pots and pans, unlabeled jars, and finally stopped at some small tubs of paint.

“Sammy and I got some for sigils awhile ago. Didn’t wanna run out again. He thought it would be funny to branch out and get different colors.“ Jack picked up a few, balancing them in his arms. Dean gathered a stack of blank paper and gestured for Jack to lead the way out.

“But, Dean. What about the brushes?”

“Well, our last one caught fire in an… um… incident. But we don’t need brushes.”

Jack furrowed his brow, but headed out anyway. He trusted Dean, even if his ideas were a little unorthodox at times. They lined up the paint on one of the tables in the library, Dean dropping the sheets and a roll of paper towels beside them.

“Sammy used to finger-paint all the time growing up. I’d buy paints every couple of weeks when we’d move to a new place. He said it made it feel more like home.” His smile softened at the memory. After a moment he shook himself out of it, untwisting the tops of the tubs. Jack sat across from him, watching as Dean dipped a finger into the paint and started drawing on his own piece of paper. A couple of lines turned into a crude tree, and Jack grinned. He reached forward, excited to start his own drawing.

This is how Castiel found them. Pages scattered across the table, half finished drawings in front of each of them. Dean was gesticulating with paint-covered hands, excitedly talking over the classic rock playing from his phone that had been balanced on the edge of a bookshelf. Jack was nodding along, hanging on to Dean’s every word.

“What have I walked into?” he asked, carefully stepping towards them. Dean grinned over at him, waving him over.

“I’ve been showing Jack how to finger-paint. He’s been watching Bob Ross all week, you know?”

Castiel nodded, leaning forward to look at the drawings scattered across the table. Dean’s were predictable; the Impala, various landscapes, silly faces drawn with the intention to make Jack laugh, Cas was sure. Jack’s were similar, apparently following Dean’s lead, but some had stick figures standing off to the side. One notably had four standing together, all side by side. Castiel gestured to it, making Jack smile even wider.

“Do you like it? It’s all of us!” Cas looked closer, smiling softly at the row of stick people standing in front of a black shape that he assumed to be the Impala.

“It’s very impressive, Jack.” The boy swelled with pride, turning to look at Dean. Dean winked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Jack, go see if you can find some tape. We can hang ‘em around the bunker for everyone to see,” Dean grinned, watching Jack fumble with the chair and run out of the library. He laughed quietly to himself, turning to look back at Cas. “He’s a little enthusiastic, isn’t he?”

“It was nice of you to humor him.” Castiel moved towards the table, stacking the dry paintings one on top of the other.

“Yeah, well he should have a childhood, you know? ’S not fair that he got cheated out of one just ‘cus of his dad.”

Cas glanced up at Dean, noticing the set of his jaw. Something told him this conversation wasn’t entirely about Jack anymore. “You’ve been a good father to him.”

Dean shrugged, screwing the lids back onto the tubs of paint. “I dunno. I mean, I was pretty awful for a bit there.”

“Yes, but you’ve done so much to make up for it. Dean, Jack adores you.” Castiel reached out, firmly gripping Dean’s arm and drawing his attention. “You are not your father.”

Dean looked up, an unreadable expression on his face, but Cas didn’t look away. They stayed like that for a minute, both trying desperately to communicate some importance to each other without words. Dean was the first to turn away, moments before Jack returned with tape in hand. He stopped, noticing the tension between the two of them.

“Is everything okay? Dean? Castiel?”

Cas nodded, passing Jack the stack of paintings from the table. “Start putting these up, Jack. You can show Sam when he gets back from town.” Jack glanced back at Dean, who was still looking down at the table. After hesitating for a second, he took the paintings and headed back down the hall.

Castiel circled to the other side of the table, watching Dean stiffen as he got closer. “It’s okay, Dean.” He whispered, taking the other mans hand. Dean squeezed it like a lifeline, taking a deep, shuddering breath. They stood there a while longer, basking in the comfort of each others presence.

#superntaural #destiel #dean winchester #jack kline #castiel #writing

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zukofenty · 4 years

Text

always be my maybe

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara could never quite get their timing right. Especially when the universe throws a lost condom, thousands of miles, and a baby in their way.

“I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Celebrity Chef!Katara, Doctor!Zuko, Love, Rosie!AU

AO3 @zutaraweek

“Go a couple rounds, leave Zuko’s dick up in a casket!” Toph screams into the microphone, undeterred by the various guests who stare up at her, mouth open and half-chewed, dry-as-fuck chicken spilling out. It wasn’t her fault, really! As soon as Zuko handed the mic off to her, he basically gave her free reign to spit a Megan Thee Stallion verse in his honor. “Sing with me, bitches! Look up the lyrics on Genius.com, Cheryl!”

“Sit down !” Katara squeezes out from clenched teeth, ripping the device out from the girl’s grip.

“I didn’t even get to the chorus, you fucking whore .” A bridesmaid nervously plucks the mic from their table and avoids eye contact with both of them. “What’s going on with you, bitch?” Toph asks quietly. She could tell Katara’s been doing her fake smile for the last twenty minutes. The girl was practically going to break her face open with how hard she was grinding her teeth.

“Just thinking.” Katara wants to smack herself in the face, pinch a nipple and bring herself to reality. Everything felt too real, and Toph could sense it. She’s the type to somehow sense when Katara shifts in her seat a certain way to covertly satisfy a cooch itch, and then buys her Monistat the same day.

She hates that she could never hide any emotion from her. Toph could always figure out the puzzle pieces that were Katara. One of the few to know the real her, besides Zuko.

Sometimes Katara thinks the younger girl knows her better than him. At least now. Especially now.

“About?” Toph takes an experimental sip from the wine glass, and gags. The juice tasted like Gatorade and cum. “Why the fuck would anyone want a dry wedding? Weddings are the only time you get to see your alcoholic uncle vomit all over the bride’s shoes, and then your closeted aunt has to wipe up the puke and her reputation from the floor while thinking of her secret girlfriend at home watching Tiger King .”

“That example was extremely specific and extremely unnecessary.” Katara brushes a crunchy curl, doused in hairspray, from her eyes.

“Sorry, I got distracted. I had dick on the brain, or whatever Rihanna said,” Toph mumbles, risking a bite of the chicken.

Katara turns to see him at the couple’s table in the center of the extravagant wedding, and sighs. “And for your information, I was just thinking when will he penetrate my esophagus? You know, just girly things.”

Toph has the gall to slap the girl on the cheek.

Katara holds her stinging face, eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat for fucking up the parts of her face she didn’t set with powder (she was going for a dewy look, sue her). “Not fair! You were the one who called my throat the baby chute earlier today!”

