A Little More Sugar
A/N: It’s ya girl back at it again with the tag pumping lmao Can you tell I’m actually craving cookies right now? ALSO: this is an actual recipe. I omitted certain measurements for a better flow so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I like to think Deku’s a bit more confident when he’s older. ALSO, I love me a good double entendre.
Flour. Eggs. Chocolate chips. Butter. Baking soda. Brown sugar. Caster sugar. Vanilla extract. Salt.
“Is that everything?” she calls from the pantry.
“That’s everything.” he replies, closing the utensil drawer. He puts down an array of measuring cups and spoons on the kitchen counter.
He’s made cookies multiple times before, them being one of his favourite sweets to make with his mom since he was little. It’ll be an experience making them without her, him now living with his classmates at the dorms.
The rest of the class were out for the weekend: shopping, trips to the arcade, extra training and who knows what else. Izuku, forever studious, wanted to stay at the dorms. His heart, and sweet tooth, aching for something familiar after hours of reading Physics and World Literature books.
He was surprised to find he wasn’t the only one who stayed behind for the weekend the moment he produced two mixing bowls from the kitchen’s prep drawer.
“Watcha doin’ there, Deku?”
He’s startled and looks around to find Ochaco, peeking from the kitchen door. “Oh, hey Uraraka. I was just about to make cookies.”
She backtracks and steps into the kitchen, face bright, just now realising the apron he has on and Why does that look good on him? “Ooooh, I’d love to help! If you don’t mind, that is.”
He swallows hard, scratching the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly “Not at all. I’m actually used to having my mom help me make them, so this is alright.”
She grabs an apron hanging from the wall hook, hoops it over her neck and ties it around her waist. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”
“Place a three quarter cup each of brown sugar and caster sugar in a bowl and add two sticks of butter and a teaspoon of vanilla extract.” he reads from his phone, thankful he had his mom save the instructions for times like these. He made sure to set the oven to the desired temperature before walking over to the counter.
Ochaco grabs a cup and carefully measures out the sugar needed. She pours it into the bowl and proceeds to do the same with the brown sugar while Izuku cuts up a precise amount of butter. He holds the butter knife out into the bowl and lets the butter drop, the rattling sound the only noise between them. They don’t realise how close they are to each other at this point.
“And that’s step one?” She turns to him, smile still bright. She feels her face turn pink as she realises how close their hands are on the counter.
“Well, we have to cream it first.” Izuku answers, stepping aside and plugging the hand mixer into the power outlet. He didn’t realise how close they were, or how pink she is. Thank god she thinks, as he sets the mixer into place and starts whirring the contents into a brown-ish paste.
She moves to the opposite side of the counter, making sure her knees are balanced on the bar stool, and leaning over the bowl for a better view. She catches a whiff and the smell is mesmerising. Izuku turns the mixer off and sets it aside, reaching for a measuring spoon and the vanilla extract. “I like adding the vanilla in last.” he adds.
She looks at him, amused. “Are you sure you still need my help? You seem to have this all under control.”
“It isn’t cookies without teamwork!” he answers, pouring in the measured vanilla to the mixture. He grabs the mixer again and starts the process, the smell now intensified by the vanilla. She leans in, careful to not get too close to the mixer. If she was mesmerised by the smell before, she’s intoxicated now. Who knew butter, sugar and vanilla could smell this amazing?
She moves her head as Izuku shuts the hand mixer off, now his turn to smell the sweet concoction. He smiles up at her and she’s feeling really flustered for some reason, but she keeps a straight face while ignoring her intensifying blush, and smiles back. She coughs and asks “So, what next?”
He got lost for a second, What was I doing? He snaps to and shakes his head out of his thoughts, feelings his face get a little...warmer. “Oh. Yeah, one sec.” he reaches for his phone and reads “Add eggs in one at a time and mix.” They both reach for the egg carton and feel the other’s fingers brush on their own as they grab an egg each.
“You go first.” she adds, holding her egg, but careful enough not to squeeze it in her hand.
Izuku cracks the egg, making sure there was no shell in their creamed butter mixture, and turns the hand mixer on again. Ochaco watches as the yolk dissolves into the brown mixture, turning it glossier than before.
“You can add your egg in now.” he adds, lowering the speed so none of the mixture flies around. She proceeds to crack the egg on the edge of the bowl, slowly separating it and watching out for loose egg shells. She sets both egg shells aside and wipes her fingers with a dish towel while he gives the mixture another good minute of mixing before shutting the handmixer off and unplugging it from the power outlet.
