#but there’s a family in here with four kids and they’re all being SO loud and shrieking and laughing

[lesbiansanemi]

I wish there was a way to communicate how overstimulated kids make me and how much I really wish I could reliably be in public spaces without hearing large families/children being insanely loud without sounding like one of those freaks that thinks children should be banned from public spaces

[jqmalikhsgib]

stars

sixteen

*five years later*

yn hears screaming coming from downstairs. she groans before getting out of bed and heading to the commotion of her family.

what she sees is her youngest son whining while her husband cooks breakfast while her eldest son tries to finish his project for school that she’s sure due tomorrow morning.

yn walks over to her son that’s hugging his fathers leg and picks him up gently. “what’s the matter, andy?”

“want, daddy!” he whines.

“daddy’s cooking some yummy, pancakes. you can wait, yeah?”

“kay, mommy.” out of all the boys, andy was definitely a daddy’s boy. yn and aaron think it’s most due to hotch being gone on cases.

yn looks around for her middle child before hearing tiny feet puttering down the steps.

“mama?!”

bryson is definitely a happy child! he’s loud, a complete opposite of his brothers.

“yes, baby?”

“i want bananas on my pancake, please?”

yn shrugs her shoulders as she looks at her husband. he hums before she sets their son down and grabs a banana to cut for bryson.

once breakfast was set, they sit as a family and enjoy. yn phone starts going off which meant jess should arrive any minute.

when she gets there, yn and aaron hurry to get dressed as they kiss their sons goodbye and head out.

when they get to their destination, aaron opens the passenger door for her, grabs her hand, and walk inside the doctor office. aaron checks them in before patiently waiting for their name to be called.

once their names were called, they get up and head to their assigned room. they then wait for their doctor to come in.

“good morning, mister and misses hotchner! how are you feeling today?”

“better than last week. i don’t feel nauseous this time.”

“im glad! are you two excited?!”

both yn and aaron nod happily. aaron holds his wife’s hand as she lifts her shirt. there you could see her baby bump on display. she’d only been four months but she’s looked like she’d been farther. they knew it was due to being pregnant with twins.

todays the day the couple find out the sex of the babies. they were pretty excited to know what they’re having.

yn doctor finally rolls the wand around her bump before smiling. “looks like baby a is a boy!”

aaron smirks. he had a feeling that they were having at least one boy.

“and baby b is—oh, a girl! looks like she wanted to be the odd one out, huh?” the doctor smiles.

yn looks at aaron happily. “a girl!”

aaron kisses the back of her hand.

“her brothers gonna be all protective.” he states.

the doctor soon goes over what the couple needed to be prepared for the next session. the couple soon get themselves discharged before they head out.

when they get back home jess and the kids asked the couple what they’re having.

“finally! i get a little sister.” jack smiles widely.

“least i don’t have to share my toys.” bryson states.

“when sissy and brudder get here?” andy asked.

“im glad you’re excited to have a sister jack!” yn says

“you still have to share your toys with your sister, bry.” aaron states with an eye roll.

yn picks andy up and kisses his cheek. “they’ll be here in just a few more months. then you gotta be a big boy and help daddy and i with your baby brother and sister. can you do that?”

andy nods excitedly. once his moms sets him down jess hugs her happily. “so happy to finally get a niece! i love my nephews but they don’t ever wanna play tea parties with me!” jess explains.

the family continue to gush about the twins before jess leaves. yn and aaron makes dinner before they put the kids to bed and head to bed themselves.

“im so glad i went to that club all those years ago.” aaron whispers.

yn sighs happily. “me too, babe!” she states before the couple fall asleep in each others arms.

and just like that, stars is completed! i enjoyed this story but all good things must come to an end.

[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 5/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR

                He drives the slightly battered hire car, well, truck, down the road. When he’d asked if they had something more like a sedan they’d laughed at him, and he’d realized then that all the newer nicer cars were probably reserved by cast and crew, people far higher up the food chain than Bradley. That’s okay, he’s got this Bronco, something he’d never drive normally, although he does have to admit the room in the back is an advantage, all his gear fits easily and while the outside might need some TLC the inside radio works and the interior has obviously been restored. It’s grown on him as he’s neared Hazy Days Ranch, following the directions from his phone to the location that they’re apparently using for this film.

                Half of his team are already there, arriving even earlier, needing to work with Machado and Bassett, despite already doing some preliminary work with some basic lessons in California. He knows Jake is busy wrapping up the promotional tour and Bradley refuses to acknowledge out loud that he’s looking forward to seeing him again. Along with his own team he knows the advance crew have already arrived and set up everything, including trailers, storage, lighting, costuming.

                There’s security on the gate and he shows his ID, waits for his name to be checked off the list and then he’s being waved through and directed to where he should park up. It’s slightly chaotic, which doesn’t surprise him. They have a few weeks before they start filming, but there are no hard boundaries around a set this big, and it seems like everyone is just wandering around and enjoying the early summer weather. He knows they couldn’t start filming earlier, not with the higher risk of tornados apparently, but it all looks calm. Weather wise at least. He needs to figure out where he’s sleeping and eating for the next six to eight weeks, and god he hopes it doesn’t take longer than that.

                “Hi there!” A young man greets, smile wide and he can’t be more than eighteen, but he’s dressed in what Bradley can only think of as cowboy.

                “Uh, hi?”

                “You here for the film?”

                “Yeah, Bradley Bradshaw. I’m the stunt coordinator. You need to see some ID?”

                “N’aw! They woulda checked that at the gate already. They’re just serving up the evening meal in the mess hall. Come on, we better hurry if you want food. I’m Freddie.”

                The guy holds his hand out to shake and Bradley takes it with a little amusement, murmurs that it’s nice to meet him and wonders when the film required teenagers, because he’s read the script. Maybe the kid is doing a summer job or something. His stomach grumbles then, and he huffs in amusement at Freddie’s laugh, follows him toward a large building, clearly newly built, probably built solely for feeding cast and crew for the next couple of months. The food smells good, and there are a lot of people, more than he expected.

                “Aunty Kaye! Got another one!”

                “Well now, they just keep coming don’t they!”

                Bradley almost feels like he should apologize, except the woman making a beeline for him is smiling widely, not perturbed at all by his arrival and she’s clearly related to this Freddie, the family resemblance is there even if he hadn’t just called her Aunty Kaye.

                “I’m sorry I’m late –” Not that he had a set time he was meant to arrive by, but Mav and Ice raised him to be polite and damned if he’s not going to be as charming as possible when faced with someone who is apparently going to feed him.

                “Oh! Don’t ya worry about that, I’m used to feeding people whenever they turn up at my door. Now what’s your name dear?”

                “Bradley Bradshaw ma’am, nice to meet you,” Bradley offers, because he has a feeling that this woman might be part and parcel of the whole ranch, given the proprietary air she has toward the entire room and all the people in it, like they’re all her guests and she wants to ensure they’re all well fed and cared for.

                “Well! Bradley Bradshaw. It is nice to meet you. Hmm. Welcome to Hazy Days. You can call me Mama Kaye.”

                “Oh. Um,” Bradley starts, because he hasn’t called anyone mom, or mama other than his own mom, and he knows it’s an offer borne of kindness, but…

                “Or Aunty Kaye, if that’s easier for you honey.”

                “Aunty Kaye,” he accepts, smiles and nods gratefully, because this woman seems incredibly perceptive given that she’s just met him.

                “Freddie, you show Bradley here where to find everything and then I can show him where he’ll be bunking down when he’s finished eating.”

                Clearly Freddie takes direction from this woman and he spends the next few minutes giving Bradley a quick rundown of where to find the bathrooms, utensils, plates, how to line up for food. He finds Natasha, Rueben and Bob and quickly eats his meal. They all tell him they’ve had the welcome wagon in the form of Mama/Aunty Kaye and he nods and smiles, accepts it’s just pass and parcel for the orientation here.

                There’s a table filled with mainly men, some women, they’re all dressed similarly and he realizes that they might actually be the real deal. Clearly dusty and dirty from being outside working. Holy shit. They’ve mixed ranch hands with the film crew and god, it’s a fucking working ranch. His stomach twists a little with anxiety over the lack of controlled conditions, but he’ll just have to deal with it. He’s not responsible for the day-to-day activities of a working ranch or its workers. After scraping his plate Aunty Kaye suddenly appears beside him, gestures for him to follow her and he doesn’t really have any choice but to, raising his hand in goodbye to his friends.

                After being instructed to he grabs his bags (filled with some of his oldest clothes) and follows after her. The woman has smile lines all over her face, and Bradley wonders what his mom would look like now, all the photos he has of his mom are ones where she’s sporting a huge grin and she’d probably have happy wrinkle lines like this. It’s a nice thought.

                “Well, here are bunk rooms, we got them upgraded a little while ago. The family house is up there a little way, but down here we have a bigger kitchen and I can cook for everyone who’s here. It’s gonna be like a little party every day ain’t it?”

                “I guess so,” Bradley agrees, because he guesses for someone who doesn’t live like this the novelty must be quite nice. She leads him through a spacious bunkhouse, there’s a common area with cards and some boardgames, refrigerator and coffee machine, clearly to meet the needs of early morning coffee addicts. There’s a long corridor with about six doors on each side and fucking hell, how many people do they have staying in here.

                “I put you in here, upstairs so you don’t have the noise of the people coming back and forth all the time, or clompin’ about above you. There is a little balcony as well, facing toward the sunset. Real pretty.”

                “Thank you, it’s lovely,” Bradley offers, because honestly, it really is. He wasn’t expecting a queen-sized bed, or even his own space. He’d been expecting to share at a minimum. This is pretty damned luxurious, it’s going to make it a lot more comfortable given the physical nature of what some of the tasks he’s going to have to undertake for this job.

                “You’re a good boy. Nice and polite.”

                “I try to be ma’am,” Bradley says.

                “Well, you keep on tryin’ and I’ll just be glad for you to keep everyone safe on set…”

                “Uh…” he’s pretty sure that’s the realm of the safety personnel, whom he works with obviously, however he wonders what it is she thinks he does exactly.

                “I mean with regards to the stunt work honey. I hear wee Jake complained about not being allowed to do some of the riskier things. Glad there’s someone like you watchin’ out for him. That boy can be far too reckless for my likin’.”

                “Wee Jake?” Bradley asks, amused. “Is there a non-wee Jake around? Have you known him a while then?”

                For some reason that makes her laugh, and if his comment like that sets her off it explains the laugh lines.

                “Oh honey, you’re funny. I’ve known Jake his whole life. His grandpa was big-Jake.”

                “Oh. Okay. I didn’t realize that Jake grew up around here…”

                “Around here? Well –”

                “Bradley! Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

                “It’s no problem dear, I’ve gotta keep reminding myself you lot are all here to do a job and I gotta stop distracting y’all.”

                “You weren’t distracting me, you were showing me to my room. Thank you again.”

                “You’re welcome, I’ll let you catch up with your friends. Welcome again Bradley.”

                “Thanks.”

PART SIX

[sterek8nights]

Our Future In These Photographs

Another Hanukkah fic!

For the Sterek8Nights Bingo squares: gift exchange, combining, family

on ao3 here

Please check out the prompts and the bingo card and join me in Hanukkah-ing Sterek!

____

Derek looked around the store forlornly. Nothing here was right, and he was starting to panic. Hanukkah started in three days, and he still didn’t have anything for Stiles.

So, he did what he usually did when he had a problem he needed help with and he couldn’t call Stiles: he called Stiles’ dad, and texted Boyd.

“Still can’t think of what to get him, huh?” John answered in lieu of a greeting, and Derek groaned. The man may be the actual Sheriff, and his kind of father-in-law, but it was often irritating how much he noticed.

“No. And I am this close to just giving him my credit card and setting him lose at that little occult shop on Denton that has the actual magic stuff in the basement,” Derek not-quite whined.

John chuckles, and even though Derek’s annoyed, the sound is comforting in its familiarity. “As much as he’d enjoy that, I’m not sure that your bank account, or his bookshelves, really need to take that hit, son.” 

It’s Derek’s turn to laugh then. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

That’s when he sees it, tucked under a little stack of sweaters, clearly discarded by a customer that couldn’t be bothered to return it to its proper place. A silver picture frame with intricate designs set into the metal. Derek snatches it up and says a hasty goodbye to John, citing an epiphany and barely catching the “Good luck, kid,” that he tacks on before Derek hangs up and shoves his phone into his pocket.

After a quick stop at his family’s vault, and another to the Stilinksi residence, he rushes home, glad to beat Stiles there, and hurries to his office to wrap his gifts.

***

The first night of Hanukkah is spent with John at his house, with just the three of them, starting the week off with a relative calm before various combinations of friends and co-workers, and the pack all invade Derek and Stiles’ house for the other days.

After lighting the menorah, and eating the latkes they had all made together, they head to the living room to exchange gifts, Derek and Stiles give John a trip for the three of them to see the Mets and a stay in a really nice hotel for a few days. He tries to protest, but Stiles has already arranged the time off for him, so he hugs them both and starts talking about what else they can do while they’re in New York.

John commits to what he insists are “traditional Hanukkah gifts”, and gives them both packages of novelty socks and matching t-shirts with photo realistic wolves howling at the moon on the front. Stiles cackles and hugs his dad even as he complains about not being a kid anymore, but John waves his protests off. “You know how this works, kid. Socks are tradition! I just picked a package at random, you could’ve just as easily gotten an art kit, or something surprising!” he defends with a smirk, knowing that they all not-so-secretly find it hilarious to get three or four nights of “useful” presents amid all the rest.

“At least it’s not underwear,” Derek jokes, only for Stiles to look him in the eye and waggle his eyebrows in a way that never fails to make Derek feel fond, even though it’s objectively ridiculous.

“Maybe not from dad,” Stiles replies, making Derek blush, eyes darting furiously to John, and then back to Stiles.

John groans, loud and long-suffering. “That’s more than I need to know, son,” he complains good naturedly, tossing the balled-up wrapping paper from his gift at Stiles and hitting him square on the nose. After a few moments of shared laughter and a brief wrapping paper war, John announces it’s time for the two of them to exchange their gifts.

Stiles scrambles to grab his box, wrapped in shimmery blue and surprisingly heavy for its size when Stiles sets it in Derek’s hand. He watches expectantly as Derek unwraps it carefully. Inside the box are two stones; one is about half the size of Derek’s palm, the other is quarter-sized and on a necklace, they’re both practically glowing, and Derek realizes it’s the same shimmer the wrapping paper had.

“They carry the most powerful protection spell I could find,” Stiles explains. “The big one, you bury in your yard and it will keep the house and a good amount of the surrounding forest safe. The small one you wear,” he says, wrapping his hands around Derek’s. “As a bonus feature, if you hold the pendant, it sends a little buzz to me through my spark, so you can tell me you’re thinking of me, or hold it longer, and it’s like the Bat-signal signal.”

Derek manages a slightly awed smile as he looks up at Stiles from where he was watched they tangled hands, and a “I love it, thank you,” that’s a little more choked up than he’d like to admit before Stiles pulls him close for a brief, chaste kiss.

“You’re welcome. Happy Hanukkah, Der,” Stiles says into the small space between them. “Now where’s mine?” he asks with mock-seriousness, successfully resetting the mood.

Derek scoffs and rolls his eyes, as is expected of him, and carefully hands Stiles his meticulously wrapped box.

Stiles is not a careful-unwrapper, but he takes his time with this one, maybe he picked up on Derek and John’s excitement.

When the wrapping paper is off, Stiles looks between Derek and John quizzically, his fingers hovering over the edges of the outer box. “What did you two do?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowing.

John puts both hands up in a calming gesture, but Derek barks out an anxious “Open it,” and then immediately regrets it when they both look at him like he’s lost his mind. Derek huffs out a laugh and ruffles his own hair. “Sorry. I was really anxious about what to get you; your dad helped when I figured it out.”

Stiles grins wide. He loves that his dad and his boyfriend get along so well. He is also insanely curious about what’s in the box.

He lifts the lid off the box and runs delicate fingers over the tissue paper folded over the contents, peeling it away slowly. Once it’s out of the way, Stiles gasps, a hand flying to his mouth.

Inside the box are two not-quite identical silver frames. 

In one, is a picture of Stiles, John, Derek, Cora, and Peter with the rest of the pack, on the giant porch at Stiles and Derek’s house. In the other, is a similar picture, except it’s on the porch at the old Hale house, and the pack in the picture is Derek’s family. Derek is maybe three years old, Peter barely a teenager, and Cora and Stiles are technically there, too, because in the middle of the photograph are Talia and Claudia, both very pregnant, with their arms thrown around each other. John is on the other side of Stiles’ mom, absolutely beaming at the camera.

Stiles looks up at Derek and his dad, eyes wet with unshed tears. He knew that his parents were friends with the Hales, had seen the occasional photo – mostly in boxes of his mother’s things in the attic – but he’d never seen this specific picture before, never a picture of him and Derek together, because the Hales had distanced themselves when John got promoted at the Sheriff’s department, not wanting him to have to lie about the supernatural in any official capacity, so they’d missed out on being in each other’s lives until they met again as teenagers.

“Der,” Stiles whispers, tracing the edges of the frames.

“I found that frame, the newer one, and I remembered a similar one from the vault that I’d seen years ago. With that picture. It, uh. It didn’t mean anything at the time, it was so long ago, but I brought it here, and your dad told me a little about that time–”

“There’s an envelope in the box, with some things your moms both wrote, and some I wrote out,” John interrupts gently. Derek nods at him gratefully.

Stiles has the envelope out and open before his dad finishes speaking, not exactly reading, more just tracing the shape of his mom’s handwriting, taking in the curl of Talia’s and John’s neat, tight lettering. He looks up again, carefully placing the precious papers back in the box, and half launching-half falling into Derek’s arms. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles without having to think about it.

“I love you,” Stiles says into Derek’s neck.

“I love you, too,” Derek replies mostly into Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles spreads out one arm towards his dad and waves his hand around. “Come here, Pops, get in on this family hug STAT,” he demands, slightly muffled from how he hasn’t quite turned his head out of Derek’s neck. John obliges with minimal grunting and groaning about being too old to be on the floor, and Derek and Stiles tug him into the hug, all of  them a little sniffly. “Love you, dad. Thank you.”

“Aw, hell, kid, I love you, too,” John replies, “Have I told you recently that you did alright with picking that Hale kid to marry?” he teases.

“We’re not married, dad.”

“Yet,” Derek corrects, and Stiles pulls away quickly, only managing to avoid whacking Derek and his dad with his head because of Derek’s reflexes.

“Yet?!” he squwaks. When Derek only shrugs, he adds “Derek Hale, if you are planning on making me cry again this Hanukkah, I am going to be so mad at you.”

John laughs, knowing full well that Stiles has a ring and a whole plan for sometime before New Year’s. Derek though? Derek pulls Stiles back in, says “I promise, no more crying presents,” and wracks his brain for what to get for Stiles for the next seven nights.

Maybe he can move up his proposal plan?