“Ok, throat goat. One, he’s getting married. Two, you’re sick.”

“My therapist will most likely cosign that,” Katara sighs. Toph holds Katara’s hand and leans her head on her shoulder as they watch Zuko mingle with guests.

This is the happiest day of his life.

Her best friend of twenty odd years was getting married. He looked so handsome, so happy. A suit that looked like it would cost someone’s rent and a half casually hugging his muscular frame. A blinding smile on his face, cheeks flushed from champagne and excitement.

When he turns her way, his smile grows impossibly wider. Toph clinks on a champagne glass with a fork, breaking it a la Princess Diaries , and Katara could feel the stares of nearly everyone in the room, ready for her speech.

It should be the happiest day of my life, too.

Right?

Katara thinks she wants to cry.

Now, how come none of those Judy Blume, coming-of-age books have a chapter on how to write a Best Woman speech for your best friend getting married to another woman, even when you were struggling with the fact that you might have been in love with him for the past two decades?

Bitch, what the fuck do you even start that Google Doc with?

Does she start at 4 years old? When Katara thinks Zuko is an annoying piece of shit?

But, you know, he’s her piece of shit.

Guys have hepatitis, or cooties, or whatever Sokka said, she couldn’t exactly remember. All she remembered was Zuko sucked. He stole her crayons and made fun of her Hello Kitty backpack on the first day of school. He was the stupid one, not Hello Kitty . Never Hello Kitty . She’d shoved his face into the playground’s wood chips, threatened to cut off his peepee for breathing down her neck with his retainer breath, and even stuck his head in between two slices of white bread and lovingly referring to him as an ‘idiot sandwich’ (Sokka let her watch too many Gordon Ramsey hosted shows while their dad was working late).

Zuko and Katara were practically inseparable ever since.

Or 10, when you were asking for trouble if you fucked with Zuko.

He was a tiny kid, glasses too big for his head. Hair shaggy, clothes too oversized for him (just the way he liked it). His dad had tried beating it into him that it showed weakness by not making waves, not being loud and proud. But, he was quiet by nature. For him, it was just easier.

Not stirring the pot, being the observer, looking in from the outside. He was just Zuko , he liked Wonder Woman comics and figuring out what other words besides BOOBIES he could spell with his calculator instead of actually doing his math homework, because he was bad at math. Bad at everything, really. Everything but band class. Even if he did hate that stupid fucking tsungi horn.

His mom would hide his report cards from his dad, especially the ones noting how shy he was (Mrs. Kim had used the exact words ‘very antisocial, very easy to bully’). Even when Ursa would ask him to try, try to make friends outside of Katara, he was always a stubborn little thing. Something you got from your father , she would say, the smile slipping off her face just the slightest.

It was just more fun being by himself, the only exception he made was Katara. He spent his recess scribbling down a plot for a Love Amongst the Dragons Fanfiction and listening to Katara’s iPod he’d steal from her, just because he could , after she snuck it out from her backpack for the 10 minute break they had. It was the iPod she spent the last two Christmases saving up with Sokka for. Zuko insisted he could master Ludacris’s rap in Usher’s “Yeah!” and practiced the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she had custody of the device.

Some days, Katara would sit beside him in her signature puffy blue jacket, struggling to fold herself to fit on the blacktop beside Zuko. The patented jacket her grandmother forced her to wear every single day obstructing her abilities. He snickers, but keeps quiet, content with plotting out a story that he would hopefully get to type out on the school library’s computers if his mom picked him up late again. She usually did, much to the dismay of the ladies at the front office. They typically hissed at him (which made him cry, to which they would have to offer him a cherry Otter pop so they wouldn’t face a lawsuit) and called his mom words he couldn’t repeat without getting in trouble (“Whore”).

Katara would babble on about her day, sometimes thinking of ways for his characters to die a painful death, or cooking up Fanfic plots for Beyoncé and Britney Spears to find love among the chaos of a zombie infestation. She always insisted she brought the creative range to their friendship. Some days though, Katara forgets all about him and plays handball with all the most popular girls in school.

Zuko’s jealous.

(Sometimes.)

She’s my best friend! He wants to scream in their faces. At the end of the day, he thinks he’s going to lose her. The day she realized she was too good, too cool for the likes of him.

“Chan, stop it!” Zuko squeaked, his notebook snatched from underneath his nose. The boy was always picking a fight. Your dad buys you a Motorola flip phone and suddenly you think you’re the shit.

The boy sneers at Zuko, flipping through the pages. “What do we have here? Are you drawing Shrek with boobies? You’re gonna jack off to that later, freak?”

Before Zuko could get a word in and defend his honor, Chan’s entire body was shoved to the ground, a dainty foot cased in a light up, white Skechers sneaker pressing into his face. Zuko couldn’t help his glee as Katara could barely be peeled off and stopped from repeatedly slamming Chan’s face into the hopscotch chalk court. “It’s all ogre now, bitch!”

She made sure to pin her detention slip to her Bratz backpack with pride. Zuko buys two treats that day from the student store before he walks her home.

“You’re my best friend, forever and ever,” Katara declares, head held up high. Zuko saw through it, though. He knows she’s scared of what Hakoda has to say, what Gran Gran has to say. So, he holds her hand tight, trying to relay his gratitude in the touch.

He licks at his Spongebob popsicle. The eyes had melted off and looked more like someone’s worst nightmare than an icy treat. Katara had wanted his cherry Otter pop, and he happily handed it over. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his finger.

Katara hooks her finger around his, dwarfing his tiny digit. Her outstretched smile stained orange. “I’ll break yours if you ever forget.”

At 15, Katara came to the realization that men have the emotional intelligence of a Souplantation crouton (may Souplantation rest in peace).

Growing up, with their dad and grandma always at work at their store, Katara was always in charge of cooking. No matter how many times she’d try to get Sokka to do it, he always insisted he was far too busy with taking out the trash, killing bugs, hating women. So, she was stuck with it, and honest-to-Rihanna, really liked it. Not that she’d ever let Sokka ever get the satisfaction of knowing it. It was her time to be alone, gave her the space to pop in a Cheetah Girls CD and pretend she won Masterchef with the struggle meal straight out of a Spam can she had to pound on a few times to get it to squeeze out from its gelatinous casing, or a whitewashed recipe she tried replicating whenever she catches a Rachael Ray rerun.