“And now?” she smiles, resting her chin on her balled up fists propped on the counter.
“Now..” he’s grabbing his phone again, adding “In a separate bowl, mix the flour, baking soda and salt.” He turns his back to her and opens a drawer, looking for a sieve. She’s watching him with interest, when did he get so...muscle-y? Wait, has he always been like this? She shakes her head DUH he’s always doing intense training, naturally muscles become more shapely the more you train. Stop staring and get a hold of yourself.
“You okay?” he asks, setting the sieve down over the clean bowl while reaching for the jar of flour.
She nervously chuckles “Yep. Just remembered something. Please, continue.” Seriously? She thinks, mentally slapping herself. She reaches for a measuring spoon and scoops out the baking soda needed, adding it to the bowl as he measures out two and a half cups.
“So, why cookies?” she asks, placing the used spoon in the sink. She walks back and sits herself down on the barstool again while he’s shaking the sieve, flour dust now rising from the bowl.
“Well,” he starts, adding the half cup of flour to the sieve, continuing to shake it into the bowl, “it’s my comfort food, I guess. My mom and I used to make it when I was little whenever I felt really sad.”
They let the answer hang in the air. “Are you sad now?” she adds, twiddling her thumbs under the countertop. He finishes shaking the sieve and adds a pinch of salt to the mixture.
“A little. I mean, we’re in the middle of our second year, and I haven’t exactly seen my mom in a few months, save for video chats. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be here with everyone,” he sets the sieve down, making sure there’s no flour left to avoid spreading it on the marble countertop. He looks up at her, holding her gaze. “I’m just a bit homesick.”
They stay like that for a while, looking into each other’s eyes. There’s a sort of sadness in his eyes, she thinks, concern now growing in the back of her mind. She tries to think of a way to break the silence but finds herself lost in the forest of his evergreen eyes. Finally, she blinks; once, twice, trying to break the spell his eyes put her under and coughs to break the silence. She reaches for the whisk and slowly mixes the flour mixture, careful not to let the flour make rising dust out of the bowl. He reaches for a spatula and scrapes the insides of the bowl with the butter-egg mixture. “Ready?” he asks, letting the spatula lean on the side of the bowl.
Ochaco nods, raising the bowl of flour and tips a small amount of it into the wet mixture bowl. She backs up a bit and watches as his hands, those hands that are always so gentle with everything, mixes it together until you couldn’t tell there was flour there in the first place. They do this until the other bowl is empty, the dough now well mixed. He reaches for the jar of chocolate chips and adds it into the bowl, careful not to put an entire jar’s worth or Sato would come after him. He folds them into the dough, making sure they’re well incorporated.
He’s preparing the baking tray when, watching from the corner of his eye, she attempts to dip her finger into the dough “Nope,” he quips, moving the bowl away from her. “You could get sick from eating uncooked egg.” He’s smiling deviously now.
She’s pouting, voice still playful. “Not fair! Cookie dough is the best!”
His eyes crinkle as a chuckle escapes his lips. “We can make egg free cookie dough next time! For now,” He’s scooping dough out with a medium sized ice cream scoop, letting the dough drop onto the tray as he proceeds to fill out the tray. She holds the bowl while he does this, mesmerised by how swift but delicately his hands were moving, how his arms were flowing with movement.
He’s finished with the first tray and places it in the oven, setting a timer so that it bakes for the right amount of time, and sits next to her. “I probably bummed you out a little while ago. Sorry about that,” he rubs his neck in embarrassment, trying his best not to look at her. He doesn’t know why, but he’s afraid to look at her. She probably thinks I’m weird for staring into her eyes, he thinks, blinking quickly to shoo the thought away.
“Deku, you know you can tell me anything, right?” she quietly asks, trying to look into his face.
It takes him a minute to answer. “Yeah. Yeah, I know that. Thank you.” his tone apologetic.
She brings her phone out of her pocket and he hears several clicks until he hears her set the phone down on the counter and stands up, a slow song playing. “Come on, up!” she says, grabbing his hand, careful not to activate her quirk on him, and pulling him out of his seat.