[redahlia-writes]

you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

four. crystal

content (for this chapter): smut, family gatherings and That really annoying relative, a lot of feelings, a hint of possessiveness, frankie is once again being an idiot

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay, life's truly kicking my ass and i hope the chapter will make up for it. updates might be a little bit slow from now, but i'll do my best

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

previous

“For the first few months of their relationship, Fish didn’t even know it was a relationship. They moved in together, and still he would say stuff like she’s not my girlfriend, we haven’t talked about it, I don’t want to pressure her. Considerate, really, but so–Alba, chiquitita, cover your ears a moment–so fucking dumb. And that was how I knew. We’ve known Frankie a really long time, we’ve been together through a lot, and that was the first time I’ve seen him be so stupid–which is saying a lot. But, after all, isn’t that what love does in the beginning? It makes you foolish, nervous, doubt things you would’ve never doubted before. It was a new look on him, and it made it crystal clear how enamored he was, probably without even realizing it in the beginning–because I know he fell for Camila right off the bat. And I mean, how could he not? He called me, that first morning, and even then Camila was a surprise. Will said it all already–funny, kind, smart, beautiful, but most of all right. You were, and still are, right for him, Cami, the right person at the right time, and that is something rare, something great. Sometimes I think we should thank you more, because you changed Frankie’s life, and with his, ours too–mine for sure, because not only did I get to see my best friend finally start living again, but I also gained a sister. So, one Garcia to the other: thank you. That being said, it’d be nice to have him back every now and then–seriously, they’re practically glued together, can’t keep their hands to themselves to save their lives! I have some stories–”

Frankie’s hand tightened slightly around the glass of water in his grip when he felt a hand clasping him on the shoulder, tight and all too buoyant, shaking him and forcing his eyes away from Camila, Alba and his mother–Alba was lying on her back over Verónica’s knees, the older woman laughing in her chair as the child stretched and let her head dangle back towards Camila, sitting on the grass and smiling.

“Who would’ve thought–young Cisco with an actual girlfriend,” the man at his side was grinning, a glaze clouding his eyes, mouth stained red from wine. “Well, not so young anymore, are you?”

“Takes one to know one, Nicky,” he retorted with a hint of a laugh, some of the tension melting from his shoulders when he saw Camila move again at the corner of his eye, could hear Alba’s loud giggles from his spot.

His cousin laughed, clearly not put off by his comment–he wasn’t trying to be mean, exactly, but out of all the people in the family currently gathered in his mother’s backyard–

“So you got one of the last good ones, huh?” he still had his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, standing a step back as they were angled towards the other three. Camila’s hand was underneath Alba’s head, supporting it up as she leaned in, brushing their noses together as the child giggled again. A small smile caught on Frankie’s lips, warmth spreading across his chest. “Man, and she’s good with the kid. You oughta keep this one.”

Frankie’s family wasn’t mean–they’d never given him too much shit for what had happened to him, for what he’d done, at least not to his face and certainly not to his mother’s, for they wouldn’t even be there if they had. But he’d gotten good at understanding people’s double meaning, at hearing the light shift in their voices. You oughta keep this one, not like the last one, or all the others before.

“Thanks, Nic,” he sighed–across the garden, Camila tilted her head as she looked at him. She quirked up an eyebrow, and he was quick to shoot a smile in her direction, the slightest shake of his head at her silent question.

“Fine, too, your girl,” he continued, clearly not put off by Frankie’s lack of trying at keeping up the conversation. “Young face, pity for the grays–I mean, she could always dye it,” he shrugged, before grinning and elbowing Frankie in the side, making him turn fully towards him, his lips pressed in a thin line as he inhaled deeply. “Although I’m sure she makes up for it plenty in–”

“Listen, Nicky–” he exhaled sharply, the sentence dying on his lips when he felt a hand brush up his back, from the lower side up–his shoulders sagged slightly, leaning towards Camila’s touch as she settled at his side.

“Sorry,” soft-voiced, she pulled his cousin’s perplexed gaze towards her, too. “I need to borrow Frankie for a moment–Alba spilled some juice on my dress and I could really use the help before it stains.”

“Oh, of course,” Nic cleared his throat, stepping back, his gaze flickering from one to the other–shy, all of a sudden. Frankie almost rolled his eyes, held in check only by Camila’s hand sliding into his, gently pulling him along.

“Alba wasn’t drinking anything,” he murmured, his head bowed slightly as they walked back inside the house. She shrugged lightly, then looked over her shoulder as she smiled–quick and amused, making him scoff. “Mila–”

“Just come with me for a moment,” she retorted before he could finish forming the protest. “Alba’s with Santiago and your mom, it’s alright,” she added as he went to speak again, walking past the kitchen and living room.

“I’m still not sure why he’s here,” Frankie muttered, making her chuckle and pull him slightly closer as she reached the stairs–he placed the glass on the closest surface at hand.

“According to him, he’s included in the family for the family reunion,” he got closer each step, his now free hand coming up to brush her hip. “Don’t get ideas, Morales,” she added, giving a delicate slap to the back of his hand.

“You’re the one getting me away from the rest of them,” he retorted as she pulled them both inside the bathroom–to which he arched an eyebrow, as if that was proof of his point even before she turned the key. “Really difficult to not get any ideas now,” Camila laughed, shaking her head before turning fully to face him, eyebrows slightly arched. “What?”

“Out with it,” she said simply, resting her hands on the countertop of the sink behind her back. Frankie frowned slightly, stepping closer again–she tipped her chin up to look at him, her gaze soft.

“With what?”

“You’ve been jumpy all day,” she told him, voice as soft as her eyes, and he wondered if he was truly that obvious or she simply knew him so well. “Your family is not so bad, you know? I mean, Nicky is–” she let the sentence hang, mouth turned in a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he sighed, and she shifted the weight on one hand to reach for his face with the other, cupping his cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize, honey,” she hummed, thumb brushing along the apple of his cheek, warm from the sun. “I like them–by now somebody in my family would’ve started a fight for sure,” she added with a quick grin that made him scoff out a laugh, gaze lowered. “But they’ve all been nice,” he must’ve tensed up again, because she tilted her head to try and meet his gaze. “Is that it?”

“No, it’s–I’m glad they are, it’s just–” her hand moved down across his cheek and jaw, pushing underneath his chin to get him to look up at last. “It’s nothing. Nicky said some shit, and he talked about me having an actual girlfriend or something,” he scoffed, gaze darting away and back–behind her, he saw their reflection in the mirror, her hair shifting with the movement of both her arms shifting up.

“Frankie, sweetheart,” her words carried her soft smile as she took his cap off, putting it aside because she held his face in her hands, looking at him with such tenderness in her eyes he almost crumbled in front of her, hands twitching at his sides. “So what?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned softly, eyes shut for a longer moment before letting out a long sigh. “We just never discussed it, and people keep bringing it up, and I didn’t want to pressure you or–” when he looked at her again, her lips were parted, brows knitted tightly with perplexity as he repeated, “I don’t know.”

“Pressure me?” her confusion bled into her voice, her touch getting a little hesitant for a moment–if he were to look past her head and into the mirror, Frankie would register the guilt in his gaze. Instead, he only noticed the realization dawn in her eyes. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry–I kept thinking I would bring it up and then never did and I was worried it would be too much, or too early,” he shifted back a little, her hands falling to his shoulders.

“Wait, so this is because he called me your girlfriend?” she asked, a little baffled. At his little nod, a quick laugh escaped her, and she pushed herself towards him. “Frankie, honey, we’ve lived together for two months,” she smiled as she said it.

“I know,” she locked her hands behind his neck, pulling him slightly closer in the process, fingertips pushing at the nape of his neck. “I just didn’t want to assume,” she laughed again, a little louder, and Frankie frowned once more, pouting slightly. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not, I promise I’m not,” she said quickly, getting herself closer, though still laughing. “I’m sorry, just–I thought there was nothing to discuss. You’re it for me?”

“You–” he was still frowning, a little deeper, and she let one hand move from the back of his head up across his face, gently kneading the spot between his eyebrows where lines were etched. “You’re still laughing. Camila–”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to help herself as she shook her head through the laughter turned giggles, shifting her body weight so she was leaning against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, keeping her upright and ducking his chin to keep his gaze on her face, the lines at the corner of her eyes deepening as her smile widened. “Why would you worry about that, honey?”

“You told me you thought you’d jumped in too fast with that guy,” he’d been that guy for months now, no longer Jason–Camila found some amusement in it, her nose scrunching up.

“I did,” she nodded, bringing a hand to his chest while the other still cupped the back of his head. “But you’re not him, and I’m no longer 20-something, so I’d like to think I’ve wised up,” Frankie sighed, carefully lowering his head towards her. “Then again, I’ve moved in with you after–what, eight months? So maybe–”

“Mila,” he groaned in half-complaint, making her laugh again before she tipped her chin up, kissing him in full. He sighed again, the tension in his back melting away as her fingers brushed through his hair, the other palm pressed firmly against his heart.

When she didn’t pull back, Frankie’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him and straightening his back to sweep her off her feet, taking the half step that separated them from the countertop to sit her there–he slotted himself between her legs, her back arching slightly as her lips parted for his tongue.

He kissed and kissed and kissed her until the rest of the world blurred away, until there was no Nicky or Jason, no Santi nor the rest of his family, just the two of them tangled together, sharing soft breaths and touches and the only thing grounding him was the weight of her against him, the shift of her body as he let his hands wandered back and thighs and legs, right underneath her dress.

“Are you gonna ask me, then?” she breathed out once they parted, heavy breaths from both of them and Frankie’s vision blurry for just a moment as he chased her, interrupted only by her soft words, the hint of laughter in them.

“What?” he licked his lips as if trying to cling onto the taste of her, fingers digging into her flesh. Her cheeks were red, bruised lips as she looked up at him while it all came back into vision for Frankie. “Is it–official?” her smile turned into a snort at the uncertainty in his tone, a shimmer in her eyes to highlight her amusement.

“You can do better than that, Francisco,” she murmured, mockingly, and he huffed out a breath as his lips quivered in a semi-pout. Camila leaned forward, kissing it away, but before he could chase her again she pulled back abruptly–one hand on his chest, the other falling behind her over the counter to support herself.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he scoffed, letting his hands travel a little up across her skin, the skirt of her dress bunching up with the movement.

“Maybe,” she said with a light shrug, letting her hand travel down across his torso, lingering on each button–just teasing to undo them, Frankie’s eyes following the movement as his own fingers moved up and up. “You know what I’m going to say,” she murmured then, the tip of her first and middle finger hooking in his belt and pulling him forward ever so slightly, “ask.”

“I don’t need to ask,” he lowered his head towards hers, hooking his fingers at each side of her underwear–she squeezed her knees at his sides, humming softly as he pulled. “Do I?”

“Ask,” she repeated, lips still curved in an amused smile.

“Camila,” uttered as a warning before he kissed her again, a little harsher than before, almost feverish, pulling and pulling at her underwear that wouldn’t shift.

He could feel the laughter bubbling in her throat as she pushed against his lower stomach to make him step back, hopping down the counter to bare her lower half–Frankie kept his hands on her legs, her dress bunched up between the two of them, and slowly began lowering himself, ready to shift onto his knees in front of her.

“We don’t have time,” she mumbled against his lips, swiftly undoing his belt. “Later. Home.”

“Did you not tell me to not get any ideas?” his mocking question ended with a groan when she cupped her hand to his front, stroking his already half-hard length from above his briefs–his hips twitched into her touch, and he felt the grin forming on her lips at his immediate reaction.

“Ask me,” she replied instead, stroking him again.

Again, and again, until he was panting in her mouth, hips bucking with each movement–Frankie kissed her one more time before turning her around, her hands coming down against the counter for balance as he gently kicked her legs apart to slot himself closer, his still clothed front pressed against her back.

“I don’t have to ask,” he repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss to her neck, one hand to her hip as the other bared himself. Camila’s reflection smiled in the mirror, her head ducked as if hiding herself but not quite, as he pushed the tip of his length against the seam of her folds. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?” he murmured then against the shell of her ear.

Before she could form a response, her mouth fell open as he nudged at her entrance, slowly–agonizingly slow–starting to push into her. Her eyes rolled back and she nodded, soft gasps leaving her as she gripped the countertop, both of Frankie’s hands now on her hips, guiding her back to meet him.

“Look at you,” his gaze remained glued to the mirror as she tilted her head back towards him–her eyelids fluttered a moment, trying and failing to focus on their reflections as he kept going. “My beautiful girl,” another kiss to her neck, right behind her ear, making her shudder and rock her hips back. With a groan, his front pressed to her back as he sank fully inside her, he spoke against her shoulder, “mine.”

“’Course I am,” she panted, her thighs trembling slightly against his. “Yours,” at the word,  Frankie’s cock twitched, his grip on her hips tightening. “God–Frankie,” she moaned, back arching as her walls fluttered around him.

“Baby, you gotta keep quiet,” he mumbled, pushing forward so her hips were against the countertop, and he was leaning against her in turn. One arm wrapped around her middle to keep her flush to him, he let his other hand wander up across her torso, the fabric of her dress wrinkling underneath his touch.

“Thought you liked it when you could hear me,” her gaze flickered over their reflections, down to his rising hand and up to meet his eyes, a flush spreading from her heaving chest up and her lips slightly parted.

“Yes,” he shifted back, the slow drag of his length as he pulled out almost all the way making her breath quicken. “When I–” he snapped his hips forward, and Camila bit down onto her lip to keep herself from crying out, knuckles turning white as she gripped the counter a little harder, “can. Not the rest of the family.”

“We wouldn’t be here if that were a problem,” each word felt like it was punched out of her chest, Frankie’s movements steady, hitting a spot deep inside of her that had her vision wavering. “You enjoy the thrill, Francisco,” she added–not a question, rather her ability to read him so perfectly laid out in a tease.

And he did–he liked his life, his new one, with no drugs and very little alcohol, a steady, almost boring job, a home with the two halves of his heart, a bed with hogged blankets and slow nights. He loved that life–but sometimes he missed the rush, and Camila seemed to know exactly when he felt like he was starting to waver. Exactly what to do about it so that he wouldn’t topple over again, returning back to her each time.

“Fuck–don’t stop, don’t stop,” he’d gotten so lucky. He was so goddamn lucky.

The hand that had been traveling up her body moved up again, grabbing her by the chin to turn her head so that he could kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, swallowing each sound away as he picked up his pace, his hips snapping against her skin almost too loudly–and only spurring him further.

A shiver ran through her as Frankie stopped with one last thrust, his head falling into the crook of her neck as he came–he tightened his hold around her, keeping her flush to his front. Her walls fluttered around his length buried deep within her, a weak, frustrated cry leaving her at his sudden stillness–he breathed out a quiet laugh before pulling his head up, chin hooked over her shoulder as he brought two fingers to his mouth, coating his fingertips before reaching for the apex of her core.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Camila’s pupils were wide, eyes glazed over as she let her head loll back and sighed at his perhaps-too-delicate initial touch. Each of Frankie’s words was accompanied by a soft kiss across her skin–cheek and jaw and neck, his gaze never leaving her face as he began drawing quick circles over her clit.

“Frankie,” with a breathless cry, she grasped at his arm still wrapped around her, holding her upright. He kissed her neck, humming at her sharp intakes of air with each of his movements.

“I know,” he could feel her muscles grow taut under his touch, her thighs shaking as she got closer and closer–he groaned when she squeezed around his length, sensitive and softening as she tethered the edge. “Come on, baby, I can feel you–so good, you feel so good, baby, you–”

Camila twisted her neck and kissed him abruptly, harsh and trembling as her orgasm rippled through her–she quietened herself, the loud moan muffled by Frankie’s own bruised lips. He drank the noise greedily, slowing down the movement of his fingers until she twitched in his hold and dug her fingernails into the arm she was holding onto, a weak whine as she went limp into his hold.

He pulled out slowly, another softer moan escaping her as she folded forward, hands coming down to the countertop with a shaky exhale and equally shaky arms. His gaze remained low a moment longer, following the slow trail of their combined releases dripping down her thighs, and then he bowed down, kissed the space between her shoulders softly from above her dress.

“You alright?” he spoke softly, hands rubbing soothing circles on her bare hips as she evened her breathing, head hanging forward. She hummed quietly, rolling her shoulders back.

“I just need a minute,” she nodded, bringing her head upright again and wincing slightly. “Jesus–maybe two minutes,” she sighed, and Frankie chuckled softly, another kiss pressed against her shoulder as he tucked himself back in.

“Turn around,” he guided her by the hips tenderly, meeting her eyes for a brief moment in the mirror. “Let me clean you up.”

She hummed softly as she let him move her, leaning back again with her hands on the counter, her breath now even as Frankie recovered a clean towel from underneath the sink, turning on the water and waiting for it to turn lukewarm. Camila’s eyes remained on him as he moved, eyelids low and a tired half smile stretching across her lips.

He sank to the floor in front of her, gently brushing the towel up between her thighs, one hand on her calf rubbing circles with his thumb again against her skin, gentle and soothing. He helped her get dressed back up, smoothing down the skirt of her dress and pressing one last kiss to her now clothed hip before standing back up, mere inches from her.

“Promise me something,” she wrapped her arms around his middle, threading her arms underneath his. Frankie lowered his gaze to her still slightly flushed face, a small frown crossing his brow. “You’re gonna ask me whatever it is that crosses your mind, anything you want to–even if it’s something as banal as is my hair alright,” her fingers curled against his back, gently bringing him closer.

Frankie sighed, cupping her jaw in his hands before nodding–small movements, getting closer to leave a delicate peck against her lips.

“Promise,” he conceded, voice a little hoarse as he kept it low. “We should head back–you okay?” she nodded, mimicking his quick kiss before detangling herself from him and stepping aside, reaching for the door. “Wait, Mila,” he caught her hand as she unlocked the door, her gaze a little perplexed when she turned back around. “Is my hair alright?”

Camila laughed, a light roll of her eyes as she reached for the cap left on the countertop, putting it back on his head and pulling it low over his brow–he grinned in return, tipping his head back to keep his gaze on her.

“Better,” she nodded, wrinkling her nose before opening the door.

He pulled her under his arm once they were into the corridor, fixing his cap as she wrapped one of her arms around him again, bumping her hip with his while they stepped forward–and stopped at the stairs creaking, Santi’s head popping up with a deep frown that vanished as soon as he saw them.

“Ah, there you are–Alba’s been asking for you,” the other man said, looking at Camila, then made a face, somewhere between a pout and a grimace, muttering, “for some reason. Also, is it me or has Nicky gotten worse?” this he asked Frankie, his expression turning into a full scowl. His gaze then darted from one to the other, still tangled together, and surely somewhat guilty-looking–Camila’s face was still reddened, Frankie’s shirt slightly wrinkled, their hair just about messed up. Santi groaned, full on rolling his eyes. “Seriously? Gross.”

Camila laughed, loud and amused, leaving a rapid kiss to Frankie’s shoulder before sliding from under his arm, keeping her own open as she advanced towards Santi.

“Come here,” she said at his mock disdain, reaching for him. “Come on, Garcia–give me a kiss.”

“No, I don’t know where that mouth has been,” he argued, trying to step away and back down the stairs. Camila all but leaped for him, laughing again and throwing her arms around him–he quickly got his arms around her, too, keeping them both upright with a huff of protest as she smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Fish, will you keep your girlfriend in check?”

Frankie just watched them, the quick, purposefully sloppy kisses she peppered across his face from the upper step, his twisted expression as he tried to pull away but couldn’t make a move–they both knew it was an over-dramatization on Pope’s part, that he’d been basking in the affection Camila reserved for them all.

With one last kiss to Santi’s forehead–loud and possibly even sloppier, making him groan in protest–she skipped away with a laugh and a gentle pinch to his arm, one last glance in Frankie’s direction from above her shoulder with a wide grin across her reddened cheeks before walking down the stairs.