Though, Katara’s favorite time was chopping up the green onions under Ursa’s careful eyes, a hand always just there in realign the knife just in case she’d carelessly cut the green onions too big to garnish. Then, Ursa would then take out scissors because nobody had time for that. When his dad wasn’t home, Zuko’s mom opened up their doors across the street to the siblings, rambling about the next big painting she was planning as they scarfed down a home cooked meal.

Zuko was similar to his mom in that regard. They were the type of people who managed to make everyday moments larger-than-life, made it infectious, too. When it’s nighttime and he’s snuck into and snug in Katara’s room, he’d tell her dreams too big for anyone’s comprehension. Sometimes he dreamed he had tits that would leak chunky chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he’d ramble until her eyes are flitting shut and he’s left talking to himself and measuring his hand with hers, securing the leg she instantly throws over his waist. He’d like to think he was her only exception in the Souplantation crouton narrative.

Her bed is starting to smell like him, too. His favorite Costco brand shampoo and conditioner that he leaves in her bathroom, permeating her nostrils when she pulled him close. She even let him put up a Drake poster right next to her plethora of Rihanna ones, but only after he let her draw a penis on both his and Drake’s face. What he didn’t account for was her using a permanent marker, or the fact he couldn’t scrub it away from his cheeks for the next two days.

It was easy like this, just the two of them.

He’s there for all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases that left her not quite feeling whole. When things were hard, when things fucking sucked, when she wanted nothing more but to die. He was there, (stupidly) holding out his hand and willing to be the eye to her hurricane.

At 15, Zuko decides Katara feels home.

At 18, Zuko had already been Katara’s many firsts.

He was her first buffet partner, and brought back his Justin Bieber haircut just to pretend he was 12 so they could qualify for children's rates and a complimentary Oreo cheesecake because they were always celebrating his “birthday.”

Her first clubbing partner the second she turned 18, rubbing her back when any Beyoncé song with a Jay-Z feature came on because the second he cheated on Beyoncé, he cheated on everyone in the Beyhive. The first one to have to hold her as she hurled on his shoes, the first one to have to take her to get her stomach pumped.

The first person she tried to roll a joint with.

“I don’t need to learn that.”

Katara purses her lips. “And why not?”

He gestures to his face. “I’m too pretty. Only ugly bitches know how to do that . ”

Sokka thinks he needs to intervene when he hears Zuko’s tsungi horn case being chucked across the room .

The first person she (almost) fucked.

His family life was, for lack of a better word, fucked up. Katara had been witness to the drinking, the drugs, the crying. The nights where she sometimes didn’t know if the person standing in front of her was Zuko. She just wanted one night away from it all, just one night out on the town.

“That was kind of terrible,” Katara admits easily, wincing because she was sure he spilled Papa John’s garlic dipping sauce in his shitty Corolla’s air filter last Tuesday. He tried positioning his arm naturally underneath her head while their half naked bodies were pressed together, but he ended up smacking off her glasses. He even had the audacity to contently sigh as though he accomplished something, rather than just tangle her hair and give her a tension headache.

She felt lied to! Cheated! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! All the Shrek and Y/N stories on FF.net could not prepare her for the fact that there weren’t any tongues fighting for dominance, or any mouths that tasted like cinnamon or musk or shit like that. It was just retainer to retainer and smelled distinctly of her awkward friend (cheese). It was sweaty and a lot of weird humping and felt like a visit to the gyno.

“Hey! I thought it was pleasantly average.” He clears his throat. “You know, besides the fact you farted mid-insertion and I started crying after 20 seconds.”

“You mean right after you came, right?” She says matter-of-factly.

He glared. “Is it my fault you have a gorilla grip pussy? Is it?”

“Zuko, you’re so fucking — ”

“What happens when you put a hot dog in the microwave for 2 minutes?” He crosses his hands and folds them over his lap like a professor waiting for a volunteer to answer the equation on the board.

“So in this metaphor, are you calling my pussy a microwave?”

But in true Zuko and Katara fashion, it was clumsy and a mess and could be erased with an emergency Burger King outing where they ate in silence and pinky promised never to speak of it again.

She wonders if Zuko should’ve been her first date to prom, too.

She wants to stop feeling so bothered . She couldn’t quite pin it, but lately everything he did frustrated the shit out of her. How he was taller than her now. How he didn’t need her to fight his battles because he goes to the gym now and wears a fake Gucci belt because he’s just so cool (brooding Asian guy is the trend, and Zuko thinks he’s the blueprint). How he said yes to going to prom with Mai, the prettiest girl in their grade.

“Don’t look in there!” Katara yelps, a blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Why?” Zuko questions, taken aback. He was entirely too comfortable in her room.

“Um. Maybe I don’t want a freak going through my dirty underwear pile!” Her eyebrows are halfway done, and she only has one eyelash glued on. She was stressed, scared her dress might not fit with how many of Sokka’s cookies she stress-ate because she just wanted the night to be perfect .

“Relax, what are a few discharge stains going to do to me, huh? If anything, it gives your pussy some much-needed personality.” Zuko wasn’t going to stop until he found his fake Gucci belt in Katara’s closet.

“Zuko!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

“Do I have to remind you about the time you broke our friendship bracelet while masturbating and I dug the bead out of your vagina like the good friend I am?”

She shoves him back from the closet, crowding in his space. That belt was going to remain in its rightful place. “Oh, fuck you! I took the fall for you when you opened your laptop in history class and forgot to exit from your “VIBRATING PANTIES” porn tab!” She pushes him before plopping on her bed.

Katara buries her face in her pillow at that point, too entirely embarrassed and body too hot to continue to look at his nonchalant face. He doesn’t quite remember when exactly Katara became so cute .

Pretty? Definitely. Fearless? For sure.

But blushing Katara, embarrassed Katara, cute Katara?

He thinks it’s because they rarely saw each other now, despite his patented place in her bed. His band, Hello Zuko, was aiming for at least a few dive bar performances to build a reputation, especially with their new title track “Tennis Ball.” Katara was a familiar face at their town’s soup kitchens.

“Where are you going?” he would sleepily mumble as he tried taking his midday nap before late night performances.

Katara’s hands are full with ingredients, swaying side to side and eyes red and drowsy. “Trying to temper chocolate. Why? What’s up?”

She never misses a performance, though. Comes to them with a sparkly poster doused in glitter, and t-shirts with his face on them and everything. He never misses a fundraising event, making sure to bring a steaming thermos filled with tea because Katara was never the type to remember to take care of herself, and always buys out her fundraising goodies (even her overbaked brownies.)

He pulls her up by her ponytail, cupping her face in between his hands.

“You look cute.”