Maybe it was the sweet smell of cookies baking in the oven. Maybe it was because the two of them were alone. Maybe it was because she couldn’t stop thinking of how sad and homesick he probably felt, or maybe because she couldn’t put a finger on what was going on between them, but she knew she had to do something. So they’re dancing in the kitchen, her holding him close, daring not to look at his face as her arms circle his neck, both of them letting their bodies sway to the slow melody playing softly in the background. She feels his hands, balled together as if in prayer, resting on the small of her back. Has he always been this tall? And why does he smell so nice?
She smells like strawberries and vanilla. Why do I feel warm? He thinks, closing his eyes, revelling in the silence. Two minutes pass, both of them still, before she says, “You can tell me anything. I won’t push or judge. Or we can do this again if you’re ever feeling down.”
She hears the smallest hint of a smile in his voice. “Dancing?”
“Cookies. But dancing is fine, too. Anything to make it feel like home.” she smiles up at him, squeezing an arm with her hand. She starts to move away when she feels him tug her back to how they were a minute ago, only now he’s embracing her gently.
“Thank you.” he whispers, hugging her closer.
She feels her body go stiff, biting back the nervous voice she knows would come out of her throat. “Anytime,”
They hear the timer start to beep and he’s moving, grabbing a pair of oven mitts and releasing the heat trapped in the oven to the rest of the room as he produces a tray of freshly baked cookies. He sets it on the counter and places the second batch in, setting a timer again and proceeding to transfer the cookies to a cooling rack.
She’s sat down again, watching him, now with a small smile on his face. She feels warmer, happier, as she stops the music and places her phone back on the counter. She starts collecting the used bowls and utensils and moves to place them in the sink when he sits himself down, holding a plate of warm cookies.
“It’s not cookies without teamwork, right?” he smiles, placing the plate on the counter between their seats. She places the bowls in the sink, filling them with water, and goes back to her seat, reaching for a cookie. He watches as she takes a bite, a little nervous now. What if I did it wrong? Mom will be so disappointed.
He’s snapped out of his thinking by a low moan coming from her, eyes closed while chewing. “Ish sho good.” she declares, mouth full. He takes a bite out of his own, letting the warm chocolate bits melt in his mouth. Not bad. Good job, me. He thinks, taking another bite. No wait, good job to both of us.
Izuku stands up and heads for the fridge, grabbing a jug of milk. He reaches for two small mugs, pours milk into both and puts the jug back in the fridge. As he does this, the second batch is ready to come out, so he turns the oven off, takes the tray out of the oven and onto the kitchen counter, next to the cooling rack. “Here,” he adds, placing the mugs onto the counter, one for each of them. He watches as she takes another cookie and dips it into the milk, letting it slowly absorb until it’s just the right amount of soggy before breaking, and bites into it. He smiles as she’s revelling in the taste, but notices a small number of crumbs next to her mouth.
“Hey, you have something on your-” he reaches for a paper napkin. “Here, I’ll just,” he presses it onto the side of her mouth, gently wiping the crumb and droplet of milk away from her face. She stops and is staring at him, slowly swallowing to not break the silence. He’s leaning close, his hand cupping her face, napkin between them. She’s never noticed how his freckles formed constellations on his face before, albeit there’s not a lot of them.
Ochaco didn’t know when she put her cookie down, but her hand is now reaching for his face, fingers lightly touching the freckles on his cheeks. They’re lost in each other’s eyes again, the silence growing heavy, same as the pounding in their chests. She watches as his eyes close, breathing slowly as her fingers graze his face as she feels his slowly trace her jaw, the napkin now forgotten.
“I, um,” he starts, swallowing thickly. She was about to absentmindedly answer when she hears her phone vibrate on the counter. She draws her hand back, setting it on the table. She so badly didn’t want to stop whatever was going on between them, but she opens her phone and shakes her head. She stands up, thanks him and starts walking towards the door, when she thinks screw it! She walks back to him and kisses his cheek.
“Thank you, Deku.” she grabs the plate they shared, her half eaten one and two whole cookies left, and walks out before he could say anything.
Izuku, on the other hand, slowly stands from his seat, blinking slowly, a hand covering the cheek she kissed. Crap. I messed it up, didn’t I?
Ochaco sets the plate down on her desk, her back now slumped against the wall.
What just happened?
She grabs her pillow and shoves her face into it, not noticing that she’s slowly started to float from where she was seated on her bed.
Both of them, now in separate rooms, hearts beating a little too fast at the memory of what just transpired between them, reach out for a cookie. A little more sugar wouldn’t hurt, they both think, taking a bite.