“What, no not my girlfriend?” Santi muttered, running a hand across his face before looking back up at Frankie–his gaze somewhat lost towards where Camila had gone.

“No, not this time, actually,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, thank God,” Santi exclaimed, lifting his hands. “Seriously, fucking finally!”

Frankie had gotten used to sleeping as close to Camila as he could get–whether she was curled up in his arms, her back pressed against his front, or her body draped across his, it was rare for them to roll on opposite sides of the bed.

Mostly because she still hogged most of the covers, and Frankie would wake up in the middle of the night with half of himself exposed to the room, and she would then complain his hands were cold when he sought out her warmth.

He didn’t mind it one bit–each excuse he could find to feel her skin under his hands, to wake up and know she was still there, would be enough to make him withstand anything.

And he always woke up first, taking a few moments before her alarm would go off to look at her sleeping, relaxed face, hair braided back and away, eyelids trembling as she seemed to be following her dreams, lips slightly parted to let out soft huffs of air–he would pepper her skin in quick, delicate kisses as soon as she turned off the alarm, tightening his arms around her.

But the alarm didn’t sound that morning, and when he glanced over her shoulder to where the clock was he sat up so quickly the whole room spun, dragging the covers with him before turning towards the already curling up woman, her face twisting in a still-asleep frown.

“Mila, we overslept,” he called, gently shaking her by the shoulder. She groaned softly, burying her face into the pillow. “Mila,” he tried again, and she turned in his direction.

“You overslept,” she protested, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes. “I have the day off,” she added in a mumble, head heavy on the pillow and exposing the sleep lines on her opposite side of the face. “Did you not set an alarm again?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning in to press his lips to hers as he brought the covers back up over her while simultaneously sliding off the bed. “I didn't–you know I usually rely on you.”

“And that is twice you’ve made that mistake,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping again, ever so slowly. Frankie scoffed, quick steps around the room as he searched blindly for some clothes. “I’ll take Alba to daycare, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? You can go back to sleep,” he was still rummaging through the closet as he spoke, and suddenly the light was on and he could see the shirts hanging in front of him.

“I’m up already,” Camila groaned softly, and turning around he saw her sitting up, rubbing at her eyes again as she suppressed a yawn. Frankie’s expression softened as she kicked her legs off the bed, lingering there a moment with her head tilted forward slightly. “Go finish getting ready, I’ll make us some coffee.”

Frankie grabbed a shirt before turning around, padding across the room to reach her–he tipped her head back gently, hooking one finger underneath her chin before kissing her. Camila hummed softly, her eyelids fluttering open and shut and open again when he pulled back, thumb brushing along her jaw.

“See? I knew it’d be convenient for you to move in,” she snorted at his grinning remark, pushing him back with both her hands on his chest before getting up the bed, stretching as Frankie kissed her again, lips just at the corner of her mouth.

He passed by the living room once he was dressed, Alba sitting on the couch with her morning cartoons playing, hair still ruffled by the night–her breakfast was waiting on the coffee table, along with Camila’s empty mug.

“Morning, nena,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. The child moved her legs, bouncing her feet and smiling and looking up at her dad. “Are you waiting for Mila?”

“Ma!” voice laced with sleep, Alba nodded, eyes squinting as she smiled. Frankie chuckled, ruffling her hair before heading towards the kitchen, leaving her to the images on the screen.

It was a new development, ma–an imitation of Frankie, of possibly the other children at daycare. The beginning of a word that signified much more for them both. The three of them, actually. Frankie’s doubts had dwindled with one single word, and he had started to tell her truly what went through his mind (almost everything).

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he murmured as he walked up to her at the sink, one hand falling to her hip as he reached for the travel mug she was already offering him with the other. She smiled in the reflection of the mirror, taking the moka pot from the turned off stove. “I’ll set an alarm next time, I promise.”

“Heard that one before,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder into his front as she gently leaned back into his half-hazarded embrace. “Go on now, before you’re late.”

“Thank you,” he kissed the curve of her neck–a peck, really, quick and non-committal. “I love you,” he added then, stepping back.

Camila’s head straightened abruptly, the sleep seemingly still clinging to her leaving her all of a sudden, and in the reflection he saw her eyes widen ever so slightly.

He told her almost everything.

Until that moment. He wasn’t sure he’d fully woken up just yet.

“Alright, bye,” he said just as quickly, a little louder, walking away before she could even begin turning around. Alba babbled for him from the couch and he went on, holding his breath through the corridor and entrance, down the steps and across the front yard until he reached the car.

Only then did he exhale, heavy and almost too loud as he leaned his head forward towards the steering wheel, almost hitting his forehead to the honk in the process, a soft groan abandoning him. I love you. Alright, bye.

“For fuck’s sake–” he muttered, bumping his head against the wheel again. “Alright, bye?” he grimaced. He jumped in his seat at the quick knocking against the window, pulling his head straight quickly and turning around, gripping the mug tighter to not topple it. “What–”

Camila stood next to the car, hair wild around her now that it was unbraided as she gestured at him to lower the window, bouncing ever so slightly on the spot. With a slight frown he did as she asked, and before he could form the question she was leaning into the car, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt to pull him closer and kiss him.

Frankie’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted in the seat and brought his free hand to her shoulder–he could feel her lean closer and closer, her torso sticking inside the car as she used his shirt as leverage and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.

“I love you too,” she gasped, pulling back. Though his gaze was unfocused and he felt slightly breathless, dizzy, he managed to make out the shape of her body draped over the car door, legs dangling and the shirt of her pajama riding slightly across her back. “I thought you heard me already–a while ago.”

“What while ago?” he muttered, still a little dazed. He would think about her smile for the rest of the day, distracted out of his mind.

“I was talking with Alba, she couldn’t sleep,” the tip of her thumb brushed the side of his neck, right where his pulse was stuttering rapidly. “Telling her how much you love her–and I love her, and you,” she murmured, still leaning close, the tip of her nose almost brushing his.

“Well you didn’t tell me,” he could feel the pout on his mouth that seemed to only pull her smile wider. “I just thought–” she kissed him quickly this time, pulling back before he could register it, return it.

“Always a bad idea, honey,” she quipped, her eyes shimmering ever so slightly. “I told you, Frankie–you can tell me anything. Everything.”

“I know,” he sighed with mock defeat, leaning towards her until he was the one resting against the car door and she could touch the ground again, his head sticking out of the window. “Everything?” he asked then, looking up at her once she straightened.

“Yes,” she let her hand shift so it was cupping his jaw, thumb pushing gently into his cheek.

“You keep stealing the covers,” he whispered it, like it was a secret, and after the moment of initial shock Camila laughed. As she laughed, he turned his head to kiss her wrist, the heel of her hand, her palm, words murmured against the soft skin there– “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she repeated–she’d repeat it over and over from then on, whispered close to his ear or shouted from across the house when either one or the other left for the day, mumbled before falling asleep and just awoke. It’d always have the same effect on Frankie. “But I’m cold, so I’m not giving up the covers.”

“I know you’re not,” he chuckled, taking her hand in his to turn it around and kiss her knuckles, too. “I’ll just have to stick close, then.”

She hummed in assent, squeezing his hand in hers before leaning one last time, the kiss too brief for both their tastes–if it were up to them, that’d be where they’d spend the whole day, just as close to each other as they could get.

“I’ll see you later,” she said instead.

Frankie remained in the driveway a moment longer, watching as she ran back inside–still barefoot, a light skip in her step, and one last look over her shoulder towards him.

next

[anystalker707]

When we kill all our friends

Pairing: Party Poison x [gender neutral] Reader Word count: ~ 3 900 Genre: Angst / Comfort Summary: It's been bitter years since anyone saw the Fabulous Four, but it seems like Party Poison is inviting you to deal with them again.

Requested by anon ["can i request some angst/comfort for Gerard? just looking for that type of comfort run"]

MASTERLIST

         No one ever promised it would be easy and, with a simple look, it was clear things weren’t easy either way. What were you supposed to feel when the life expectancy was reduced to shreds and even fucking robots fought for better living conditions? Life wasn’t about worrying about studying, starting a family, having fun with friends like it seemed to show on the old magazines you’d find—it was still hard to believe people would be around buying cars just for whims, having more houses than necessary and living monotonous lives—which didn’t date to long ago, horrifyingly.

Life now was guided by the youth. The damn kids, teens and young adults running around and trying to fix the future with their own hands before the industry shot them down like a plague. It was about living to the max while you still ran around the desert on your own feet. Seeing people of yours fall repeatedly.

You sighed as you took off your boots and threw them somewhere near the wardrobe, then sat on the bed. A shaky breath escaped your lips at the same time the bed creaked, absurdly loud. The place was more welcoming before, always with the sound of the other killjoys fucking around and with random stuff enough so it wouldn’t have that annoying echo. Whatever.

An itch made you rub the back of your hand against your cheek, and the unexpected sticky texture made you cringe. If you’d known the blood had gotten that far, you’d have cleaned it before it got that sticky because wasting water to clean some stupid Drac’s blood is a stupid luxury.

You decided to leave that aside for now since the tiredness already clung to your muscles, and collapsed back to the bed, observing the little polaroids taped to the wall beside the bed. Looking at those was like a relief. Gas. Motivation to keep going. Like a fighter being encouraged by their manager in between rounds. One of the pictures had the five of you and the Girl, trying to pose like families in the old magazines you would find, something that didn’t work quite well. Another had Jet fixing Trans Am. The next one had Kobra posing next to his bike with the Girl. Party on the diner’s roof. You painting. You and Jet working on Trans AM. Sleepovers. Party and you—

Knock knock knock.

Who could that fucking be? Already short before the sun sets and the Scarecrows were out? Low complaints escaped your lips as you walked to the door and it was a surprise to see Val fucking Velocity there, with his mates behind him.

“What do you want?” You leaned against the doorway with crossed arms and yawned. Val had that stupid flaming red hair and messy clothes as if he just walked out of a clasp with an Exterminator.

Val growled angrily and looked at you from behind that mask as if looks could kill, hands clenched into fists. “I want that friend of yours to stay out of the way! They keep thinking they got the strength of a thousand men just to ruin the whole battle and run off as if nothing happened!” His voice was sharp as he shouted in your face, arms moving around according to his words, and it was almost the same as... Well, not gonna comment on that. The red hair was enough. That new generation of killjoys didn’t even seem new at all.

You raised an eyebrow. “Friend? Look, I don’t even—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” He clicked his tongue and looked away. “Look, if they ruin another clasp, I’m killing them on sight! I don’t care if they’re like a legend or something, it’ll be like dusting off an old dog! It’s no use if they don’t help at all! Get it?”

You rolled your eyes with a sharp exhale. “First of all, I’m the one dusting you if you come here the next time to yell at my face like that! You’re gonna leave this zone not even remembering your own name! You hear me? Who do you think you are? How did you even find me?”

Val was the one to roll eyes this time, giving your words as much credit as to those random ‘joys from around the desert who preach about the return of a god, already on his way back to his bike with his friends, who seem as happy as him. “How did I find you? Easy thing if you’re not a fool! Y’know what they say, (k/n)! You can sleep in a coffin, but the past ain’t through with you!”

And they rode off, leaving you with the silence and the setting sun. Right. How far did the info that you were still in the diner despite it being partially destroyed spread around? It better not have fallen in the wrong hands. Either way, you had a bigger problem at the moment.

         “(K/n), my kid! What brings you here?” Dr. D greeted you with that same smile from always, wheeling to the cooler to grab you your favorite soda. You caught it when he tossed the can. “Wanna make an announcement again?”

“Ah, no!” You shook your head and took off your jacket with a relieved sigh, tossing it on the couch. The heat out there was especially harsh today. Or maybe the anxiety buzzing under your skin was getting the best of you, so the cold drink Dr. D offered you was the best thing ever. Just feeling the cold can in your palm through the fingerless leather gloves was already pleasing. “I am here to look for something! Or someone, better say!”

“Someone?”

A sigh escaped your lips and you nodded, opening the can carefully so you won’t waste a drop. “Have you heard anything about Poison?”

Dr. D furrowed his eyebrows and you could sense the perplexed gaze from under those dark sunglasses. He swallowed and cleaned his throat. Oh, how you hated going through that. “Poison?” His voice was almost like he was saying a secret. “As in Part—”

“Yeah, them!” You nodded and took a gulp of the cold drink, feeling it go down your throat, cold and refreshing. Almost painful. “Heard about their whereabouts?”

He sighed and moved over to his table, where all his radio stuff was, and went through some papers. “Something happened?”

“That bastard’s slandering my name, I think. Some weeks ago, Chow Mein didn’t let me buy anything because, apparently, some person was using my name when getting stuff and only one person knows my dealings with Chow!” You clicked your tongue, leaning back against the wall. “I also received a note about a debt that isn’t mine. Yesterday, Val Velocity showed up threatening me because of them. I might need to have a word with them.”

That was so off. Party usually didn’t want anything to do with you, but now, it was like they were sending you invitations to go after them. It had been some bitter years since you’d seen their face.

Dr. D cleaned his throat as he wheeled back to you, still with that odd vibe. “There’s not much, kid. They didn’t just disappear to you. I suspect they’re just going by a different name now, though. You might want to check this out.”

The paper had messy handwriting on it. Hopeless Deathwish — Zone 2, Route Bella Muerte, Mile 74. “Hopeless Deathwish,” you mumbled the words. They didn’t feel strange, but you couldn’t quite grasp what they related to.

         Whatever that place was, it was in a dangerous Zone that you didn’t risk going to unless you really needed it. As much as you were a potency in the desert, you weren’t more than one. You could handle a few Dracs or an Exterminator, but not both at once, so the idea of facing whoever Hopeless Deathwish was sat in the back of your mind until you randomly remembered it when crossing Zone 2 on your way to Battery city. Maybe you’d make a stop on the way back.

BLI had a specific criteria regarding how to deal with killjoys that entered the city. They’d just spend their energy actually chasing you if you’d bring them some sort of reward in the population’s eyes. Being there was dangerous for you only if they actually knew you were you because, fuck, can you imagine? (K/n) from the past generation of killjoys, now down, only one to go—all over electronic billboards and newspapers. The changes that happened through the years guaranteed you a disguise that was enough to walk through the streets of Battery City unless you faced a dedicated Exterminator.

You sighed as you hopped off your bike and looked around. The city was still full of robots begging for out-of-line parts or preaching about the robot you saw dead in the middle of the desert. It wasn’t much of a new thing anymore and you’d already grown thick skin not to care about stuff you couldn’t change directly.

Wednesday afternoons were never really agitated. People and droids were on their jobs or studying, so it was pretty calm to go around avoiding the occasional Dracs that guaranteed the public peace. Usually, the city had a lot more shadows than the desert, so it was somewhat nicer to walk around; your jacket didn’t make you peel off your skin. There were even air conditioners. Not to mention how Battery city had a particularly heavier vibe today with the slightly colder wind rushing through the city announcing an oncoming acid rain that would, for sure, only hit the city before it extinguished. Hopefully you’d enjoy a little bit of the rain.

The store that you walked in had an air-conditioner, in fact, causing the temperature to change pleasingly when you walk past the door and under the fanning, cold air. A lingering perfume among the characteristic smell of new plastic hovers in the air, and you wonder if the shop just received a new shipment of robotic parts. Hopefully, they did, and also the exact ones that you need. Glass counters and displays show the pieces and parts with price tags, only a preview of what you may find in all of the isles further in the white place, divided in areas destined for used and also brand new pieces. People’s soft talking falls incoherent under the ambient music playing from the speakers on the white roofs.

“Good afternoon!” A person shows up out of random with a smile and white clothes contrasting to the store’s logo printed on the chest pocket. “What would you be looking for today?”

“Um, hey.” You sighed, finally tearing your gaze away from all the displays. “I need these.”

Everything was listed on the paper you gave them. Their motions were almost robotic as they read it all, and you wondered what generation of droid that was—probably an older one, even if they didn’t seem any older than 25 years old. “Follow me!”

You ended up with a basket full of goods more expensive than you imagined. Seemed like you wouldn’t be able to take all of it, but... what if? Dismissing the droid that helped you out with a few ‘thank you’s, you waited in the line to check out. Everyone was busy, right? You grabbed some of the smallest droid pieces in your palm, pretending to look around as you slipped it in your pocket and— The droid from the other line was... watching you... Well, it was just a packer, maybe they wouldn’t do anything, right? Right?

Gulping, you walked ahead on the line, but froze when you saw the cashier look at you. Despite the sweet smile, there was something that didn’t sit right. The packer from the other line still looked at you. The packer from your line looked at you. The other cashier looked at you.

Well fuck.

You just pocketed everything you could and took your gun in hand before you started sprinting out of the shop, ignoring the screams of the civilians. Droids weren’t running after you, and you hated knowing that was because they simply didn’t need to. Curses escaped your lips under your breath while you ran down the streets and hoped not to run into any Drac at least until you reached your bike. The wind was colder now. Some pieces dropped and hit the concrete with a metallic sound, but the most important ones were in the bottom of the pockets, so it wasn’t exactly important holding them while you ran.

Just a little more and you’d get to your bike, just another turn and— Fucking Korse— Wait, Korse? With a couple Dracs behind him?

Your eyes almost jump out when you run into the Scarecrow who you thought to be dead already—did they replace him with a droid as well or something? Whatever it was, you didn’t want to find out, immediately turning on your heels to try and run around the block, but there were fucking five Dracs closing the other side of the street. Fuck off, that wasn’t going to be easy.

The gun aimed at the Dracs, shooting down one of them before the shots started coming from behind and you had to try to hide behind a billboard near the bus stop could so you could focus on only one side first, but it didn’t exactly seem helpful because the distance between you and them didn’t give you time enough.

No, it was impossible that you’d die there. For such a damn stupid reason. They must’ve noticed you were you already since they even sent Korse in a way-too-well-thought trap because they knew where you’d head to, they knew where your bike was. Goddamnit. Your hands shook as you pressed the trigger more and more, fruitlessly trying to take the Drac’s down with a failing aim. Your end was—

“You’re still alive, egghead? Damn, what a shame, I really thought I’d been the one to kill yah!” A voice said before one of the Dracs that followed Korse dropped to the ground with a shot on their back, and Korse turned around with wide eyes. You widened your eyes too because you remembered that voice quite well, you’d recognize it even in a thousand years. Its owner, on the other hand, seemed not to care as they kept shooting at Korse and you used the distraction to deal with the other Dracs and you could run away while you could, but you decided to stand there to get at least a glimpse of them.

Korse received a kick on his side before someone ran off and you furrowed your eyebrows, almost gasping. Black hair, really? Black clothes, only? Some drops of rain already started to stain the ground by the moment you started to run after them, gun in hand and glancing back to make sure Korse wasn’t making you guys company.

No way they didn’t know you were following. It was as if they dared you to stop because the direction was opposite to your bike, after all. You didn’t mean to stop. Your chance was right there.

All the running already had your lungs aching, but it didn’t stop you from trying to fill them to the max and scream as hard as you could.

“POISON!”

Rain announced itself in a loud sound of thick, strong drops hitting against the roofs of the buildings nearby until it was there, enveloping the two of you coldly.