“You look like the human equivalent of toeless socks,” Katara mumbles, face squished in between Zuko’s hands. “Why are you giving my clit piercing a kiss kiss right now? What do you want?”

Zuko shakes her head in between his hands. “Pinky promise me you’ll drop all penises to dance with me if they play any Usher song?” It was like he was in fifth grade all over again. “Call me a Nissan because I just want you Altima-self.”

She lets out a cackle, the sound nearly deafening. “Don’t worry, the DJ will get us falling in love again in no time.”

“Do you have to go with Jet?” He asks, pouting. He lays his head in her lap, too entirely preoccupied with picking at her pilling sweatpants to look at her questioning eyes. They promised they were going to be each others’ dates at the beginning of the school year. It was more fun going to dances with Katara. She knew how to do the worm and every lyric to every Rihanna song out there (but she refuses to sing any with Chris Brown parts).

“What? You know I like my men stupid.” She runs her hands through his locks, undoing the crunchy gel job that Iroh had painstakingly spent time on. Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like a youth pastor.

“You do like your communal meat thermometers.” He wants to keep the hurt out of his voice.

She shoves him off her, getting up to put on the dress hanging off her closet’s door handle. “You’re going with Mai, remember?” She yells through the closed closet door.

“But the thing is, I’m not planning to fuck her afterwards at the shitty hotel like it’s some type of CW show with some old bitches playing teenagers!”

“Just say XOXO, Gossip Girl .”

He still resents her for getting him invested in Blair Waldorf’s headband collection. “It’s not my fault Jet looks old. He looks like he’s at least 27 for fuck’s sake!” His face grows more distressed as he spits out each word. He only said yes to going with Mai after finding out Jet asked Katara using some shitty poster that said “my heart is always running when I see you” with a box of Nike outlet sneakers after English class.

“I think you’re just jealous that I emptied my intestines for someone who is about to be in it within the next three hours. When have I ever done that for you?”

Zuko’s about to retort something until Katara slams open the door, flooding his eyes with a dusty blue, curve hugging dress that did weird things to him. Like make his heart beat out of his chest, and his throat all dry when he’s searching for the words to say. Looking for the right words that say he thinks it’s impossible someone’s smile could make sunsets brighter, make the stars twinkle even more, make the unthinkable just a fingertip’s grasp away.

“Can you see the outline of my underwear and/or desperation from the back?” Her spin has him bumbling like an idiot.

He wishes it was Katara that night. Letting him shyly press his sweaty fingers into her waist as Katy Perry’s “E.T.” pierced their eardrums. He knows she would have pinched his nipples as punishment, all things considered. But the fluorescent lights of the disco ball would’ve highlighted how her pretty flush would dust her cheeks, and he would hold her close to his beating heart despite her complaining her foundation would stain his Target dress shirt, and everything would make sense.

“Did you cum?” Jet was absolutely pretty with an oh-so fat horse cock. Too bad he was like the Justin Timberlakes of the world, and always spoke unprovoked.

Katara scoffs. “Yeah, I came to my senses.” She flicked his forehead. “How would I do that? Tell me. How the fuck would a few thrusts and you panting your Sweet and Sour sauce breath in my ear get me off?” She shoves the sweating boy off her. “Can I say jk and will it make me a virgin again?” The hotel room had scratchy sheets and smelled like a waterpark bathroom.

He groaned. “I’m sorry .” He’s completely unremorseful. “Your tits smell like Cinnabon’s cinnamon rolls and I couldn’t help myself!” Katara is about to cut his dick off for breathing in the same vicinity as her, before a gasp stops her entire world.

“Zuko!” she screeches, opening the hotel door with the same devastation as when Britney Spears discovered Ryan Seacrest wasn’t gay painting her features.

“You know what they say.” Zuko’s smirking, entirely ignoring Katara fuming. “Chlamydia is the powerhouse of the cell.”

“You’re. A. Dick!” She says in between smacks to his head. Jet makes a speedy exit, still pantsless and clutching his suit to his chest, while Zuko mouths a ‘ call me’ to Mai, who amusedly waves goodbye to Katara.

“Oh god, this is exactly like the bead incident all over again.”

“ You’re not helping! ”

“Maybe we’ll find Atlantis up there too,” Zuko murmurs, concentrating on positioning the hotel’s mirror under her legs.

“Please, Rihanna. Have mercy on me.” Katara’s hands are in prayer mode as Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight. “I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me. All those times I took an extra gummy vitamin were a joke . I never wanted to die, I just wanted to feel a little thrill in my life. Please—”

Zuko screams when the squelch of the condom splatters onto the mirror.

“You’re wearing underwear under there right?” He likes the look of his blazer draping over her, buttoned to look like a chic, oversized dress and not because it was the easiest thing to throw over Katara to run and grab Plan B.

“No, because I would obviously let my fat cooter out, cute and bare and vulnerable in a Walmart.”

“A simple yes would have sufficed.”

She’s reaching for the box and wincing at the price when she feels a gentle nudge on her arm. “Ma’am, your entire pussy is out in a Walmart,” the employee breathes out pathetically.

“I am well aware.” She ekes out.

The employee eyes her up and down with a gaze that practically calls her a whore . “Please put her away.” Zuko’s face grows beet red as he tries holding back a laugh.

It was always easy like this. When the world was just Zuko and Katara, holding hands in her driveway while they watched the sun rise in his shitty Corolla. She’s still wrapped up in his blazer, he’s since loosened his cheap tie and his hair is sticking every which way. She likes his smile, especially now that it comes so easy.

He’s smiling a lot more now that his father is gone. Ozai essentially told Azula and Zuko to fuck off , and ran off to some big city to steer a hospital with too many controversies and too many white guys at the helm. Iroh came back from his meditation sabbatical, enthusiastic to take care of the siblings. Zuko seems a lot happier with Iroh around, and even spends nights sleeping in his actual bed. (Katara’s a little hurt, but keeps that to herself).

She wishes she could bottle up these moments with Zuko up and just hold them in her hands. Moments when they were still young and curious and still had time to wait for life to figure itself out. She wants to find a way to make these a permanent fixture, instead of memories that would fade with age. “Let’s get out of here,” he offers up, eyes starry.

“Yeah?” She folds her knees up to her chest, and he taps her under her chin to level their gazes.

“ Republic City . We can make something out of lives. Medical school, culinary school. Get out of this shithole. Get away from our past.” His smile is contagious. “Best friends, forever and ever, right?”

She’s so pretty, her wide eyes sparkling as they take in the rays of sun. She returns his smile. “Best friends, forever and ever.”

Katara remembers how Ursa would say Zuko always dreamt too big, his heart always wanting so, so much .