“POISON!” You screamed again and then once more, fighting against how muffled your voice sounded as the rain soaked the ground and you as well, resounding loudly and muffling any other sound. Your muscles ached already, burning as they threatened to give up under each hard step, but the sight of a car in the distance made you run even faster. When you reached them, you couldn’t stop in time, hence you ended up pressing them to the car by tripping over your feet, but that didn’t discourage you.

You make them turn around, holding onto their collar as you gaze into eyes that seem so familiar yet so strange at the same time, your gun falling to the ground now, carelessly. It’s the same face that you know from all those years, but now framed by soaked black hair that feels so off and new scars kissed by the rain that justify one of their eyes that lost its hazel color to a whitish one.

“Why?!” You could feel yourself screaming without meaning to. “After all this time! Why?!”

Party looked at you, blinking a couple of times, then turned their face away while trying to push your hands off them. “Not now!”

Fire seems to burn in your body despite the ice-cold rain that falls, making your clothes and hair cling to your skin and ruin a great part of the stuff you have in your pockets. “If not now, then when, you bastard? I—”

“Stop right there!” Korse stood there again, making you two curse while looking at him and the scene was way too familiar.

A rainy night. Fallen killjoys. Your heart felt as if it could rip out of your chest just by how strong it was beating.

“No!” You screamed, feeling fire burn in your veins again as you let go of Party to face him bare-fisted, sending him down with a single punch despite the gun that pointed at you. “You will not take me alive, you hear me?” The rain was still deafening, muffling whatever Party told you as you pinned Korse to the ground so you could punch him more. “You took them, but not me! I’m still here!” The screams were guttural, with little regard to how your vocal cords or your knuckles with the punches that hit his face and you wondered more about Korse’s robotic nature seeing no blood, but there was no time to conclude anything before you were being dragged back.

“You’re still the fucking same! Insane!” Party complained as they dragged you until they were able to throw you in the car. “We need to leave! I’m sure you don’t need to die here!” They closed the door to the car and rushed over to the other side, grumbling as they started Trans AM as fast as they could and speeded out of the place with screeching tires.

It felt so silent inside the car. The raindrops hit the windows and roof in muffled tapping sounds while the engine hummed under you, something that was quite luring and calming, opposing the feelings that bubbled in your veins. Your lungs still screamed for air as you sat there, replaying the recent events in your mind, hands aching. In the end, your bike was being left behind—your bike, originally Kobra’s—, probably to be stolen by a robot or taken by the Industry. You looked at the streets in front of you before your gaze averted to Party. It was like seeing the same painting from years ago with a frame that didn’t match it at all.

“...Why are you here?” You asked, shaking your head lightly. “After all those years—”

“Wrong place, wrong timing.” Party sighed, eyes on the road and knuckles going white around the steering wheel.

“That’s not it!” You sighed. “You left without saying anything! No reason to leave, and now you had no reason to come back! Sending me those stupid little hints! What’s happening? Why did you even leave, in the first point? We needed each other more than ever, at that time! Then you’re back as if nothing happened? You know, we—”

“I KILLED THEM!” Party screamed in response. “How was I going to live there, in the place we lived, with you, bearing the guilt that I KILLED MY FRIENDS?! All my friends?! It was the last straw when they got the Girl! Are we going to have a funeral forever? Fucking live already! Forget it, go party, I don’t know!” Their screams were also gutural, pained like yours, with the same tinge of pain. “What was there left to do? Sit and cry with you?”

“Does being there for each other mean nothing?” You screamed, your heart pumping stronger, almost burning as you were even more surprised with their thoughts. If they had run away to deal with themself, that’d be okay, but running away because of that? “How can you be that selfish? What do you think that Jet would’ve—”

“JET IS DEAD! DEAD!” Party screamed again. “And I killed him when I got us in that goddamn trap! Sent him and Kobra to fuckin’ die! It doesn’t matter anymore what he would’ve thought!”

The words brought back a memory. You had warned Party that night, but no, it was just you being annoying because “what do you mean we don’t need to consider sacrificing ourselves in every confrontation? It’s always decisive” and before anyone could do anything, the news were spreading across the desert already, talking about how “Jet-Star and the Kobra Kid got dusted, ghosted out on Route Guano”.

All of that made you want to take Party’s hand and tug it down so maybe you’d just crash down a hill and die because it would be easier that way.

“You did not kill them! Are you crazy?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Did you force them to go there or anything?! Jet always had more brains than you, you idiot! He would have convinced you to give up on that if he wanted to! Everyone was just playing around and pretending you were the mighty leader because everyone liked you too much, maybe just Ghoul believed that!”

“Then it makes me the one to kill Ghoul!”

“Oh, yeah!” You rolled your eyes and laughed bitterly. Your throat ached and your face felt hot, maybe not just wet because of the rain anymore. “Because you were the one who told him to sacrifice himself while everyone else screamed at him to stop, right?! The one who forced him to be killed while everyone watched! Why do you want to have killed them so bad?!”

You kept screaming while the memories felt livid, as if all of that had happened just minutes ago instead of years. Your hands gripped onto Party’s, finally, not caring whether you could die or not, resulting in a small wrestling between the two until they finally managed to stop the discontrolled car and fight you back. It wasn’t enough because your anger and the way you knew them too well made it hard to fight you back and then, after he opened the car’s door in an attempt to get away, you two were rolling around on the desert’s sand.

Nails ran against skin, pierced and burned; elbows and knees hit here and there, causing sharp pains, but none of you bothered about it. At least the pain would make you feel something.

Your chest shuddered as the groans of anger turned into sobs of sadness and you were openly crying, not even able to properly see what was going on with Party. It was so cold—the wind of the night already starting to fall on the desert hitting against your soaked clothes and sending shivers down your body—, and the only warm thing there was Party’s lips pressed against yours.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered, also crying, then gave you another kiss, a gentle one. “‘M so sorry...”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

Time for some Grant (Freak) and Jeff headcanons!

I’ve been neglecting these sweet boys lately so here’s a few random tidbits I came up with for them…

Full name: Grant Raymond Alexander

Has four little sisters…

Lisa— same age as the Party. Doesn’t run in the same circles as them, because she’s a cheerleader and plays softball, but Grant asked her to kind of watch over El in school so Lisa made a point to befriend her.

Ida— same age as Erica Sinclair and they are sassy besties. Erica is constantly trying to get her to join Hellfire, but Ida doesn’t want to admit to Grant that she thinks something he likes is actually cool.

Annie— a couple years younger than Ida and Erica. She’s a shy little bookworm and often gets kind of lost in the shuffle of her big family.

Beth— same age as Holly Wheeler, they’re also besties. They terrorize Eddie on a regular basis by demanding he play beauty parlor with them and let them “style” his hair.

Grant’s dad owns some stuffy corporate accounting firm and he expects Grant to follow in his footsteps and join the family business. Grant is studying accounting at college, but he hates it and dreams of being a rock star or a pastry chef— or both! He wants to create beautiful things. (Full credit for the pastry chef idea goes to @moonchildreads - we ❤️ Donny!)

His dad also is the director of the church choir. Grant likes being in the choir but after spring break ‘86 he started enjoying church itself a lot less. He’s thinking of quitting but doesn’t want to disappoint his father.

Grant goes to the local community college because he wanted to stay close to home to help take care of his sisters— he didn’t think all the babysitting, cooking, etc should fall to Lisa just because she’s a girl.

Just because he’s chubby doesn’t mean he’s slow. Grant is super strong and agile. He played football during his freshman and sophomore years, but HATED the toxic attitude of the jocks and the constant pressure from the coach. When he didn’t come back to the team junior year, most of them viewed it as a betrayal. But they can’t bully him because he’s bigger and stronger than all of them.

Full name: Jeffrey Dean Collins

Middle kid of three, all brothers…

Julian— two years older. Star athlete who now coaches football at one of the state colleges.

Jonathan— two years younger. Total math and science nerd. Dustin calls him the smartest kid in the school (and is totally jealous of that fact).

Jeff is majoring in education, and his first year in college he did a minor in some music related field (producing or sound or something). He wants to be a music teacher. Initially he was thinking he could use what he learned to help corroded coffin make it big, but heard enough horror stories about trying to get into the music biz that he decided teaching would be just fine with him.

Jeff loves his brothers, but they’re all so different he feels like he has nothing in common with either of them. He also feels like the “underachiever” of the family since his talent isn’t in a school-related thing like sports or science.

However, Jeff does get along GREAT with his mom. Sometimes he feels like she’s the only person in his family he can actually talk to. They have the same wildly eclectic taste in music, both of them love reading, and she understands his moods better than anyone.

When Jeff and Eddie first decided to start Corroded Coffin, his dad and his brothers didn’t get it and were a little mean about it. “Why do you wanna play loud angry white music with that trailer trash boy”, etc etc. But his mom saw in Eddie the same thing she’d always seen in Jeff, that they were outsiders just looking for a place to fit in and a group to belong to, and she defended him. She informed the rest of the family that Jeff could make any kind of music he wanted, with any kind of people he wanted, as long as it made him happy. Eventually the rest of the Collins fam came around, and Jon even asked Jeff to teach him to play guitar.

If you have any headcanons for them you want to share with me, please feel free!!!

[jesssssssssica]

juno! j.b pt.3

my knuckles rapidly knock on mel’s door as i try to tame my breath. when the door finally swings open i see mel let out a long sigh, obviously not expecting me.

“what are you doing here, idiot? you told me i was supposed to get you at four it’s three!”

“i couldn’t do it. it reminded me of a dentist you know? and they had these stupid magazines with those quizzes on what season you are and then the receptionist kept giving me the evil eyes and kept trying to give me these weird condoms that made her boyfriends balls smell like pie and oh su-chin was there! did you know that the baby has fingernails? i mean can you believe it! fingernails!”

mel grimaces yet her eyes are amused.

“oh, gross. do you reckon the baby could scratch your vag when it comes out” 

i ignore her comment.

“i'm staying pregnant, mel”

she shushes me quickly.

“keep your voice down mate, my mum's creeping around somewhere. she doesn't that we’re you know”, her voice goes down into a whisper “...sexually active.”

what does that even mean?

“ oh... well i was thinking about everything and i thought ‘oh! there’s someone out there that would want my baby!’ you know like the women who can’t have kids or maybe some lovely lesbians”

“but.... you'll get huge and your tits are going to lactate like a cow and you’ll have to tell everyone that you’re pregnant!” 

“i know but maybe they’ll all love me for being so caring!” 

“ or maybe they will also lose their shit and be super mad at you and possibly not let you graduate or most importantly let you go to the alps for spring break.”

“ i don’t care about the alps, jude and i were planning on taking a trip to portsmouth for spring break anyway.”

mel sighs in response, exhausted by the constant name drops of jude.

“well, maybe you could look at one of those adoption ads i mean they’re literally filling the newspapers at this point.”

“there are ads? for people to become parents?”

“oh yeah tons! you can sell anything from iguanas to exercise bikes to babies! it’s crazy what you can do!”  

“come on mel, you really think i want to scope out possible parents in the local newspaper! that’s so dodgy! it’s like buying clothes at the corner shop! i won’t be looking at the newspaper advertisements”

we sit on the bench under the pretty tree in the big park, as we look through the numerous amount of advertisements in the newspaper.

“the newspaper sucks.” 

it really does. never have i wanted to fall asleep more than i have when i was reading this garbage.

“i know juno, but at least it sucks for free and what else were we meant to do today?” 

she’s right of course, we have nothing else to do today. 

after mel finishes speaking, we continue to turn the pages in silence when she find a couple who’s teeth are as blue as water, their lips just as blue as them well. the articles reads “wholesome, spiritually wealthy couple who have find true love with each other.” 

she turns her head to face me, i’m guessing to check if i’m paying attention to the article in her hand, though i’m off in another world, looking at a selling for a piano. my mind goes straight to jude when i see the advertisement. 

“ did you see there's a guy here who's giving away a piano, free for the hauling as well! i reckon we should get it and haul it to jude’s house.

“you're not listening”

“no, i heard you loud and clear but i just can’t give the baby to someone that will describe themselves as “wholesome” you know. to be honest, i’m just looking for someone a bit more on the edge.

“well then what do you have in mind, a family of disturbed loners who are into knife play and incest? cmon juno they’re going to be the person that’s going to have a human life! one that’s been inside of you at that!”

“no mel! i was thinking more along the lines of a graphic designer, in their thirties, and has a cool asian wife who dresses awesome and plays bass perfectly, but i'm trying to keep my choices open.”

“all right, oh how about this one? a healthy, educated couple who are seeking an infant to join our family of five, you will be compensated please help us complete the circle of love."

nope. nope. nope.

“big no, they sound exactly like a cult and they have three kids already, greedy guys! not the one for mini me”

“y/n! you need to take a look at this one.”

mel points to the newspaper and i look down to paper. it reads “educated, successful couple who wish to....” 

but i don’t get to finish reading because i take a look at their faces. their beautiful faces that are pretty even in black and white, 

their names were betty and aaron jones.

and they were definitely the future parents of my baby.

jude sits in his room, listening to the playlist that y/n had recommend to him and the same one that played when they went to fourth base.

he stares at the pages of his yearbook, specifically at the photo of y/n and the message that she wrote for him, and him only. it says “hey jude! i hope one day you get off of this photo with your lotion that you not so secretly keep in your drawer! joking (well...) love y/n.

god was he in love with her, she was just so ugh. she was just perfect and somehow he was the lucky one that managed to see her in all her beauty. he was the one that got to see all her scars and insecurities and he was the one that kissed her there. he was one lucky son of a bitch that’s for sure. 

he doesn’t care if she doesn’t ever love him (the biggest lie on planet earth) all he cares about is that he was the first person that she opened up to and that even if she never loves him back, then he will watch from the side-lines, cheering her on no matter what she does. because he really loves her. 

jude reaches for the phone, the same one y/n has hanging in her room, debating whether or not to call her. he puts the phone down after a couple of moments. 

he’s brought out of his moment by a knock on his door, which is soon followed by his mothers head peaking through. 

“jude baby? are you coming downstairs to eat?”

“no, no i don't think so. not really feeling it oddly enough”

“but you played for at least 5 hours today puppy, you need to eat and it’s breakfast for tea and i know that’s your favourite”

jude just places his hand on his stomach.

“y/n y/l/n called by the way.. while you were out. she wanted to know whether or not your coming to this performance on saturday.” 

“oh thanks for the message ma”

“judie, you know i feel about her, she’s trouble.”

“i know you've said.... maybe about fifty times.”

“i just don't want you to consider her a close friend that’s all.”

she sighs and leaves jude to himself.

jude then only finally reveals what’s hidden in his closed fist. the panties that he kept from that magical night.

a/n: i really hope these are doing the movie justice! @taintedstranger i think you wanted a tag so i really hoped you enjoyed it!

[allthewriteplaces]

Magnolia in May ~ Chapter Four

Author's Note: Oh, look, I'm actually on time for once! Anyway, to all of my American friends who are celebrating today, Happy Thanksgiving, and to the rest of you, I hope you're having a great week, but if not, here's a big hug!

Chapter Summary: Jessie spends more time with the kids, who give her a tour of the house.

Chapter Warning(s): None

Word count: 2466

Chapter Four

Mrs. Milligan arrived shortly after we left the ballroom and so we had to cut our tour short, much to Ruby’s disappointment, since she was really looking forward to showing me the upstairs, but I promised her that we would continue the tour later once they were finished and that she and Charlie could show me what they learned in class if they wanted to, seemed to lift her spirits again.

Frances showed me to my room while the children were starting their music lesson. She led me up a flight of stairs, where a family portrait hung from the walls.

The woman, I assumed, was Mrs. Shelby.

Adorned in a mahogany dress that complimented her figure perfectly, she stood, facing the painter and her lips, which matched the colour of the dress, looked as though she were holding back a smile. Her blonde hair was curled and brushed against her blushing cheeks.

On her lap, Charlie sat, dressed in a mustard-coloured shirt with buttons, blue stockings and a pair of black dress shoes. His head was almost dead centre, his hair was much darker back then, I noted, though his eyes still held that mischievous sparkle, and he was facing away from the painter, instead, looking up at his father.

Several things told me that he was the main focus of this painting, the first being that he was framed by the bodies and inclined heads of his parents. Secondly, the light, possibly coming from a lamp in the room where this work of art was created, hit his face fully, unlike the part-shaded faces of his parents. Thirdly, his posture unified the composition as he looked towards, though probably not quite at, his father from his mother’s breast.

Yes, Charlie was the centre of their universe, that much was clear.

Thomas hadn’t changed much, I noticed. He still wore that same, thoughtful expression, as though his mind was elsewhere, no matter how hard he tried to keep himself tied down to Earth.

There was another painting as well that caught my eye.

Her expression was far from warm, unlike in the last portrait, in fact it could be described as judgemental, like she could see through me and my confident facade; but there was something, almost like devotion, in her eyes as well. She was bathed in a halo of white light, making her appear almost angelic and for some reason, I found it difficult to tear myself away from her gaze.

Walking down these halls, I thought, was like entering a museum.

Everything was pristine and perfect and elegant, and my room, which was not far from the staircase, was no exception. The windows were huge and framed in fine, elaborate frames and they looked out over the sweeping countryside.

Where else am I going to get a view like this? I thought.

The sound of a car door slamming shut prevented me from speaking my thoughts out loud. In the corner of my eye, I saw a silver car pulling up in the driveway and a pretty brunette opened the passenger side door and stepped out of it, a smile spreading on her face as Thomas approached her, placed a hand on her lower back and led her away to the stables.

“That’s Miss Carleton,” said Frances, nodding to the woman and then leaned in to add. “Comes around here every week to train Mister Shelby’s racing horses. She’s quite wealthy, they say. Owns her own prize-winning stud.”

“Apparently she stays overnight as well?” Frances’ eyes became saucers, widening in horror at the question I just asked.

“Ah, I suppose Master Charlie and Miss Ruby already told you about Miss Carleton,” she sighed while shaking her head, “they’re too smart for their own good, the pair of them. I’m warning you now, Miss, they will keep you on your toes until it feels like you’re dancing on a tightrope keeping them out of trouble.”

“Don’t worry. This isn’t my first time as a governess. Besides, I have five younger cousins at home. I’m used to it.”

“Good. Having an extra pair of hands will be a blessing.”

Laughing, I turned away from the window and my eyes landed on a wardrobe. It was dark oak, or at least that’s what it looked like to me, since I had seen similar ones in my friends’ houses. My hands gripped the handles and I gently swung open the door, expecting it to be empty, but it was full of clothes.

Dresses. Expensive ones, too.

“Those are the clothes you will wear while you stay with us,” said Frances. Shock was written on my face, I could see it in the mirror. It sounded almost too good to be true, these nice clothes, a spacious bedroom, it was more than someone like me, of my station, could possibly ask for. “Mister Shelby insisted that you have something new, as a way to symbolise your new life here. Speaking of which, he requests that you join him and the children for dinner this evening, shall I tell him you will be attending?”

All I could do was nod in response.

“Very well then. I will send someone up in a moment to collect your old clothes, in case you would like to have them washed. There’s a basket just there.” She nodded toward a wicker basket in front of the wardrobe. “In the meantime, I’ll give you some time to settle in, and if you need anything else, give me a shout.”

“Of course.” I replied, “Thank you, Frances.”

With a polite bow of her head, she scuttled toward the door and the second it clicked closed behind her, I exhaled. Now I was alone, standing in the middle of the room, the light of the window shining in. I stepped over to it, taking a moment to admire the view.

Never had I seen such beauty, and I could only stare in amazement. I saw my suitcase against the wall. Having some free time on my hands meant that I could start unpacking my belongings.

Unzipping the suitcase on the floor, I kneeled in front of it.

First, I took out my Bible, the one my mother bought for me, my name written in pen on the front cover, and set it on the floor beside me. My aunt had also packed a new diary for me. At home, we were encouraged to keep a diary, as a way of reflecting on ourselves, but also as a safe space to sort through our thoughts and feelings. It was small, with a black cover and a gold bookmark. I set it on top of the Bible.

The portrait of my family went beside them. I wouldn’t be seeing them anytime soon.

Next, I began to sort through the layers of clothes Eliza had packed. The clothes I regularly wore — loose dresses, frilly, puffed blouses and fluted skirts — were more suited for housework, and some of the nicer ones were reserved for Sundays, picnics or house parties, which we were sometimes allowed to go to if they were held by close friends or neighbours.

Keeping them all folded, I set them nicely into another pile. The few things I had managed to bring with me didn’t add up to much, but they were the last few things tying me to my life back home, my family, and my faith.

God has always been by my side during the toughest times in my life, showed me where to go when I was lost and unable to find my way, and it’s His will that brought me here to these children and to help them prepare for the world outside these doors.

Standing up, I started putting things away in drawers and wardrobes and put my Bible on my bedside table. I didn’t pin Thomas as the ‘Church going’ type, but perhaps on Sundays, I would be allowed a few hours in the morning to pray before tending to my other duties.

With my suitcase now empty and the old clothes in a small brown basket, I settled into my chair by the window with a sigh and a soft smile. The warm sunshine and gentle breeze from outside served as the perfect companion. A sense of peacefulness washed over me.

I could definitely get used to this.

I uncapped my pen, and opened my diary, turning to the first blank page.

Saturday, May 10th 1930

Gosh, where do I begin? One minute I am in the nursery, playing with my cousins and now I am sitting in my room in a breathtaking mansion that looks like it’s been standing here for hundreds of years! If you had told me I was living in a museum, you wouldn’t be that far off. And you should see the new clothes in my wardrobe! They are the kinds of dresses I would see all the other girls wearing to garden parties and evening soirees. Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly thankful that my employer has gifted me with such lavish dresses, but I would have been just as content wearing my old clothes — though I suppose I might donate those once we get them washed.

I was deep in my thoughts when there was a soft knock on my bedroom door. I lifted the pen from the paper, laid my diary on top of my Bible, sat down on the mattress, and then told whoever was on the other side of the door that they could come in. The door clicked open to reveal Frances standing in the doorway.

“Pardon the interruption, Miss,” she began and then glanced down at Charlie who stood next to her, clutching his violin and bow in his hands and smiling rather proudly. “Master Charlie said he wishes to show you what he learned today.”

The boy nodded eagerly and judging from the wide smile on his face, I could tell he was impatient to regale us with some music, so I fixed my position on the bed and then beckoned them both to come in with one hand.

“Well, then, there is no time to waste!” I said, enthusiasm in my voice, and watched as he prepared himself to play. He knew exactly how to hold the instrument and where to put his delicate fingers, and when he dragged the bow across the strings…. Let’s just say it wasn’t the most pleasant sound, but he just looked so happy and proud of himself, that neither Frances nor I had the heart to discourage or criticise him.

The piece only lasted a few minutes and when he finished, we both clapped and he took a deep bow. He set the bow and violin to the side and then sat next to me on the bed, catching his breath. “It’s not as good as when Miss Milligan plays it, she makes it sound like fairy music.”

“Practise makes perfect,” I said, hoping I sounded encouraging and proud of what he did manage to learn. “The more you keep working on it, the better you will become, and who knows? In a few years, you’ll be standing up there on a stage and people will be cheering your name.”

“Really?” he asked, excited.

“Really,” I answered. I glanced toward the doorway again when I heard someone else knocking. Frances opened it and Ruby came bursting in. She plopped herself on my lap, which took me by surprise, but I held onto her so she wouldn’t slip. “Hello, there, Miss Ruby.”

“Jessie! I learned a new song today, too!” she exclaimed, practically jumping up and down because of how excited she was, “and I can play it all by myself!”

“Tell you what,” I said, adjusting her body so that she was seated more comfortably, “perhaps after dinner, you can show me what you can play. In the meantime, I think I was promised a continuation of our tour.”

We still had a bit of time left on our hands before we would need to start getting ready for dinner, so I didn’t see the harm of continuing to explore the estate. Ruby slid off my lap and then dashed out the door and Charlie followed after her, leaving his violin behind.

“I’ll take that in,” Frances volunteered, “you’d better go.”

Thanking her, I called after them. “Wait for me!”

“Hurry up!” Charlie yelled back. “You’re like a turtle!”

“Slow and steady wins the race,” I tutted and they started running, their shoes slapping against the hardwood floor, as I allowed them to lead me through the halls, show me all their favourite rooms, including a playroom, filled with toys and books, and even a rocking horse.

“Wanna try it?” asked Charlie and I laughed.

“Hm, I’m not as small as I used to be. I might not fit.”

“Please?” Ruby begged, her brown eyes twinkling in the light coming from the window. Charlie aided her in her pleas, making saying ‘no’ to them even more impossible. I relented, sighing and shaking my head, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Satisfied, they clapped their hands as I approached the horse, one leg on both sides and I sat, being careful not to put too much weight on the wooden back, so as not to damage what might have been a priceless treasure.

“Giddy up!” Charlie cheered and I did my best imitation of a horse, making it rock a few more times, before I got off and then fixed up my skirts. I couldn’t help but smile. I had a feeling that I was going to have a great deal of fun playing games with the children, and it was impossible not to feel excited at the prospect. We could do anything, and I had a feeling that no matter what it was, it would be an absolute blast having them as my opponent.

“Wanna play another game?” asked Ruby, taking my hands in hers.

“How could I pass up on the offer?” I said. “What shall we play?”

“Tag!” she said, tapping my shoulder. “You’re it!”

Without any further warning, I suddenly grabbed her by the waist and swung her up into the air, making her squeal and giggle in surprise and when I put her down again, Charlie took her hand, made a run for it, and I chased them around the house, the three of us laughing and shrieking as we ran and tackled and dodged each other.

Seeing the kids so full of laughter and playfulness, I could feel the stress and anxiety of the day melt away and I felt a wave of relaxation and peace wash over me. What better way to spend the time than playing and laughing like this?

To Be Continued

taglist: @runnning-outof-time @zablife

[artemis-fowl-incident-report]

Here is my contribution for Fowl Fest day 2 (should I make this a full story?)

Diary of André Price, 16 years old, Portland Oregon (aka the Baby from the wrestling match in the Atlantis Complex)

Dear Diary

Okay, brain very loud right now, need to vent.

Kind of a lot happened today. New guy finally arrived, you know the one everyone was convinced must be some juvie reject because he was being transferred in from out of state. Turns out no, his dads in the military, and new guy’s been dealing with long covid. His names Jayden, he’s really cute. I give him an 8, no 9, no… 9.5/10 (still not quite up there with Jacob, but got just a little more rizz than Liam).

Not the point, moving on.

When we were let out to lunch, Em was waiting for me outside class (she never does this, since it’s embarrassing enough to be my sister, let alone people seeing us together, but I digress) said she had to talk to me. Something weird happened this morning when she was getting on the bus (I drove in today, so I missed this). She spotted all these guys in big SUV’s scoping around the woods near the river. They apparently didn’t look like the normal military we get around here, and they had these devices in like a backpack thing and were scanning around the area. She looked really freaked out, because apparently they were scanning the area where I usually go to practice.

Em is the only person who knows about my powers. Thank God it wasn’t Sophie. That 10 year old little weasel would have ratted me out to Mom faster then I could have bribed her. Downside, Em has been treating me like her own personal science experiment ever since (perks of having the local town mathlete/spelling bee/science fair champion around, while you are but a smooth brained gay little lizard) but I guess it’s not all that bad. I know way more about my powers now then I did at the start of the year. I’ve gone from lighting little fires when I look at twigs hard enough to being able to jumpstart my car with electricity.

But maybe that’s not such a good thing.

After school Em and I drove out to investigate. We decided not to get too close, giving ourselves an excuse to be there by picking up Mr Hernández’s dog Chika (still the most adorable Pitbull I’ve ever seen, and a total wimp) and taking her for a walk since he’s still recovering from surgery.

Em was right, a whole swarm of men in black vans with the word A.C.R.O.N.Y.M, stitched onto their uniforms (none of them were even slightly attractive! Total let down). But they were scanning around the old well, exactly where I’ve been practicing for months. That must mean they’re looking for me.

We must have made a noise or something, because one of the men pointed and shouted in our direction. We ran, they ran after us, but they didn’t catch us. I think someone on the team, someone who likes to believe they have sense, must have told them to let us go. After all, we were just kids being curious (shows what they know).

Instead of going home, Em suggested we pick up Dairy Queen and hang out for a few hours. She said it was to throw off suspicion in case these A.C.R.O.N.Y.M guys decided to keep an eye on us. I think she just wanted to get me to pay for Dairy Queen, since I’m not reckless with my money like she is. We got Chika a puppuccino from Starbucks (such a spoiled puppy, but she deserved it after our fright in the woods). While we were there, we saw flyers being put up for a wrestling event that’s coming to town next week. Apparently the Jade princess is gonna be there (you’d think our family’s collective obsession with wrestling would have died down somewhat since that accident when I was a baby. Nope.) so we'll probably all being going.

We were just about to head home when I saw something else weird. Four people parked up outside the general store arguing. There was this tall, bald muscle guy (a 10/10), a tall blonde who looked like tall guys sister (Em informed me she was a 10/10. She was totally having a case of lesbian-itus), this small child in an oversized hoodie (Very loud, could hear them over the entire parking lot), and a dark haired guy in a suit (a 100/10, are you kidding me??? Edward Cullen wishes he looked like this dude!!!). I only took notice of them because I heard the kid in the hoodie shouting something about “magic” and “human babies”. I mean… that’s me! I was a human baby (Shocking I know) and I do have powers (maybe magic???). It felt like too much of a coincidence for both the A.C.R.O.N.Y.M guys, and the hottie bunch (+small child) to all be here on the same day.

All this, and I still have algebra homework to do.

Update.

Hot vampire guy is downstairs with muscle man and blonde lady. They’re asking for me!

[rainbow-nerdss]

Growing Pains

written for @augustwritingchallenge day 15: Ancient History Buddie, 2.9k Married Buddie, Buck and Eddie get de-aged, POV Chris Read on AO3

Chris loves the museum, has loved it ever since he was a little kid and Buck first started hanging out with them, taking him on day trips. Now he’s a little older, he still loves the museum, and he loves his dads, but given the option, he’d probably prefer to spend the weekend hanging out with his friends. 

Still, when Buck knocked on his bedroom door and asked if he’d be up for a day trip, like old times, Chris had been happy to go along with it.

He’s noticed the pair of them acting strange lately, the way they had when he was thirteen and they’d been tiptoeing around each other, trying to figure out how to tell him they’d started dating. He hadn’t been surprised then, but he isn’t sure what they have to tell him this time. 

They walk through the exhibits, and Chris notices Buck getting all nostalgic over the things Chris used to drag him towards. Chris trails behind with his dad, mostly just humoring them both, but he still finds the little artifacts fascinating, the way they were once household items, held by real people, part of their daily lives hundreds of years ago and now here, for them to look at.

“Eddie, c’mere!” Buck shouts, and Chris watches them interact, Buck pointing out some old clay tablet. They whisper to each other, that quiet whisper they use when it's something Chris definitely does not want to hear. God, they can be so embarrassing sometimes.

Buck's wedding ring glints under the bright museum lighting when he drapes his arm over Eddie's shoulder.

“I wanna touch it,” Buck says, just loud enough for Chris to hear. 

“It says no touching!” Eddie points out, but Buck reaches out anyway. Eddie tries to pull his arm back, but they’re both laughing, and Buck manages to get one finger on the tablet before he’s pulled back. 

“You’re both such children, stop being so embarrassing!” Chris complains. And they wonder why he spends so much time with his friends instead of them.

Buck pouts and reaches for Chris, messing up his hair. “Dad!” he protests. Chris stops to fix his hair in the reflection of one of the display cases while his dads go on ahead to the next room.

He takes out his phone and finds a bench to sit on for a few minutes, sending a text to them both to let them know where he is. Suddenly, a kid with blonde curls appears out of nowhere, attaching himself to Chris’s leg. He’s followed soon after by another kid, who climbs on the bench next to Chris and looks up at him with tear-filled brown eyes. 

The kid seems… eerily familiar to Chris. Something about him reminds Chris of his Abuela’s house, the family pictures on the wall there.

The blonde-haired kid pulls his face away from Chris’s leg long enough that Chris can see his face, blue eyes and pink cheeks and — a birthmark over his left eye.

“Buck?” Chris asks, bewildered. He looks at the other kid. “Dad?”

They can’t be older than about five, and Chris wonders what he did to deserve this. It’s them, though, he knows it instinctively. He’s seen these faces so many times, as adults, but also in the countless pictures of his dad and tías in his Abuela’s house, and the handful Maddie had of Buck in her place. 

He’d complained about his dads acting childish, and now they were four years old. 

Great.

What the fuck is he meant to do now? How does this even happen? Unless there’s some superhero out there with a de-aging ray, Chris has no frame of reference for it. 

“I need the potty,” The child who was his father says, with a sniffle. 

Chris sighs and stands up, figuring he can try and deal with this one thing at a time. He leads both kids to the restroom, and once they’re done, helps them wash their hands. On the way back out, they pass the exhibit Buck had reached out to touch before, and Chris stops to look at it properly this time. He sees the Do Not Touch sign, and then next to it, a placard describing it, explaining how the local stories from where it was unearthed spoke of some sort of a curse. 

He looks at his parents — Buck running around in circles around Eddie with his arms out, making plane noises, and Eddie spinning around, trying to catch him. Chris sees the fall before it happens, but he doesn’t get there in time to stop it. Eddie topples, dizzy, and Buck trips over his legs. 

They both start crying, and now people are watching them, shooting judgemental looks their way. 

Chris gets them both back on their feet, and decides to just go to the cafe near the entrance. They can’t do too much damage there, right?

“I want a chocolate cake!” Buck announces, when he sees where they’re headed. There are still tears on his cheeks, but any sign of hurt from his fall has vanished. Eddie’s still sniffling a little, but he has his jaw out, expression tight, trying to be strong. 

Chris remembers a talk they had, when he was little, where his dad said that Chris was allowed to cry as much as he needed to when he was hurt. He’d been confused at the time, but now he wonders if his dad had been told the opposite. 

He sits them both down at a small cafe table, then turns to his dad. To Eddie — he can’t decide which is weirder, honestly — thinking of a kid this little as dad, or thinking of his dad as Eddie. Buck’s fine, while he calls him Dad sometimes, the word Buck has come to mean basically the same thing in his mind. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks. Eddie sniffs and points to his knee. Chris rolls up the leg of his pants and finds a grazed knee. One thing having a family of first responders is good for, he figures, is that he’s never short of first aid supplies. He pulls an antiseptic wipe and band-aid out of his bag and sees to the graze, then places a hand over the spot. 

“You know,” he whispers. “You told me one time that it’s good to cry when you’re hurt. If you need to cry, then go right ahead.” 

The tears in his eyes begin to fall, and he hugs Chris again. When he pulls away, sniffling but looking happier than he had before, Chris stands up and goes to order cakes and hot cocoas for the three of them. 

“You on babysitting duty, honey?” the old lady ahead of him in the line asks. Chris looks over his shoulder to where Buck’s poking at Eddie’s newly bandaged knee, and sees him place a clumsy kiss over the band-aid. He rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” he tells the lady. 

“Well good for you! They’re lucky to have a big brother like you,” she says. Chris gives a tight smile as she turns to give her order. “Let me pay for this young man, too,” she says. Chris orders, and the lady pays for the whole lot. 

He thanks her, then puts the twenty he’d planned to pay with into the tip jar.

“You go sit down, I’ll bring your tray to you,” The barista grins, and Chris isn’t going to argue with that, not when his legs are already aching from walking around the museum and suddenly having to chase after two little kids. 

When he gets back to the table, he takes a moment to register that his dads look… different. Older, maybe — eight or nine instead of five. 

He hopes it isn’t just his imagination. If they are getting older on their own, then he might not have to worry about how he’s gonna be a single dad to his own parents.

Chris comes up with a plan of action. It’s probably been about an hour since Buck touched the slate, and he’s not an expert on little kids, but it looks like they’d aged about three years in that time. If he’s right about them getting older, he’ll only have to be responsible for them for another two hours or so until they start to outgrow him. 

Seven hours until they’re his dads again. He honestly can’t wait for them to be all gross and in love again.

The barista sets down the tray on their table. “Coffee for you,” she says, placing the cup in front of him, “And cocoa for your brothers.” So, maybe Chris took advantage of the lack of parental intervention to order a cup of coffee, when he’s usually only allowed one cup per day. The two kids immediately grab their slices of cake from the tray and start digging in. 

“Did she call us your brothers?” Eddie asks, mouth full of cake. 

Chris nods. “Yeah, well, the truth would be a little difficult to explain.”

“You’re good at being a brother,” Eddie muses. 

“Have you ever wanted a little brother or sister?” Buck asks. “I always thought it’d be neat to be a big brother.”

Chris splutters on his cake, and takes a sip of coffee to wash it down. Truth is, he had always wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling, when it was just himself and his mom in El Paso, when his dad came home and his mom left, when they moved to LA and he had to make a whole new set of friends, he’d wanted someone else there with him, like his cousins, like Buck and Aunt Maddie, like Harry and May, Denny and all the siblings his moms had fostered through the years.

He’s happy now, just him and his dads, but… “I think it’d be cool, too,” he says. “If it’s what you guys wanted.”

They walk through the museum again when they’re done with their cakes, then leave through the gift shop. By the time he pulls Buck away from the Egyptian display and convinces his father that he doesn’t need a chia pet, enough time has passed that all three of them are about the same age.

They get to the truck, and Chris realizes a flaw in the plan.

Buck hops up onto the hood of the truck, while Eddie leans against it, next to him. Neither of them make a move to get in the driver’s seat. 

“Um…” Chris says, drawing both of their attention. “Either of you know how to drive yet?”

They exchange a look. 

“Guess we’re waiting here for a while.”

Chris unlocks the car door and gets in the passenger side, leaving Buck and Eddie outside on their own. They’re old enough to look after themselves now, at least. He still watches them through the windscreen. 

They’re talking, and Chris can see Eddie ducking his head, the way he does when Buck flirts with him. 

Oh god, they’re starting already. Chris looks down at his phone instead, replying to a few messages in a group chat, trying to figure out how to update his friends on his day without sounding like he’s lost his mind. 

The driver’s door opens, and there’s Eddie. “I think I can drive,” he says. 

Chris nods and fishes the keys out of the bag, then tosses them over. 

Eddie whistles as he settles into the driver’s seat. “This is nice,” he says. “Is this mine?”

Buck climbs in the backseat, grumbling. “You didn’t even call shotgun, dude, that’s not fair!”

“Yeah well, you decided to sit on top of the truck and flirt, so I took advantage of that,” Chris shoots back. 