“It’s a blessing, but more of a curse,” she would note, with the wisdom only mothers are capable of possessing. Sometimes, Katara selfishly thinks the day Ursa left hurt her more than it hurt Zuko. They were impossibly close, to the point where Zuko even had to intervene when Ursa started siding with Katara during their arguments (he knows in his heart his Mother’s Day macaroni portrait of her was better).

She would wonder how the world could let her live like this, dangling something she’s always wanted right in front of her face, only to snatch it away. Wonder if it was easier to die, than live with a hole in her heart that seemingly doubled in size overnight.

“Zuko, please look at me.”

He’s mad, she could tell. With his pout and the way he was forcibly trying to squeeze his eyes in a glare. He’s been sitting in the same spot in her bed, eyes trained on tutorials on how to convincingly persuade your doctor to give you an adderall prescription and “who bit Beyonce” conspiracy videos.

“Well, what if I just wanted you to respect my privacy! For the first time in 15 years! Maybe I needed space!” She yelps after twenty minutes of the silent treatment.

Zuko sends her a look that has her freezing up on the spot. “Katara, you had a whole baby .”

She felt thoroughly scolded, but she was stubborn. “And? What about it?”

“You had an entire one, and didn’t even bother to tell the godfather? When was I supposed to find out?”

Katara didn’t think that one through, to be honest. It was easy to forget, in between diapers that smelled like a fish sauce and an expired Vagisil smoothie, and balancing work. She lays down beside him, thoroughly exhausted after putting her little girl, Yue, down for a nap. “One, who made you the godfather? And two, I guess we’re just not close like that.”

“Look, I literally have your social security number memorized, and have practically given you a Pap smear. You really want to say ‘ we’re not close like that ?” He sends her a look that has her resolve faltering the slightest. “You did your pregnancy announcement like a Sailor Moon transformation sequence with before and after pictures of you being pregnant, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?”

Katara gasps. “I had you blocked !”

“Azula’s a snitch!” He also got a glimpse of the photo of Katara in her hoe time dress that barely fit over her belly with the caption: how the mighty have fallen . He pauses, sucking in a breath of air for strength. The hurt flashes in his eyes and the only thing she could think to do was wrap him up in a familiar embrace.

At 19, Katara is so incredibly lost, and just wants her best friend by her side.

He’s busy, the summer before everything Republic City. Everytime she tries their house, Azula answers, rolling her eyes while clad in a Harry Styles shirt, because it’s a girl’s rite of passage to go through a One Direction phase and wear badly made merchandise from Hot Topic. He’s usually busy packing, or fucking Mai until she sounds like a car alarm during Fourth of July fireworks.

“Azula, no . You cannot kidnap Mai’s younger brother and trade him in for concert tickets to send a message.”

“Not even for floor ones?” Katara’s glare summed up her answer. “I used to look up to you,” Azula retorts, returning to her stan Twitter.

She waits, waits, waits. The moans keep coming and she just rolls her eyes. Her stomach churns, mainly because she thinks Mai called Zuko’s dick The Pussy Penetrator every time he hit her g spot (you know what, good for her). But also because her scholarship to the university was less than she expected, and Hakoda didn’t want to cosign on a loan. She just wanted her best friend to be there for her.

She feels sick, sick enough to vomit in one of Iroh’s plants, while Azula rubs small circles into her back.

“You should’ve swallowed,” Toph reminds, bundling Katara’s thick hair into a ponytail as the girl hurled up her California roll. She’s so exhausted, she even leans her head against the Walmart toilet bowl, five positive pregnancy tests tossed carelessly beside her.

“Think it’s too late for that,” Katara grits out. “What are you doing?”

The last thing she expected was Toph’s hands gathering together in prayer formation. “Praying to Rihanna your period comes.”

Like many people her age, having a mental breakdown during a pregnancy scare and praying for a miracle in a public restroom was normal. But for the first time in her life, besides the time Rihanna willingly twerked on Drake at the 2011 Grammys, Ms. Robyn Fenty herself failed her.

“Fetus deletus that bitch! Fuck them kids !” She brings herself eye-level to Katara’s stomach. “Read the womb, bitch!”

“Did you just call my unborn baby a bitch?” Katara’s eyes are bleary from the smell of vomit and her future going down the drain.

“You should’ve kept that bitch-baby in the drafts,” Toph sweeps the stray hairs from Katara’s watery eyes. “My cousin saved up for her abortion by running a pyramid scheme. I can get you her number.”

Katara wanted to die. “I think I’m just going to crawl in this toilet and die. Call my brother if I don’t get flushed down all the way.”

“Again, I’m just a Walmart employee,” Toph snickers, helping the girl up. She’s rarely left her side since then. Their friendship just works, a pair of fuckups. The girl with the accident baby, and the Walmart security guard trying to figure out her own shit after running away from home.

“I should’ve been there!” Zuko reminds, tone heavy with betrayal.

Katara remembered the few moments before he boarded the plane to Republic City. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to not get on the flight, to keep holding her like he did at the entrance of the gate. She had a kiss ready on her lips that he wasn’t ready to give, backing away when their faces were too close, when she was too close. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving with regrets.

“I should’ve been there holding your hand, letting you call me names, and fighting nurses if they breathed too close to this precious angel,” Yue holds his pinky with her little fingers, almost as though it was a natural reaction. His heart simply seizes up at the gesture, and he holds her tighter to his body. She was wailing after waking from her nap, colic crackling her throat for the last three months and causing her middle of the night wakeups to be painful and frequent. But with Zuko, she’s all calm and perfect and polite and beautiful and angelic.

“Didn’t know you liked kids this much,” Katara shrugs. She leans in, and Zuko throws his free arm around her.

“I’ll have you know I am the resident expert in telling children’s stories,” Zuko insists.

“Like?” Katara quirks up her brow.

“Like Rumpleforeskin, the mythical man who can weave majestic golden fleece from the ends of his pubic hair.”

She smacks him upside the head. “You’re disgusting .” She curls in deeper into his embrace. He had that twinkle in his eye that could mean he was going to masturbate to this moment in the shower later, or he was in love. It renders her breathless every time

She hopes when he looks at her he doesn’t see the eye bags, or the titty milk leaking everywhere, or the permanent crease in her brow. She hopes he could still see her, underneath it all. When she was just Katara .

“I guess, not telling you was just my way of keeping our dream alive.” She pauses, stroking Yue’s barely there hair. “I keep thinking that one day I could find the time to go to Republic City, and I don’t know. Get a chance to just be me .”