Buck kicks the back of his seat while Eddie splutters. “He didn’t— we weren’t—” 

Chris rolls his eyes. “Just drive, dad.”

It’s still weird to call him dad. 

They’re both older than him by the time they get home, and Chris can’t help but watch Eddie, seeing him at the age he was when Chris was born. The age he was when he left.

Chris watches him, sitting next to Buck on the couch, feet up on the table and a beer in his hand. (Chris debated calling them out on the beer, but for all he knows they might  be twenty-one already, and if they aren’t… well that’s just something he might be able to use to is advantage in the future)

The thing is, though, is that Eddie seems… Happy. Relaxed. This is his dad without the responsibility of a wife and kid at such a young age, and he’s laughing, looking embarrassed and a little bit delighted when Buck flirts with him, and… Chris hadn’t expected how much that would hurt to see.

“I’m gonna make dinner, since I doubt either of you have remembered how to make anything edible yet,” he announces, and leaves them to themselves. 

When he emerges, having done his best to recreate the carbonara recipe he’d watched Buck make a week before, he finds the two of them making out on the couch, and he has to throw a tea towel at them to get them to stop.

They’re well into their early twenties now, and Chris sets his earlier sadness aside. His dad loves him, he knows that. He knows he regrets leaving, but he doesn’t regret having him, doesn’t regret coming back. If none of that had happened, would they have come to LA at all? Would they have met Buck?

They dig in, and Chris is pleasantly surprised to find it actually tastes good.

“Holy shit, this is delicious,” Buck says through a mouthful. “You’ve got to teach me how to make this!”

“Actually, you taught me,” Chris says. 

Buck’s eyes widen. “I cook?” he asks, amazed. 

Chris isn’t sure how much of the situation they’ve grasped by now. They know him, sure, but they’d known him when they were little kids running to him in the middle of a crowded museum. They know him, but they aren’t his dads. Not yet. 

He makes them do the dishes, and they splash each other with dishwater, laughing and flirting again. 

They’re starting to look familiar, though. Closer to the ages where Chris was old enough to remember. This is the age his dad was when he came home, the age Buck was when Chris first met him. 

He wonders what it might have been like if they’d gotten together then, if things would have been different.

Chris excuses himself, going to his room and putting on headphones. He lays in bed, watching a youtube video essay on his phone, until he hears a knock on his door. 

“Come in!” he shouts, pausing the video. 

The door opens, and his parents walk in. 

His parents.

Not Eddie and Buck, not children or teenagers or adults who he barely knows, but his parents, Dad and Buck, married and annoying and in love with each other and Chris’s dads.

Chris rolls out of his bed and throws himself across the room into their arms, knowing they’ll catch him. 

They do.

The three of them sit on the floor of Chris’s bedroom, arms around each other.

“Are you okay, Chris?” Eddie asks. 

Chris nods.

“You did such a good job, bud,” Buck adds. 

“You guys remember?”

“All of it,” Eddie confirms. “Sorry you had to look after us like that.”

“I was happy to. I love you guys.”

“We love you too, Christopher.”

Chris isn’t sure how much time passes before they break the hug, but they do.

His parents exchange a look. Chris knows what’s coming. He’d forgotten, briefly, that they’d been planning to tell him something when they left the house this morning, but it comes back to him now.

“Remember that thing you said, about wanting a little sibling?” Buck asks him. “Did you mean that?” 

Chris shrugs. He has a feeling he knows what it is they’ve been talking about, but he doesn’t want to jinx it. “I mean… I guess so. It’d be cool, I guess, but… I am happy. It’s not like I’m missing out. I love our family.”

His dad clears his throat, like he does when he’s getting emotional and trying not to show it. Chris remembers earlier, the little kid refusing to cry over a grazed knee. He reaches out, puts his hand on his dad’s knee, meeting his eye. 

Eddie nods, and a tear falls, but he’s grinning. “I love our family too, kid.” 

Chris sees it in his eyes, the happiness overflowing. He’s happier now than he could have been as that carefree twenty-year-old. Then Buck wipes away Eddie’s tears, kissing him on the forehead, and they both turn back to Chris.

“We want that, too, Chris,” Eddie says. “Another kid, I mean. We’ve been talking about it, maybe adopting or getting a surrogate.”

Chris grins, looking between the two of them. “Really? That would be… You’re serious?”

Buck laughs, visible relief washing over him as he sags against Eddie’s side. “Yeah, absolutely. You’re really okay with it?”

“I’m gonna be a brother?” Chris asks again, to clarify, and his dads nod in unison.

Chris leans forward to pull them both into a hug again, and their arms wrap around him like they have so many times before. He imagines it now, another set of arms, another, smaller body in the middle of the group hug. Another person to roll their eyes when their dads are being gross, to argue with about who ate the last cookie, to sneak into his room and probably annoy the shit out of him.

Chris’s voice is muffled between their shoulders when he finally speaks. “I’m gonna need more babysitting practice, though, if today is anything to go by.”

[fountainpenguin]

"Wherever you are, whenever it's right, you'll come out of nowhere and into my life..."

---

New Factor It In chapter today!

Chapter 5 - “Vinculum”

Read on FFN || Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

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It's foster family drop-off time for Rex (AKA Kid Math). Miah does her best to welcome him into the Pirakell home. That means introducing him to her sugar glider, discussing the crushing reality of being a burden to your absent parents, touring his new room, and dairy-free cupcakes! Huh. This is... not like life on Hexagon at all...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Vinculum

.:: January 3rd - Saturday - 6:16 pm ::.

“Whatever you do, do it devotedly, for in hesitation, you’ll find only weakness.”

(Ancient Hexagon proverb)

➕ ➖ ✖️ ➗

Psst! Look for the words sensory and hesitate

---

It’s a mild January evening outside the home of Miah and Milo Pirakell. Unfortunately for Rex Pemdas (AKA Kid Math), he’s arrived just too late to see the sunset…

The boy hesitates when Clarissa pulls open the rear door of her car. Miah can see that even from her hidden place behind the window blinds. He bites his bottom lip. “Milo,” she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear her from the kitchen. Her husband’s head pokes around the edge of the wall, ponytail dangling past his shoulder. Miah motions towards him with one hand. “He’s here.”

“Right. Uhh… Who’s here, again?”

“Our new foster placement. The 8-year-old boy. We set up the guest room today.” She manages to hold back an eye roll, even in jest. Milo can be spacy from time to time, but Miah has full trust in his ability to offer a safe, comforting home to a foster kid. Milo is a stay-at-home dad to their 3-year-old sugar glider, Misty. He does accounting work, and when foster children stay with them, he runs them to all their appointments. They split most of the chores 50-50, trying to keep their marriage an even partnership (Milo always anxious he’ll come across as sexist by asking her to handle more, Miah constantly fretting that she’s accidentally implied his remote job is any less important than what she does at the hospital).

Milo’s eyes widen like flying saucers. He looks like a lost, goofy puppy peering around the corner, and her oozing heart falls for him all over again. The two of them click like magnets. Always have. Milo is easily overwhelmed by the amount of information pinging his mind on a daily basis, so he leans on her steady form and analytical mind. Meanwhile, running 12-hour shifts as a nurse and midwife three days a week leaves her bitter and drained, so she needs to circle home in the evenings and find his loving arms and kindly soul. They’re a mismatch. He completes her. And he’s adorable, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Oh!” he yelps. “The new foster placement! Right, right.” Milo scrambles from the kitchen so fast, he almost looks like he’s down on all fours. The open halves of his green sweatshirt flap behind him. He brushes his hands down his front. He doesn't leave a chocolate stain even though he was frosting cupcakes. Maybe he just has sweaty palms, not crumbs or icing on his fingertips. “H-he’s out there right now?”

“Yes.” Miah plays her nails very, very carefully against the blinds. She can only see the boy and Clarissa when she presses her forehead right up against the window, and if he looks up and locks eyes with her, he’ll probably think she’s a total stalker. The easiest thing to do is “pretend to be normal” as much as she can. Miah is an expert at passing through life as though she’s insignificant. Ha! She’s ‘Little Miss MIA.’ She sort of prides herself on how few people know her name.

Okay. Back straight. Friendly smile. Not too over-the-top. Is this okay? She checks her reflection over, tongue in her cheek. Chestnut brown hair dangles past her shoulders. She picked out hoop earrings the size of her fists today. Occasionally they snag, but her sugar glider likes to bat at them. It’s sort of her thing. A pink rayon shirt, black jacket thrown on top. Miah tugs the hem down. Quick breath in. Little hop on her toes. She’s totally ready. She watches through the blinds as Clarissa says a few words to the kid, who nods and holds his over-the-shoulder duffel bag more tightly to his side. A star-patterned backpack dangles from his hand.

So this is Rex…

Miah hadn't known exactly what to expect. Rex looks like he survives off veggie platters, dirt bike rides, and pixie dust. It's too dark to get a perfect look at him, but that feels right. He's both rugged and geeky, if it's okay to say that about your foster kid. There's intelligence in those squinting eyes. He adjusts his square glasses frames with all the poise of a kid who knows exactly what he's looking for. He wears a frumpy red hoodie, halfway unzipped to show a hint of blue shirt underneath. There's some kind of white logo printed on the blue, though she can't see what it is from here. Maybe a skull? Or a fish?

He's African American. At least, that's her tentative understanding. Clarissa relayed a few details after she and Milo confirmed they wanted to learn more about the placement. The state hasn't been able to track down any information about his family. Apparently Rex had denied his consent in the DNA test the state had pushed for, which frustrated several of the adults involved, but… Miah can see where he's coming from. Her mom passed away unexpectedly when she was only 13. Though she never knew her father, she'd been so shaken up by the whole "ending up in foster care" thing herself that she hadn't wanted the test either. The thought of getting answers to those lifelong questions completely burned her out.

Case in point: What if her father wanted nothing to do with her, or had remarried and started a new family and didn’t want her, or what if he lived outside the country, or had passed on like her mother had? Every option stung. Then it simmered. Then it burned. That small, twinkling hope that he might welcome her with open arms all too easily drowned beneath her anxiety. Year after year, she still opted not to know.

Rex won’t be the first African American child to stay with them. Although neither she nor Milo share that cultural background, Miah's arranged three small Kwanzaa celebrations throughout a decade of being a foster mom. According to Clarissa, Rex’s past two weeks (or at least a week and a half) have been inside the group home. That can’t have been a fun holiday. 

Just the thought of him ending up there prickles at her skin. Group homes are tightly structured, and if you’re only 8 years old and unfamiliar with the outside world, then sharing your space with several other loud children is probably the most scary thing that can happen to you. Miah can’t stand the thought of Rex spending some of his first weeks away from an abusive home in a dreary place like that… even though it probably was necessary when the state couldn’t even figure out where he had come from or why he didn’t exist in the government’s eyes. But it breaks her heart. Not a single family could take in an emergency placement over the holidays? 

I’d have done it in a heartbeat.

Well. Maybe. But Milo’s messy past, freckled with supervillains who used to use his dad’s home as a meeting ground when he and his brothers were young, leaves him unsteady on his feet once supernatural abilities come into play. This is his home too. Honestly, Miah’s a bit overwhelmed herself… by the fact that he said yes. Milo’s stayed faithful and hardworking even when some of their past placements showed small powers, like talking to birds or adjusting light levels, but flight will be new to them. Especially if Rex decides he doesn’t want to talk about it.

This should be interesting.

[Cnt'd on FFN / AO3 - Links at top]

[jqmalikhsgib]

too sweet

four

the next morning, eddie and yn woke up to breakfast being made. wayne set the table and they all enjoyed themselves. wayne discussed how he took an earlier shift this week so he’d spend the evening with his family. when he finished breakfast he got up and headed to the plant.

yn and eddie ended up getting ready to help steve and nancy set everything up. when they pulled into their driveway eddie recognized robin’s car immediately. he steps out of his car, yn right behind him, as the couple walk to the front door, nancy instantly opens the door and welcomes them in.

“is that butthead?” robin’s voice is loud, as usual. she comes into view and hugs eddie tightly. “nice seeing you too, robin!”

eddie didn’t even notice yn had left to go help nancy with the cooking. instead of getting to find her to introduce her to robin properly, steve and robin pushed him outside. there he finds dustin and suzie debating with max and lucas about which couple knows each other better—it was more so lucas and dustin arguing than anything. eddie simply rolls his eyes at them as he goes over to hug max.

“hi, red! how you feeling today?”

“im good. glad you’re visiting. missed you.” she whispers. “i miss you too.” eddie smiles at the girl.

“alright, enough chit cat! you’re all here to help out. set some shit up!”

“oh, daddy said a bad word! gotta put moneys in the swear jar!” payton blurts out.

steve playfully rolls his eyes as he grabs a dollar and heads for the swear jar. eddie laughs before he high fives the nine year old.

everyone soon helps out with something. yn and nancy were still in the kitchen cooking, dustin and max were setting up decorations, steve was in charge of making sure the bounce house people sets up the area for the kids correctly, eddie was on barbecuing, suzie and lucas made the track list for the party, while robin made sure to label the alcoholic beverage separate from the kids beverage.

when everything was set up and ready, more and more people started coming. it started off with dustin’s mom. she’d always be the one on time! next was nancy’s parents, jonathan comes with his girlfriend, wayne arrives soon after, next joyce and hopper arrive with eleven, and finally mike and will made it.

everyone could sense the awkwardness between will, eleven, and mike. no one really knew what to say. they couldn’t really say much to make el feel any better. instead, max grabbed el and the two of them chatted. the party soon begun. everyone started catching up on everything.

soon they played a game as the kids enjoyed the bounce house, with a water slide. eddie wraps his arms around yn and kisses her shoulder. she went from one area to the next, getting to know eddie’s family. they all seemed so great!

they instantly loved yn. she’d been kind to everyone and she’s hilarious. eddie knew everyone would love her.

“having fun?” eddie whispers.

“always! thanks for this.”

“what?”

“introducing me to your family, ed’s! i know how important it is for me to get to know them. i honestly feel like ive known them my whole life. they’re all so great, eds.”

“thank you, baby! you’ve made me a better man.” eddie kisses yn gently.

“get a room!” steve blurts out.

nancy hits him on the chest playfully. “leave them alone! you could take some notes from him, steve.”

steve rolls his eyes playfully. “we’re married with kids babe, i think i won at the notes of life.” steve smirks as he kisses nancy.

when the night ends, everyone helped clean everything up. steve and nancy put their little ones to bed before everyone said their goodbyes.

when yn and eddie get home, they’re knocked out instantly. tomorrow eddie’s planning on showing yn around hawkins.

wayne had plans for them to go to some fancy restaurant when they got back home. he wanted to treat his nephew and his girlfriend out to dinner.

when they opened their eyes, eddie quickly made them a small breakfast. all three of them head out, wayne back to work while eddie shows yn around town.

“that’s the park where id get high.” eddie points. yn chuckles. every place he’s showed her so far have been places he’s gotten high.

“oh! can’t forget about the school grounds where i snuck and got high. honestly, i think by my second senior year they knew i was smoking pot out here. i just think they were ready for me to get the hell out of here. too bad they were stuck with me for one last year.” eddie states with a smirk.

“eddie, you were a bad boy weren’t you?”

“i was pretty bad ass, yeah!” eddie hums.

“more like a bad mouth!” eddie turns around and spots miss o’donnell’s.

“munson, how you been?”

eddie smirks “great! missing my favorite teacher though. how are you?”

“glad you’re still not in my class. how’s the band going? don’t tell me you’re back because it failed, munson?!”

“naw, miss d. just visiting my family. introducing them to my girlfriend.”

eddie’s old teacher looks at yn and smiles. “hi, im one of mister munson’s old teachers.”

“nice to meet you! im yn.”

“you keep this one here out of trouble. bye mister munson.”

eddie waves as the couple continues to walk. once eddie finished showing her around they head home. the couple showers and gets ready for dinner with wayne.

when they all arrived to the restaurant, eddie pulls the chair out for yn before she sits.

“so, how you like hawkins so far dear?”

“it’s great! reminds me of home. i like how everyone knows everyone. though sometimes that could be annoying. everyone is your business and all.”

eddie scoffs. “you don’t know the half of it, sweetheart. had to deal with people who thought they knew me because of my old man. proved them wrong, yeah?” eddie smirks.

“and i knew you would! you’ve always been smart and level headed, son. just needed to prove it to yourself.” wayne explained.

“had a great roll model.” eddie smiles lovingly at his uncle. the waiter soon comes by as they order. once the food arrives they eat in silence.

when the check came, eddie grabs his wallet before wayne swaddles his hand. “don’t even think about it, boy! i got this.”

“uncle—”

“don’t wanna hear it. now you two head on to the car. ill be out soon.”

eddie hums as he grabs yn hand and they walk to the car.

“did you enjoy yourself, baby?”

“you know i did! your uncle is just the sweetest.”

“he is, ain’t he?”

“tomorrow i was thinking we could have max and eleven over? maybe the three of us could have a girls day while you hang with steve?”

“good idea. you wanna invite nance? im sure she could use a little bit of a break away from steve and the kids.”

“that sounds great, ed’s! id love to bond more with them. in fact, invite robin as well!”

“ill text them!”

wayne arrives back. “ready to head home?”

“definitely! gonna go into a food coma as soon as we walk inside the door.” eddie half jokes.

wayne hums in agreement before starting the car and heading back home.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

IPKKND OS: To Years & Laughs

Holi at Shantivan was a grand affair. From a noisy household with four generations under a roof to loud music, colors and a mouth watering buffet set by the lovely Mrs. Raizada.

Not the Mrs. Raizada who religiously attended satsangs, nor the Mrs. Raizada who was loyal to her Bollywood themed kitty parties, nor the fresh from America NRI Mrs. Raizada who held an air of grace and a besotted husband beside her.

No, it was the jovial Mrs. Raizada who was instantly written off by the elites for being loud, opinionated, stubborn, steadfast, witty, charismatic and openly critical of the socio economic status of the city. It didn't help that Mrs. Raizada was stunning as well.

And what had started as a loud party where none of the elites wanted an invite to, turned into a media and fan favorite affair where none of the elites were ever invited. So, despite all the money and jewels thrown by the snobby neighbors, Shantivan had the grandest Holi celebration in town.

"We are betters than everyone Saasuma! These page 3 articles about our parties are only written because they’re jealous of our perfect phamily!" Manorama huffed, throwing the paper aside. Devyani laughed at her daughter-in-law’s antics. They were far from perfect - but with Khushi and Payal’s blessed entry in their household, Devyani realized that walking with the time was the way to sustain the family and be with the new generations. 

“Arrey what are you all doing here?” Speaking of the new generation, Aarav quickly touched Devyani’s feet and ushered the family to a corner. 

“There is time for Phati-,” Aarav raised an eyebrow at Manorama, “humara matbal Khushi bitiya to be here.” It was eight o’clock. In any minute, Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada would leave the kitchen - after supervising all the food to be laid out for the festival - and go to her bedroom.

And it was the only day Arnav Singh Raizada slept in - hence there was no obstacle in coloring Khushi from head to toe. Last time the Razada brood (Khushi’s Aarav, Kairav and Kainaat, follower by Payal’s Kushal and Anjali’s Ratna and Maan) thought it was an excellent idea to throw colors in the kitchen.

With a thousand sweets getting contaminated and thrown in the bin, the kids didn’t venture near any kitchen for a year.

“Khushi bhabhi, relax. The food will be perfect. You take some rest - there’s still a few hours until the party.” Hari Prakash smile, unaware of the turmoil his dearest Khushi bhabhi was facing. One of the upsides of Arnav indulging her to do anything on Holi was that she spent the next seven years terrorizing everything with pranks, bhaang and colors.

On the downside, she was the number one target of getting colored first thing in the morning. Even Aarav, who was on the quieter side like his father, chose to wake up early in the morning to plan with the rest of the family in pranking her.

Two years ago Khushi was shocked to her bone when Aarav walked up to her in a white kurta - haye her beta was so handsome! - and touched her feet, wishing her a happy Holi. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he called her Amma - otherwise Angrez Ki Bete preferred Mum. 

That should’ve been an indication that something was up his sleeve.

But never to judge her own child, Khushi was lured by Aarav and his sanskaar right into the middle of the garden where she was greeted by three buckets of colored water.

“Bura na mano Holi hai!” All her traitors grinned.

Since then Khushi had realized that on Holi no one was family - especially one’s own family! And out of all the days her Laad Governor found the perfect day to sleep in. Otherwise no one could touch him - and in lieu - touch her!

The Raizada family, though, had one strict rule. If anyone genuinely said ‘no’ to colors and loud music - that was to be respected. It was Payal’s attempt of teaching and establishing boundaries to the younger generation that finally exonerated Arnav from loud noise.

Not that he needed a rule, one glare and all the kids - including NK - would run away.

Think Khushi! Try to spot the family! Khushi had cultivated her Arnav Antenna - or Nannav Network (as NK put it) - into the Raizada Roundup. After two consecutive failures she could finally sense where all the sixteen members of her family were.

Hmph! Nani-ji was being extra devotional to Devi Maiyya. But if you look at her eyes then they constantly looked sideways - so much for a morning prayer. Thus, the temple was eliminated.

Behind the sofas there were the K’s of the Raizada - Kairaav, Kainaat and Kushal. Haye the babies grew up so fast! So couldn’t they realize she could see their heads even from the kitchen? 

Aarav was tuned to the latest football match with Maan and Ratna by his side, but why were all of them sitting with one liter bottles? Amateurs. Khushi surveyed the living room, Mami was seated - staring into her makeup kit. When did that get twice the size and... why wasn’t Mami doing any touch upiya to her makeupiya! Even Lakshmi was conveniently roaming by the corridors - bleeping a ‘meeeee’ in warning.

NK hadn’t made his entry yet - thank God he and Lavanya were ten hours away from India - and Mama ji seems to be rehearsing something under his breath, a box of sweets in his hand. Could Khushi see a flicker of green in those laddies? BHANG! Payal and Akash made themselves useful at the dining table but she knew that with two steps Akash could clearly throw a water balloon aimed at her.

Khushi had seen her Jija-ji play basketball. Oh, that reminded her of her other Jija-ji. Aman Mother. Anjali and Aman were truly terrible actors as they tried to their smiles in between reading newspapers and entertaining the Guptas.

Now how could she run to her room before anyone? Every zone had an eye! 

Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada had only two rules for Holi. She would be the first to color everyone and the last to have bhang. Two, the great Arnav Singh Raizada would be the first to color her.

One could argue that Khushi could simply walk up to her family and state “Don’t color me, I want my husband to color me first!” But what a could a naturally bashful woman do if it led to incessant teasing by sixteen family members? Like her full name, her family was too big and enjoyed embarrassing her to bits - they still played clips from Akash and Payal’s wedding and begged for details of the fiery Teri-Meri. 

“I have to ask, how were you all so blind?” Aarav once commented, snickering as all the Raizadas and Guptas matched Khushi’s red blush for once. Even as a child Aarav saw the way his parents were enamored by each other. Something he hoped to have one day.

Khushi was stuck. Perhaps ten years gave her family the perfect training to corner her.

“Hey Devi Maiyya,” Khushi whispered and jogged in her spot. Every day she complained, religiously, when Arnav pulled her to join him for a run but today she realized how beneficial it was. Not that she’ll admit that to him. Honestly, she’d rather go for a job with Arnav than be ambushed by her family when she had nothing planned for them!

And there were other incentives when running with her husban- focus Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada!

Now was not the time to get distracted! It was time to invoke Devi Maiyya’s strength and make an impossible sprint from the kitchen to her room.

Taking a deep breath, she targeted the stairs, unaware of the fact that Maan had tied the end of Khushi’s white saree to a twelve foot long rope attached to a kitchen counter to give the family enough time to catch her!

“Hey Devi Maiyya, shakti dena!” Khushi prayed for the final time.

No one expected Khushi to literally run through the living room. Their faces turned from amusement to horror as her pallu tore, rope split and pulled her back causing Khushi to fall head first into the floor.

“MAA!” Aarav screamed, leaping from the sofa towards Khushi.

Except she never fell.

She was pulled right into the arms of Arnav Singh Raizada. Khushi’s eyes were screwed shut, hands clutches on his shirt, heart beating loudly. Arnav let out a hard breath, calming his own racing pulse.

“I’m fine,” Khushi said after a moment, reassuring their kids who visibly relaxed in relief.

A few minutes ago Arnav woke up from him sleep, sensing a tense Khushi. Of course, it was Holi. He did enjoy his family’s antics of attempting to color her first. As his Di often said “jaise ko taisa”, he loved hearing Khushi rant about how Nani and NK had planned something for her. He did have to remind her she was no less of a menace!

However, today he couldn’t fall back to sleep. Something bugged him.

He got up, brushed and headed downstairs. He let out a laugh at how concentrated his family was in color Khushi that none saw his coming downstairs!

That’s when he saw the rope tied to Khushi’s saree and her running across the hall.

Oh no.

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU ALL TO PLAY IT SAFE? SHE WOULD’VE BROKEN HER HEAD!” Arnav yelled, a protected hand on her nape. The house quietened. Everyone shifted on their feet, unable to answer. 

“Kya zaroorat-”

“Arnav-ji,” Khushi broke out of his grasp and held his tensed face in her hands. His skin had turned hot in anger, his glare softening at her pleasing eyes.

“Please don’t yell. How would they know I’d turn into a P. T. Usha?” Khushi smiled, caressing his stubbled cheeks.

“Don’t try to be funny,” Arnav snapped, “and how many times have I told you to not run around the house? Tum ho ya bacche, nobody listens to me!” He scowled. Khushi grabbed his shoulders and gave him an affectionate squeeze. 

“We do listen to you Arnav-ji. Have I ever not heeded to what you’ve said?” Arnav raise dan eyebrow in response. Khushi cleared her throat, “I mean have I ever done anything intentionally to displease you?” At this Arnav folded his arms and glared at her. The audacity of this woman!

Khushi colored, knowing Arnav was on the verge of staring a list of things she did to displease him. She took his hands and attempted to mollify him. The Raizada stood rooted to the spot, not wanting to distract Arnav. Fortunately his attention was on Khushi, otherwise they would’ve been carrying their own funeral at this moment.

“Arnav-ji, I was just running to meet you soon.” Khushi batted her lashes.

“If you ran a little faster Khushi, you would’ve met your darling Devi Maiyya instead.” Arnav seethed and turned to stare at his family who was attempting to leave the scene.

“Where you do you think you’re all going? Tell me who did this!” Maan closed his eyes. His beloved Bade Mama was going to kill him and even his mum couldn’t save him. Here he was, unbeaten by the pandemic, about to die as a single sixteen years old man or be jailed for attempted murder of his dearest Badi Mami. 

He had thought he’d win the glory for the Mathurs by defeating Badi Mami. But who knew Badi Mami would instantly go ‘Lo Chali Main’ on all of them?!

Anjali and Aman looked at their son who had vocalized half of his thoughts out loud. Aarav stared at Maan in incredulity, his chappal ready in his hand, Buaji started muttering her ‘Hai Re Nandkisores’. 

“MAAN MATHUR-”

“-has grown so much, haina?” Khushi grabbed Arnav’s arm, saving her nephew from imminent danger. Maan ran and hid behind Anjali, knowing only his mother could save him. Arman twisted his ear as Maan whispered hushed sorries to everyone.

“Seriously Khushi?” Arnav sighed in frustration. Couldn’t she see how dangerous this could’ve been?

“Arnav-ji, we’ve all learned our lesson. Sacchi. Now please don’t be upset. It’s Holi!” She perked up.

“Toh kya main nachu? (So should I dance?)” Arnav glared. His nose flared as Khushi actually thought for a moment. 

“You should Arnav-ji! And in your bhang waala style. Baccha party, the only reason Laad-” khushi coughed, “-Arnav-ji doesn’t dance in public in Holi is because it introduces his 90s Bollywood B-grade hero avatar.” 

Khushi shrugged her shoulders and did pelvic thrusts. 

“What!” Arnav scoffed as the whole family burst into laughter.

“Poora boliye na! What the!” Khushi winked at him, raising her arms in the air and moving her shoulders left to right. Arnav couldn’t resist forming a small smile at her awkward dancing. Looks like his talents were limited to couple dancing. 

Khushi stopped as Arnav heaved an affectionate sigh and shook his head.

“Buaji, your niece is truly Sanka Devi.” Arnav said.

“Haan Nandkisore!” Buaji smiled, more in relief that her dearest but shot tempered damaad-ji had relaxed. The family dispersed and Maan gingerly approached the couple to receive a slight ear twisting and a whole lot of forgiveness from them.

Arnav and Khushi then headed to their room, her hand firmly locked in his.

“So have I successfully cajoled you?” Khushi asked, walking up the stairs with him.

“Why are you asking?” Arnav asked, taking each step carefully.

“Then we can play Holi together!” Khushi jumped, excited at the prospect of chasing him through the fields - or better him chasing her through the grounds. As Mama-ji had once commented, Arnav had started an opposite ritual where men literally ran behind their wives. 

“Stop jumping,” Only Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada could think of jumping on stairs right after being saved from a bad fall, “and Khushi, we have celebrated Holi together.” Arnav reminded her.

“Haan we have but this is our tenth year. I promise we won’t do anything you don't like. But I’d like to dance with you in front of the whole wide world.” Khushi proclaimed.

“Khushi, our parties have only selected invitees. So it won’t be the whole wide world. Also after the demo I’ve seen, I’ve sworn off dancing. I have no wish to be a 90s B-grade hero.” Arnav visibly shivered from the memory.

“B-grade hi sahi, you’re my hero.” Khushi whispered, giving him a small peck on the cheek. 

“Don’t try seducing me into this.” Arnav warned.

“Why, is it working?” Khushi trailed a hand up his chest. Arnav caught it, his gaze hooded with desire.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish Mrs. Raizada.” Arnav nipped on her earlobe. Khushi giggled, looking around for their family. Fortunately everyone was away.

“On the contrary Mr. Raizada, I’m knowing for finishing off rather well,” Khushi winked. Arnav’s eyes turned wide,

“Have you already had bhang Khushi?” Arnav chuckled.

“No, but I want to - with you - if you’re okay with it. Do you know how adorable you become? I still remember everything you told me ten years ago.” Khushi sighed, a soft smile playing on her lips. Arnav grew quiet, watching her face intently.

“You know, when I had asked-”

“Why does your heart beat fast when you’re near me? Why couldn’t you forget these feelings despite trying your best? That your tried to understand why it happened but you couldn't?” Arnav completed. Khushi stared at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to remember, word to word. 

Arnav drew her closer, resting her palms on his chest.

“And I told you that when we come close, then it’s not just your heart that’s beating fast. Mine beats just as fast too. Humari dhadkane-”

“-ek ho jaati hai.” A single tear of happiness rolled down Khushi’s eyes. Arnav frowned, brushing the stray tear with the pad of his thumb. Khushi sniffled and smiled, touched by his memory.

“Arnav, I…” Khushi sighed, she couldn’t find the right words to express the happiness she felt every time he reminded her that even in the worst days love had prevailed.

Despite not being one for regrets, Khushi found herself revisiting the moments. But upon recounting what she thought was a forgotten memory, a wound she didn’t even remember closed.

“I understand,” Arnav whispered, brushing his nose against hers. In his ten years of marriage there were only a few moments when he was surprised that Khushi was with him. The past, although peacefully asleep, would bother him once in a bluemoon.

He never doubted their love, not even for a second, but when Aarav would ask poignant moments about his parents’ lives - why was there a double wedding - or watch Aman and Anjali have a fuss free fairytale wedding, Arnav would look at Khushi’s happy eyes and wonder, how did it all work out?

Khushi looped an arm around his neck, closed her eyes and caressed his cheek. She could feel his dimple under her fingertips. She loved feeling his smile rather than seeing it.

“Alright then,” Arnav broke the hug, “to commemorate our ten years of Holi I’ll celebrate, drink and dance publicly.” Khushi jumped in the air and grabbed his wrist, “COME ON ARNAV-JI I HAVE TO GET YOUR SHIRT AND JEANS-”

“Khushi!” For a small woman her enthusiasm brought strange strength as she dragged him to their room and opened the door when a big bucket of water turned and splashed water on them.

“HAPPY HOLI KHUSHI-N-Nan-Nannav?” NK paled seeing who received his surprise. The Raizadas and Guptas quickly assembled and found NK hiding behind Lavanya.

“Arnav-ji,” Arnav snapped out of his shock and caught a reflection of him and Khushi in the mirror. They were soaked to the toe in green.

“This colour suits you too.” Khushi completed.

The Raizadas and Guptas nearly closed their ears but were caught off guard by Arnav’s laugh. 

A carefree, loud laugh.

This was going to be one of the best Holis. 

– – –

A/N: Hello lovelies, I had written this as a Holi OS for the Holi Celebration and thought why don’t I post it here? Enjoy this snippet of Raizadas in current times. 

Best, 

- JWB

[kritischetheologie]

fucking around with something. nobody look. cw: internalized homophobia, closetedness, mention of irl partners. seb/nobody in particular.

“So I got you a feature,” Matt tells him over a cappuccino in the motorhome in Imola, so offhandedly that Seb suspects he’s been chewing over how to break the news for a while before deciding that there would never be a perfect moment.

“Oh?” he says.

“Attitude Magazine,” Matt continues. “It’s a, well,” Seb knows what it is. He watches Matt purse his lips, like he’s mentally rifling between gay and queer in an attempt to decide which one will sound like less of an accusation, “a magazine for the LGBTQ+ community,” he finally settles on, ever the PR expert. “For the Pride Issue, which is...”

“...an honor,” Seb interrupts. An undeserved one, if he’s being honest. “Was Lewis booked, or something?”

It’s a bad joke, when he knows that Lewis has been waiting carefully, desperately, to feel safe enough to come out to the public. Maybe this is part of that, actually. “Oh, am I meant to lay some groundwork, then?”

Matt nods enthusiastically. “Exactly!” he says. “The angle of the feature is that F1 is ready for a gay driver, but that it’s not you, you know?” Matt chuckles, fiddles with his wedding ring. Seb met his husband at the Christmas party last year. He was a little starstruck. “I mean, obviously bisexuals are equally valid members of the queer community, don’t get me wrong, but...”

“I get it,” Seb says. Sips his coffee. “But it’s not the same.” 

He’d come out to Matt when he joined the team, the bases-covering move he’s made with everyone who might someday find themselves managing a tricky PR situation. Just so you know, I’m interested in men. No, there’s no exes, there’s nobody we need to worry about. Just a couple of kisses here and there before Hanna and I got serious. No, of course never any other drivers, fuck. None of it had been a lie. Matt had drawn the conclusions he’d drawn, and they hadn’t needed to talk about it again.

“You obviously don’t have to come out,” Matt is still talking, still explaining the scope of what’s being asked of him. “But it could be a massively important moment for the sport. A four-time world champion coming out as bisexual would really change people’s perspective. And it would mean a lot to your fans, to all the queer kids out there.”

Seb isn’t bisexual. He thinks about saying that out loud, two irrevocable syllables, and then he doesn’t. He likes men, but he loves Hanna, and their family, and the life they’ve built together.

“Don’t you think it’s a little...” he looks for the English word, the one Lewis uses when they’re racing in foreign countries and have to dress up in little outfits and pretend they’re having an authentic experience... “appropriative?”

Matt looks confused. “Seb, the fact that you married a woman doesn’t make you not queer,” he says, and Seb wants to laugh, because fuck if he doesn’t know that better than anyone. It would be easier if it did, if the weight of the ring on his finger could keep his desires from floating beyond the confines of the life he's chosen.

"I know that," he says, "but don't you think the first openly queer driver should be someone who, well..."

Someone who's as brave as Lewis will be, someday. Someone the kids can actually look up to. Someone who can give them hope that you can love men, with your whole fucking soul and not a single reservation, and still drive a Formula One car. Someone whose entire life isn't a lie. "...I just don't want to steal anyone's thunder," he says.

Matt sighs. "I would never make you do something you're not comfortable with," he tells Seb. "And I didn't tell them about you, that's not why they wanted to do the feature. They're impressed by your allyship."

Allyship is what they call it when you fight for people to have rights that you yourself don't need. It's not the wrong word for what Seb does. He's never going to get gay married.

"Let's leave it there, then," he says. He smiles at Matt. "Send me a couple back issues, once they pick a writer, so I can get a sense of their style, please."

The writer they pick is kind. He doesn't press too hard. Seb only has to lie once, when he asks if Seb knows of any gay drivers, past or present. He knows a whole list, one that Michael made him memorize in his first season, a promise and a warning of everything he could have if he was willing to keep his head down. Their secrets aren't his to tell. And as for his own, well.

When the issue comes out, Matt emails him the preprint with a one-line message. I'm proud of you, it reads.

Seb saves the attachment and deletes the email.

[redahlia-writes]

wild blue yonder. | din djarin

sequel to the rockrose and the thistle.

Abstract: There were so many things he wished to tell her in that moment - things it would take him years to say, feelings he didn’t even know could be expressed out loud, and some that he’d never use words for but show her over and over again, day after day, year after year - yet the only thing he could do was hold her tight against him and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her, steal the breath from her lungs and make himself dizzy as well.

When she held him, the whole world was kept at bay - there was no former covert, no former creed, no bounty, no job, no kingdom. It was him, where he was meant to be, with the person he had to be with, with his family - and nothing else would ever matter again.

Words: 10.7K

Content: f!blind!reader (she/her pronouns used. can be read as nameless ofc, no physical descriptions besides her eyes); time skip, guilt, a tiny smidge of angst, girl dad din (i cannot stress enough this is a kid fic. full of family feels), hurt/comfort mostly comfort, fluff, grogu being a gremlin, mentions of wounds, vague mentions of childbirth, smut (slow sex, side-by-side, cunnilingus, these two make out like they’re teenagers i won’t lie), unedited (i’m so tired if you see a mistake no you don’t)

also on AO3 - masterlist

feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

There was a house in the middle of the woods.

It still looked as the day he’d left it - four years had gone by since the Mandalorian had last seen it. Four years since he’d found shelter in its walls, with its owner. It felt like a lifetime before instead.

He walked forward, the ground familiar in spite of the time away, weightless without his helmet on, the sun warming his skin - he believed the sun was different there, a magical thing welcoming him home. Four years, and that place still felt like home.

At his side, Grogu’s pram floated, the kid asleep after the long journey, ears twitching at each gust of wind, each crunch of leaves, but never waking. He trusted his father to look out for them both - perhaps he even sensed the calm flooding him. The sense of belonging that had wrapped itself around him the moment they’d stepped off the ship.