“Do you regret it?” Zuko’s rubbing circles into her back until she gets sleepy and her heart feels too full.

“I don’t know.” She tries, quiet, almost ashamed. “I don’t know.”

At 21, Katara feels like she’s at the top of the world.

Not only did she get promoted from girl wearing a dumpling costume outside handing out 15% off coupons that only worked if you left a Yelp review, to a server in a shitty dim sum restaurant, she was also accepted in the culinary program at the local university. It wasn’t Republic City per say, but Yue could attend the nearby preschool and go to the university-run childcare program afterwards while Katara was working.

She even got a hold of Jet, who refused to disclose his location or job. But judging by the copious child support mandated by some judge who hated men as much as Katara did, he was doing well. He sometimes Venmos Katara a few extra dollars on Yue’s birthdays.

Sokka and Hakoda, while hesitant to the little girl’s presence early on, spoil her absolutely rotten. When they think Katara’s passed out after her 14 hour days, they’re red in the face, screaming at Zuko over the phone about who was going to get Yue the Peppa Pig Playhouse (complete with flashing lights) she always talks about.

Hakoda even tries at therapy, wanting to be there for the apple of his eye. Sometimes, Katara’s hurt he never tried for her, tried in her childhood. She’s happy for him, nonetheless.

(Mostly) everything was working out.

“How are both my girls doing?” Zuko would always sing-song during his nightly Facetime calls. Yue would scream and snatch the phone from Katara’s hands, delighted at the sound of her one and only Uncle Zuzu. He’s an extravagant gift giver, regularly sending Yue glittery Hello Kitty and Wonder Woman backpacks. He even buys her a whole iPad for her fourth birthday, already coming with child safe settings on and YouTube loaded with her favorites (namely, Barbie: Fairytopia ). He’s guilty he couldn’t come home, but then again, he rarely ever did. Too consumed with work, grad school applications.

Katara can’t help but feel her heart pulse the slightest bit faster during those calls, even if she shuts it down as quickly as it comes.

He’s so good to her .

She used to cherish those moments he used to tell her secrets, dreams, everything in those hours early in the morning before high school would start. With approximately 3,209 miles between the two of them, she wakes up to texts instead.

Zuko: I dreamed that I was being held at gunpoint by one of those thicc caterpillars from A Bug’s Life , and if I didn’t finish the MCAT in approximately 20 minutes, they would shoot me in the face. The dump truck ass of those ants were the bullets

Katara: Please block my number

Zuko: No. <3

He’s all gentle smiles and eyes squeezing into little half moons just like Yue’s after he plays a game of Facetime patty cake and messes up on the beat just to hear the little girl laugh.

The next month, Zuko had decided enough was enough . He missed his girl.

His hospital, for the first time in a year, was letting him have the weekend off. So he books Katara a ticket straight away, because he thinks he’s going to die if he has to be around people who don’t know who Megan Thee Stallion is.

“Boys only speak two languages. English and emotional manipulation,” Toph reprimands, hugging Katara so tight she could barely get in a word. “Please remember that.”

It was her first time leaving her hometown in her life, her first time on an airplane for God’s sake. She’s jittery though, the cushioned seats Toph somehow upgraded her ticket to (after covertly whispering with the gate attendant) doing nothing to alleviate her nerves.

When she jumps in his arms in baggage claim, he breathes in deep. Her hugs have always warmed his insides, and he didn’t realize how much he craved it until he was greedy, pressing into her and refusing to let go despite her many protests.

“Come here often?” he mumbles, smiling into her shoulder.

Her cheeks grew hot at his touch. “Occasionally.” She whispers back.

He decided there and then in front of Gate 3 they needed to make up for lost time as quickly as possible.

The college party is entirely too sticky, entirely too messy for a proper (extremely) late 21st birthday celebration. Her crop top and big earrings and glittery eyeshadow and endless curves has Zuko wondering how much he’s missed in the last few years. When she hugs him close to her and screams out Nicki Minaj lyrics, he doesn’t remember her being so soft and even prettier. Beautiful. Breathtaking, knocking the wind out his lungs if she as so much blinked.

She looks like any 21 year old, without a care in the world, just figuring out their life. He wonders what this version of Zuko and Katara was.

Maybe they got to go to Republic City together. Maybe they work in the same building, and are just letting steam off from work. Maybe they loved each other. It was dangerous though. He feels as though she’s caging him in, that grip on his heart sparking up again without his permission. Her fake lashes he saw her glue on in the airport bathroom flutter about, hands coming up to accentuate her words every time she tries to scream something in his ear over the pulsating music. He just grips her waist harder between his hands, holding her tight.

In a perfect world, all she saw was him. She wishes it was him. She sometimes thinks she sees Zuko’s eyes in Yue. She sees his smile. She sees his heart.

While they’d spent the entire night stumbling through the city, his girlfriend was home. Barefoot, pregnant. Looking like the cover of some women’s lifestyle magazine, stray curls escaping her bun to frame her face in all its angelic glory. Glowy and flawless and every bit beautiful. Different from the girl Katara caught crying in the kitchen. “You can hate me all you want, you can talk shit about me all you want. But I love him,” Jin insists. “I’m his girlfriend , for fuck’s sake.

Katara has to stop herself from recoiling. She had a specific vision of their future. One that included doing taxes together and matching sweaters and teaching him her new macaroon recipe and Yue balanced on his lap.

But one look at Jin, and it becomes glaringly obvious how little she fit in with his new life.

“I don’t hate you, Jin.” It’s every bit sincere, but the girl doesn’t look convinced.

Jin rolls her eyes. A pointed look freezing Katara in her place.

“Ok, I might’ve complained once or twice about your VSCO filter choice.”

“Yeah, Zuko sent a screenshot of your texts to me instead of you by accident.”

“God, you know he always fucking does that? To be fair though, M05 is too orange and is not a good look on anyone. You can do better, I know you can.” The two girls laugh. It was devoid of any genuine emotion, just meant as an attempt to fill the empty space between them. “If I had known. Fuck, if I had just known, I’m sorry, Jin.” She had no idea Zuko had a kid on the way, that they were still living together and determined to co-parent while their relationship was in a weird limbo. If she was Jin, she would’ve kicked someone’s pussy and made a scene and set something on fire. But Jin wasn’t that type of girl. Jin was soft and pretty and looked like she smelled like an interior designer's perfectly bleached asshole.

“Do you love him?” Jin seemed to shrink into herself, small enough Katara might miss her in a blink of an eye.

Katara couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind the question. She thinks she’s too scared to.

Katara doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This Zuko wasn’t the Zuko she knew. She loved the Zuko who would steal people’s Netflix passwords off of 4chan, and cosplay as Todoroki at Anime Con to make a few bucks. Not the one who can afford sky rises in the big city.

He didn’t even tell her that his big internship in the city was for his father’s hospital, and he was next in line to running it. “You’re a lawyer with health insurance and your own Netflix account! You’re good for him, Jin.” Katara falters the slightest. “I just want to see Zuko happy.”

“Me too.” Jin says quietly.

“Whatever, fuck Zuko !” She tries at extending the olive branch. “I can’t believe you’re preggers!” She puts a gentle hand on Jin's belly, and her vagina immediately winces. “You know, your vag will never look the same, and you might grow a third boob in your armpit.”

“You’re lying .”

“Yeah, a lump of breast milk can form there, too!” Katara is about to scroll to the photo in her phone when Jin laughter breaks through the night.

“I hope your dick gets bitten off mid-blowjob!” She whisper-screams, struggling with her suitcase until it smacks all at nearly every corner and edge. She was just making noise for the sake of making noise, but it made her feel better.

He didn’t expect waking up to a charge on his card for a flight booked in the last ten minutes, or Katara shoving his good mixer in her suitcase.

“You hate it don’t you?” He always loved it when Katara went into Hulk mode anytime a bully dared test her protective nature. While it was never entirely directed at him, he now understands exactly why Chan peed his pants. Katara was terrifying .

“What?” Zuko’s confused, rubbing an eye booger away.

“You loved it when I’m crying over Jet, crying over something, fucking something up in my life. Being mad at the world. You hate that I’m better, and making something of myself now!” She’s angry and grasping at straws.

Zuko furrows his brows, not sure where to progress from here. “Ok, run that by me again?”

The air vanishes when her stare cools over to absolutely icy. “There’s nothing else I can give. So what the fuck do you want from me?”

He laughs, all hollow and almost mocking . “You know, I was afraid of you coming here.” He lies.

She stops in her tracks. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I thought...I thought you wouldn’t get this new me, because it’s different!” He protests. “See, this is exactly the reason why! You’re mad I can afford real Gucci !”

Katara recoils, looking embarrassed for him. God, were men so fucking stupid, and so proud of it, too. “Are you fucking serious.”

Zuko’s frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are we doing, Katara?”

“You tell me!” She demands. “I’m not that kind of girl, Zuko! I’m not that kind of girl that is going to break up a fucking engagement, or whatever the fuck you weirdos are doing!”

He throws up his hands. “I’m not happy! We’re not happy.”

“What? You think now that you’ve sold your soul to your piece of shit dad and you can buy jewelry that won’t turn your fingers green that I’m going to fuck you?”

“No! I’m not saying that—”

Katara scoffs. “Then what the fuck are you saying? Grow up, Zuko. Grow the fuck up and just leave me the fuck alone .”

“You’re still Katara.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to stop her. Even if he felt like his entire world was falling apart, there was one thing he would always be certain about. “I’m still Zuko. The same Zuko who loves you .”

Katara turns her head, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “The thing is, this isn’t you, Zuko.” Katara says with finality. “It isn’t you .”

When she gets home, she spots it right away. On their dining table, white paper folded neatly, Yue was the type of little girl who looked to both sides of the street before crossing, repeating it two more times to be safe. She always took extra care to make everything even, never a wrinkle in sight on her homework.

The Crayola family portrait that brought to life everything she’d imagined and more. Katara doesn’t have the heart to look for longer than a second.

At 27, Katara’s pretending that it’s the happiest day of her life.

She didn’t think he would listen to her, you know, men rarely did anything right. Zuko, though, heeds her warning and only calls exactly two hours before Yue’s bedtime like clockwork. There weren’t any surprise texts to wake up to anymore, no more evidence of Zuko in her life. She doesn’t even find out about Jin’s affair with one of those Axe commercial guys until months later.

When she goes to unblock his number and text him, to try and talk to him, she gasps. She sees those grey iMessage bubbles, and she’s ashamed her heart splutters, awakening a feeling she thought she’s dampened. She puts her phone down for milliseconds, before checking it again and again and again. She finally threw the damn thing across the room when a week passed.

She thinks it’s for the better, especially when she was sure she finally got things right with Jet.

“ We’ll make this shit work together.” Jet reassures, gathering her close to him she could see every little detail of him. “Like Kanye said, ‘you’re a MILF, and I’m a mother-fucker.”

She covers her ears, pushing him into the restaurant’s glass door. “No thank you. No more non consensual reciting of Kanye verses.”

“Yeezy, breezy, beautiful, baby. Get into it.” Jet winks, and Katara feels herself gagging again.

Then again, Katara always had a thing for stupid. And for three easy payments of $Penis.99, he had an all access experience to her pussy and her trauma.

“And he bought me those carrot cake cupcakes I always look at when we go to the supermarket but I never want to chance it because it could have raisins instead of nuts and I think I hate raisins more than I hate white men named Nathaniel.”

Toph jabs Katara in the forehead. “Wow, he spared $5 on some dry pastries, and your pussy was suddenly screaming pick me, pick me !”

“They were gluten free, too,” she points out. “Plus, my pussy doesn’t scream!”

“Oh right, my bad! It whispers!”

“ Toph !”

“Last night I heard it go wash me! Wash me!”

It felt good with him, though. It felt good to see him help Yue with math homework, making dinner in their little kitchen, pressing kisses to her in the morning despite her breath smelling like Khloe Kardashian’s earring backing pussy. Someone to come home to.

“Piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!” She was punching him over and over again until her knuckles were ripped raw, sitting straight on his throat. Beating him stupid in the middle of her shift. He thought he could get away with it. With Katara now stuck in the kitchen as one of the head cooks, and the fact he had a reservation in one of the private rooms for him and his secretary to go over...numbers, he didn’t think much of it.

Too bad Toph was too invested, and had a friends-to-lovers storyline to live vicariously through.

“Scram, fuglies!” Toph screamed to other customers who had already started chanting “WorldStar!”

Katara lost her job, lost her mans, lost a section of her eyebrow because Toph accidentally tried helping and swung the wrong direction.

“Catch me outside, how ‘bout that!” She yelps triumphantly, despite the fact Katara was cradling her own bloodied face.

And here she was, about to lose her best friend, too.

She accidentally Facetimed his old number, and spent the last hour mulling over her feelings with an executive of a porn studio who picked up mid-shoot. “Just tell him you love him!” The balding man is exhausted.

“What do I even say? Do I tell him, ‘I think I’ve always loved you?’ Is that too cheesy? You know that feeling when your heart just—Oh my fucking god! Is that Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob ?!” She screams, slamming her hands over her eyes. The squirrel’s melons-for-tits would never be erased from her memory.

He only has fear in his eyes when he looks at her. “You didn’t see anything.” Robert bites out, promptly hanging up.

In her post-Jet purge, she realized she wasn’t the type of ex dead set on destroying his things. After all, she was selling his light-up keyboard to pay for Toph’s birthday boob job. Her residual anger was instead, spent hacking away at the drawer he always kept locked. Until she found it.

A letter from him.

“ I’ve always been afraid that our friendship would’ve spilled over until all I could do is categorize it with four simple letters .” Katara whispers, eyes frantically scanning the paper. “And I’m done being afraid .”

“The four letters he’s talking about is D-U-M-B B-I-C-T-H . Dumb bitch. The ‘bitch’ is silent.” Toph insists. “I can’t believe you let a balding bum, whose credit score tanked because he invested his entire savings in Shake Weight Milkshake making machines, knock you up instead of Zuko.”

“It was innovative at the time,” she whispers.

“Fill the void in your heart, not your pussy.”

She's whipping out her shitty MacBook Air, and praying his email still worked. But when she calls all she sees is her.

“You told me to come to Republic City and find him!” Mai exclaims, holding up her hand where a big ring blinding the fuck out of her.

She feels her heart crumble at the same time she crushes the letter in her hand.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Katara winces. The time the model stopped by in their hometown, Katara was still happy and getting her pussy pounded regularly and let that shit get to her head. She thought it would be a blessing in disguise, and wanted to help Zuko out, too.

"Fuck."

Their wedding looked ripped out of a 2014 Basic Bitch Pinterest board, and she’s definitely sure she couldn’t be happier.

“Why is her name spelled like ‘Mai’ and pronounced ‘May?’ Like, shouldn’t it be spelled like ‘Mei?’”

“Katara, you’re just being a bitch,” Toph reminds while Katara stares at the sign with their wedding hashtag in front of the photobooth with all the ‘YOLO’ signs and 2013 mustaches.

“I am well aware!” She asserts, chin jutting out.

Mai’s New York Fashion Week ready body was gorgeous, perfect in Zuko’s hold.

Katara wished life was like a rom-com. Where she could burst through the doors, declare her love, piss on him in her ugly, big bridesmaid dress and mark her territory once and for all.

But life wasn’t a movie. Life was just this shitty piece of dumpster fire shit and was always fucking her over like the Target self-checkout line camera.

What could she do? Deliver some long-winded speech about how she would go to realign the stars in the heavens if it meant a chance to rewrite their fate? That she hoped she visits his dreams before his mind could settle into reality, the same way he visited hers and overstayed his welcome every single time? Make everyone uncomfortable and wonder if they boned?

Then again, she was never going to be the one to block her best friend’s blessings. Not on the happiest day of his life.

“I think this is the happiest day of my life.” Katara says seamlessly.

Zuko sees it though, sees right through her and has to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“It wasn’t ever easy being Zuko’s best friend. I mean look at him now, getting married to someone perfect . He’s not even in the same ballpark, league, or hell, stadium porta potty as her!”

Zuko ducks his head with a brief pout that breaks Katara’s heart. Everyone laughs in spite of him, until he joins in, too. “You know, it’s easy to pretend that finding love is easy. You could find love in all the little things in your life. All the people, all the details. It’s easy to say you always, completely, truly love someone. Because that’s what we want love to be, right? At the surface, sure.” She folds the flimsy paper she had on hand, nothing was written on it anyways. “You want it to be perfect.”

“But the love everyone works so hard to get, is the love that’s hard . It’s the love that isn’t safe. The love that challenges, excites you, the love that will never have limits. The love that’s messy and beautiful all at the same time.” She looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years and all she could do was smile.

“It’s easy to find love, but it’s near impossible to find a soulmate.” She raises her glass. “Join me in a toast to the bride and groom. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.”

And while everyone is gathered out on the dance floor, she’s sobbing pathetically and smearing the winged eyeliner she worked so hard to perfect on the car ride there. Trying to stop any of the pain from consuming her.

She’s out on the rooftop of the venue, the cold air whipping her face as she tries lighting up a blunt.

“Are you getting high at my wedding !” Zuko is incredulous, and shocks Katara enough to drop the joint off the roof.

“On all things Fenty Beauty, bitch what the fuck?” Katara wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes.

“The flower girl wanted to see her mommy.” But Katara sees right through Yue’s little act. Pretending to sleep so she could be held by Zuko (me too, girl. Me too).

It felt dangerous, the way she could toy with his heart, his own personal defibrillator shocking it back to life. She’s pretty even with red-rimmed eyes, with the fake smiles he knew was trying to appease him to leave her alone. If anything, all it does is make him want to kiss her until her troubles are gone.

He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, tell her that above all else, he missed his girl the most. But, he had everything on his plate and then some.

“The chicken was dry as fuck.” He blurts, wiping the sweat from his face. Only Katara could send him back a few decades. “I wish you could’ve catered it.”

“Yeah?” She laughs and wants to call him out for stalking her company’s Facebook page. “Remember you tried my new recipe and you vomited all over the front row at your fourth ever Hello Zuko performance?” She misses his messy hair, when he didn’t look so clean cut and rich bitchy.

“I didn’t know you weren’t done cooking it!”

She shoves his head, and he joins her, dangling his feet precariously off the roof.

When she’s here with him, when he has her in his hold for the first time in years, he sees his whole life with just a glimpse in her eyes. And all he wants to do is build a machine and reverse all the time that’s passed them by.

“I made a mistake.” Zuko breathes out, eyes nervously darting around.

As sure as he was that Nicki Minaj deserved a Grammy, he was sure he loved her.

“W-What?” Katara blinks at him.

“I made a mistake, Katara.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, carding his hand through his hair. Looking every bit devastatingly handsome. “I realized something. After the speech, after just, everything.”

“I realized I just can’t have my cake and eat it, too.”

Just like that, just with the way he built her up, it comes tumbling down.

“So what are you saying?” Her heart was on the verge of cracking in half and he didn’t even know it. Because all he could pin her with a look she couldn’t read, and she thinks if he was a smarter man he would’ve at least pretended that it hurt him to hurt her.

But it did.

It broke him, ripped him in half to see her face turn to steel right before his eyes.

“What I’m saying is, after all these years.” He doesn’t have it in him to face her. “I think I have to finally let you go, Katara.”

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week #atla #zutara fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #zutara week 2020

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