The Mandalorian was home at last, greeted by the smell of burning wood and freshly baked bread, of dried flowers and herbs. He hadn’t known how much he’d grown used to it until he’d lost it. He hadn’t known how much he’d grown used to her until he’d stopped waking up each day with his arms around her.

The Mandalorian was home at last to stay, if she’d have him still.

I’ll be back in a few days, a promise whispered into the crook of her neck, holding her so tight she’d joked it’d bruise her, her hands soothingly brushing his hair, one last touch to send him off.

You’ll be back when you can, she’d replied, as if she knew already. I’ll be right here.

He’d wondered whether, even after all that time, that would be true. He’d wondered whether she’d moved on, at times even hoped she would. He’d wondered whether he should just not return, even when he could, that perhaps she’d be better off.

But he’d left his heart behind with her four years before, and the ache diminished to nothing the moment he stepped into the clearing and his eyes fell onto the porch, the chair she kept there come winter or spring - and then he froze.

Din froze, the pram stopping at his side.

Sitting on the porch was not the woman that had haunted his dreams for the past four years, her ghost clinging to the parts of himself he hadn’t left behind - but a child. Dark, long, curly hair, sitting on the steps he used to sit on with a toy in her hands, unaware of her surroundings, a blanket thrown over her shoulders to shield her from the beginning of winter’s chill.

The door opened, the creak echoing through the clearing, and Din could’ve sworn his heart stopped: there she was, looking exactly like she remembered. Her head bowed towards the child a smile caught on her lips when she waved the toy in her direction without lifting her gaze. The woman took a step forward, bending down and reaching for it - but then the wind shifted, and she froze, as the child’s curls were pushed in her eyes.

She straightened with a little frown, her lips moving with words he couldn’t hear over the rushing of his own heart, and then walked down the steps, head tilted to one side, then the other - she stopped when she turned to face him, starry eyes widening as her lips parted.

For a moment only, they both stood perfectly still - Din was looking at her and his heart hammered in his chest, so loud it covered the rustling of the foliage, the song of the wind. But then she broke into a run, almost tripping on the hem of her dress she hastily gathered up, on a stray root she couldn’t avoid, and before he could rationalize anything else he was moving too, pram in tow not keeping up with him until she was in his arms again at last, throwing herself against him with such force he staggered backwards, felt the armor shift slightly at the impact.

Legs and arms wrapped around him, clinging to him out of breath, she reached one hand up to the back of his head as her own fell into the crook of his neck, cheek pressed against the edge of the armor, hot breath fanning against the sliver of exposed skin of his neck.

“You’re here,” her voice trembled, fingers curling against his scalp - she tugged his hair almost painfully, but he didn’t mind it one bit, it functioned as a reminder that it was real. He was there. “Din, you’re here.”

Each night he’d remembered the way she said his name, the shape it took when it was her calling it, the sweet note of her voice that warmed his chest - to hear her actually say it, so gentle and close, was nothing like it. Real, real.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika,” up on the steps, the young girl was looking at them, big, curious eyes as she stood, toy firmly held in her grasp. “I meant to come back right away, I did, I couldn’t - I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, love,” the cold tip of her nose nudged his jaw, beard scratching her soft skin. “It’s okay - you’re here,” her legs shifted at his sides, squeezing him a little tighter. A wet smile brushed his skin as she lifted her head. “I knew you would.”

His arms tightened around her, hands splayed against her back as she shifted and turned her head to press a kiss to his jaw, to his cheek, his eyelids, his nose. He could feel her tears staining her cheeks as she took his face in her hands, warm hands - hands he’d dreamed of, hands he knew so well - cupping his cheeks and leading his head slightly back, her lips pressed against his forehead.

“I knew you’d come back to me,” she whispered, the tip of her fingers digging a little into his jaw. “Are you -” “Yes,” he anticipated her question, and her face broke into a smile, eyelids trembling as she bowed her head, resting her forehead against his. “I’m not leaving you again, cyar, I promise.”

It had taken him four years to make sure he could promise her - he had no intention whatsoever to leave again, not without her. Four years of negotiations, of working, of challenges, of fights. Four years during which he’d thought again and again of just leaving in the middle of the night, but too afraid to do so, should the past follow him. Should it follow Grogu.

Four years without his heart, left behind in the palm of her hands, and suddenly he was breathing again, flooding his lungs with the smell of dried flowers and pie.

“Mama, why is it floating?” she hiccuped a breath at the young girl’s voice coming from behind her, so close to them both.

Din craned his neck a little, looking down at the child and her green tunic - her big, golden eyes were lifted towards the pram with curiosity, curls a mess on her forehead as she tilted her head a little. Mama, she’d called her.

Din’s breath caught.

“Honey,” he wasn’t sure whether she was talking to him or the child, but slowly eased his hold until she could touch the ground again. Only one of her hands left him, still clinging to his shoulder even when she turned towards the kid, one of his arms still holding her waist. “What is it?”

“A ball,” she said, moving towards the woman and, automatically, towards Din. “It’s Grogu’s pram,” he murmured, glancing quickly towards him. “He’s still asleep.”

She nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment, worrying the skin as her fingers curled and uncurled against his shoulder and her head tilted towards the young girl, breath picking up. Din waited - he wasn’t sure which scenario forming in his head was worse, but he rubbed his hand against her back slowly as soon as nervousness twisted her features.

“It’s a bed, Sarad,” flower, Din thought. She was named flower. “Like the one in your room, only it can move around,” the child seemed to ponder her words, head tilting to one side, then the other. If her mother’s eyes were like stars, hers resembled the sun, so bright and full of warmth.

“Okay,” she declared at last, convinced, and then turned to look at Din.

As if sensing her gaze on him, the woman moved forward, slipping from his grasp and crouching in front of the child, hand reaching for her chin to pinch it lightly.

“Why don’t you go hunt some mushrooms for dinner, little one?” she spoke in a gentle voice, the same one Din had heard her use while cleaning his wounds or speaking of her past. “I know you have a lot of questions in that pretty head of yours, and I’ll answer them all once on an empty stomach. Deal?” she smiled at the girl then, lines etching at the corners of her eyes as if she was squinting.

“Deal,” almost solemn, the kid nodded.

“Reminder,” she called, just as Sarad stepped back. “If it’s bright and pretty it’s not for us,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “If it’s bright and pretty it’s not for us,” with a nod from her mother, she was off. “Don’t wander too far!”

The woman got up, her back turned on Din, and he realized suddenly he’d been holding his breath the whole time watching the two of them interact, fists clenched at his sides. When she turned towards him, he exhaled - perhaps he said her name, or something that sounded like it through his dizziness.

“I didn’t know - when you left, I didn’t know,” as she spoke, she twisted her hands, head slightly bowed without moving forward, nor back. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how to contact you, and I was afraid they’d hurt her if I went into town, I didn’t -”

Fear, Din realized with a start. She didn’t feel guilty, she didn’t feel sorry - she was afraid.

“And when you did come back,” she continued, train of thought lost for a few moments, “I wanted to tell you properly, I wanted you to know who she is before you met because I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, and I didn’t want to impose -”

“Sweetheart,” when he moved up to her, she hiccuped a breath, gathering her hands against her chest as her eyes widened. Din took off his gloves, a little hastily, stopping only when he was standing toe-to-toe, and wrapped his hands around both hers. “Breathe,” he whispered, bringing their joined hands to his lips - he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, never moving his gaze from her face as her expression relaxed bit by bit at his closeness. “Tell me the way you wanted to. It’s alright.”

For a moment, she kept her bottom lip trapped between her teeth - then nodded, exhaling again.

“A month after you left I started feeling… odd. And sore. And tired,” as she spoke, he rubbed the back of her hands with his thumb - small, soothing gestures as his heart rushed in his chest. “I didn’t know what to do so I just waited - at one point I tried going into town, find someone who could help me but,” she turned her arm, revealing a now scar across her forearm Din knew hadn’t been there before, “I guess they still weren’t too fond of me. So I hid myself, and once Sarad was born I hid her too, I told her to not speak with anyone that wasn’t me, and I brought her into the woods every day hoping she’d start growing familiar with them right away,” Din let go of her hand to brush her cheek, a stray tear making its way down. “I told her the woods protected us, and that one day her father would be back because I knew you would, Din.”

One day her father would be back. I knew you would, Din.

“I’m sorry,” one last whisper, and Din froze with his hand cupped around her cheek.

“What are you sorry for, kara’vhipir?” the name made her lips twitch in a surprised half smile, his index coming to rest bent under her chin to tilt her head up. “It’s alright, I’m just - I wish you hadn’t been alone. Had I known -” she was already shaking her head before he could finish the sentence.

“You needed to be with Grogu, with your people - I know that, I knew it then, too, and I never, never thought you wouldn’t return,” when she shifted closer, the tip of her nose brushed his, hands coming to rest on his shoulders again from above the armor pieces.

“I didn’t want to leave - hadn’t it been for him -” he glanced at Grogu. “I know,” she nodded, lifting her hands to cup his jaw.

“I never meant for you to be alone again,” he persisted, and her smile returned, thumbs pressing at the corners of his mouth. “I know, Din,” she nodded, pulling down his bottom lip a little. “I heard you - that first night, when you talked about staying forever, I heard you.”

“I thought you were asleep,” he kissed the pad of her finger as her smile widened, heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m not leaving again,” he repeated, “I’m here to stay, if you’ll have me. Us,” he corrected, gesturing with his head towards Grogu.

“This has been your home, too, since the moment you walked into it,” the gap between them was so small he could almost feel her lips moving against his. “There’s plenty of room for the kids, too.”

“The kids,” Din whispered, a little in disbelief. He’d grown so used to think of Grogu as his own child, and now - “We have a daughter. You and I,” he exhaled, perhaps chuckled a little. Twice a father, when he’d never thought of that as a possible life for him. Twice a father, holding the woman he’d grown to love in almost a full year they’d spent together, and loved more and more each day they’d spent apart.

A clan of two turned into a clan of four. His family lost in the woods.

“Sarad?” he asked then, and her smile turned bashful. “It was one of the few words I remembered in Mando’a,” she justified with a little shrug, and Din laughed. “She’s so much like you. Restless and brave and loving. A little stubborn, but -”

Before the sentence was over, Din bowed his head to kiss her. He didn’t think too long about it, not like the first time - he wanted to kiss her, so he did, her surprise turning in a little yelp before she all but melted against him, arms flying around his shoulders, hand finding its place through his curls all over again.

He knew a kiss could not convey how he’d missed her, it could not strengthen his promise, it wouldn’t bring back lost time. But he was there, she was in his arms, and he could kiss her again while wide awake, feel her solid and oh-so-sweet against him, against his lips, her mouth parting for him like no time had passed, muscle memory guiding them. Even despite the armor, they fit together perfectly, and for a moment both long and too short, it was just the two of them again in the whole galaxy.

But then a babbling resounded behind his shoulders, and quick, running child steps echoed across the crunchy leaves, and their bubble expanded. Not two but four heartbeats tied together, in a house in the middle of the woods. A home.

“Grogu,” he said, and his voice was hoarse, the taste of her still on his lips while the kid pulled up his head, sleepily blinking as he took in his surroundings and, at last, his father’s smile. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

There was a hammock in Sarad’s room - it took Grogu five seconds to hop up and claim it, turning towards them only once he had settled down on it as if to check it was alright. A smile loomed on the woman’s lips, eyes half closed as she nodded - Din wasn’t sure how, but the two of them had seemed able to communicate since the first moment. His heart swelled again, hand finding the small of her back, and right away she leaned into him.

It felt like no time had passed, like he’d simply took a long walk through the woods only to come back home and find her and a warm dinner - she’d missed the food, too, buttery and tasty. He could understand why Grogu had almost stuck his whole head into the plate.

It had been Sarad showing him around as they washed the dishes, her voice soft and hands dancing, tracing invisible lines of the object, the piece of furniture, the bend in the wall she was describing. Din could tell she was listening to the children, her head tilted in their direction, smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. He’d leaned in and kissed her cheek with his hands stuck in the sink, making her snort and bump her hip into his.

He hadn’t left her side for the whole evening - not after she’d helped him out of the armor, not while she cooked (though Sarad stepped quietly between his legs to help her do so), not during and after dinner, not up the stairs to show Grogu the room, and not now that he was asleep and she was heading down the corridor to her own room, the one they’d shared for months before he’d left.

It still looked the same - the big window letting the moonlight in, no mirrors, flowers hanging over the headboard. And, lying in the middle of the bed, was Sarad, fast asleep.

She hadn’t said a word to Din, looking at him through her lashes with big golden eyes throughout the dinner. Just like it had been with her mother, Din felt a little intimidated by her, by her silence, by the way she kept looking at him. She’d been told who he was, quiet, gentle words as she sat on the couch and the woman kneeled in front of her, hands on her knees.

Din is your dad, sweetheart. We talked about him, remember? He’s come back, she’d replied, focused solely on her mother, like you said he would.

“I can move her to her bed,” she said in a whisper, Din’s arms already wrapping around her shoulders with a sigh. “I’m sorry - she’s been sleeping here during these years, doesn’t particularly like her bed.”

“That’s alright,” he hummed, placing a gentle kiss against her neck - just one this time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself otherwise. “I can sleep on the couch. Don’t bother her.” “But -” the protest bubbled on her lips, head turning in his direction. Din risked it, kissing her softly, a little too quick for his liking, but cutting her off effectively.

“There’s plenty of time - plenty of nights,” he reassured, and she leaned into him again, her shoulder against his chest as she craned her neck to chase his lips, one hand rising to his jaw. “Just let her sleep, I’ll be alright.”

“But I’ve missed you,” she whispered, fingers moving across the line of his jaw, brushing his stubble before tracing the shell of his ear. He sighed again, tilting his head into her touch as her hand tangled through his curls. “You cut your hair.”

“Had to,” the tip of her nose brushed his cheek, and he started slowly rubbing her back, pushing her closer into his embrace. “I’ve missed you too, cyare. But let her sleep now.”

Instead of replying, she pulled his head down towards hers, kissing him with a little more intensity than he had, lips parting against his with a sigh of her own, eyelids fluttering shut as she rocked into him, him into her, getting lost in each other, in the moment, the edges of the world blurring around them.

“Mama,” Sarad’s voice was almost inaudible, but she pulled back from Din with a deep inhale, turning towards the bedroom.

“I’ll be right there, sweetie,” she cleared her throat, lips reddened by the kiss. The kid nodded, wriggling up the bed and underneath the covers, wild curls sticking out from under the blanket. “Sorry,” she whispered, her hand detangling from Din’s hair as he chuckled.

“Good night,” he replied instead, letting go of her with a kiss to her forehead.

She smiled, and when Din stepped back she reached over again, her hands to his cheeks to pull him down for one last kiss before turning on her heels and walking right into the bedroom, a light spring in her step.

Din lingered a moment longer, watching her sit on the bed at Sarad’s side, head tilted as she caressed her head, leaning in close enough he couldn’t hear what she was telling her, the girl’s hands coming out of the covers to rest on the woman’s cheeks. Sarad’s sleepy eyes peeked out of the covers then, towards Din - they looked at each other for a moment and, in the end, she waved her hand in his direction.

When the following morning Sarad walked down the stairs, Din had looked up as the kid rubbed her eyes, his eyebrows slightly arched when she padded quietly towards the couch.

“Mama’s out,” she declared, sitting at his side with a little pout. “I know,” he cleared his throat, turning to look at her, her hair falling into her eyes. “I saw her earlier, mentioned something about a pie - do you need anything?”

“No,” she shook her head, and Din reached for her, hesitating to brush the curls back. He pulled his hand back quickly when she turned to look up at him, long, dark lashes surrounding her golden eyes. He gave her a little smile, slowly folding his hands in his lap.

With a frown that resembled so much that of her mother, Sarad lifted her hands in his direction, twisting in her seat as if to face him - Din tilted his head, perplexed.

“What is it, ad’ika?” she kept her hands up, his eyes moving from one to the other, as if he was meant to look for something, something.

“I want to see you,” she declared, and Din’s eyes widened for a moment before he cracked into a smile. He’d seen her do the same with her mother the night before.

He thought that was how she saw the child - by tracing her face with the tip of her fingers, over and over again, studying the bends and bows and planes with rapt attention under her pads. He thought that must’ve been how she’d seen him the first time, five years prior - by tracing the shape of his face softly in his sleep.

“Go ahead then,” he encouraged, voice soft, and tipped his chin so the tip of his nose brushed her palm. It wasn’t a comfortable position, his neck was craned at a weird angle and he had to bend forward to be at her level, but as she brushed his cheeks with her fingertips he thought it did not matter, not at that moment.

Sarad’s hands were soft - softer than her mother’s, a touch far more gentle than he’d ever experienced, and he felt his eyelids droop, forced himself to not close his eyes, the girl brushing his forehead and then down to his cheeks again, further down to his chin. She lingered for a moment, scrunching up the tip of her nose.

“It tickles,” she murmured, up and down across his jaw, his beard. Din did his best not to smile again, but his lips quivered nevertheless and she glanced up into his eyes. “I like it,” she said then, and his resolve failed, a breathy chuckle escaping him.

She went on, down his neck right to the edge of the shirt, a quick brush across his shoulders as if dusting them off. Then, she took one of his hands with hers, and guided him up towards her own face, looking up at him expectantly. Din moved slowly, his ring finger tracing her brow, the bridge of her nose, the bow of her lips, her round cheeks and soft jaw.

“I look like you,” she said when his thumb skimmed her cheek again, and it took Din everything he had to push back the tears dwelling at the corners of his eyes.

“I think you do,” he leaned in a little, hand moving to the top of her head to brush back her curls. “Prettier, though,” he whispered, as if letting her in on a secret. Sarad’s grin flashed bashful, color rising to her cheeks as she averted her gaze. “Just like your mama.”

She pushed her head into Din’s hand, getting closer to him on the couch until her leg was pressed against his thigh, leaning into his side fully - a gesture that reminded Din of both her mother and Grogu, something he’d probably done before, too.

“Do you have to go?” she asked then, as Din caressed the back of her head. “Go where?” he wondered, swearing his heart was about to burst out of his chest - it hadn’t even been a day, yet the fear of Sarad not wanting him around had wrapped its hand around his throat. To her, he was a stranger, wasn’t he? And why would she want a stranger in her house, when her mother had warned her off of them?

“Don’t know - mama said you had to go last time,” she mumbled, tilting her head so it rested against his shoulder. Din carefully wrapped his arm around her, guiding them both back until he was resting against the backrest, and she against him. She curled into his side. “What about now?”

“I’m not going anywhere, ad’ika,” he reassured, hand rubbing up and down her arm. She nuzzled even closer, and Din sighed. “Is that alright?” “Yes,” she said, nodding, and her eyes closed. “Can I still sleep in mama’s bed? It’s comfortable.”

He snorted, other hand rising to tuck her hair behind her ear. Sarad nodded her head again, slower this time, letting his knuckles brush her cheek as a little smile pulled at her lips in response to his laughter.

“We’ll have to ask her,” he’d missed her, missed sleeping in a proper bed with her by his side most than anything else - but that didn’t matter either, not at Sarad’s request. “I’m sure you can.”

For weeks, Din settled in front of the fire or on the couch instead, Sarad tucked into bed and Grogu claiming the spot in the hammock over and over again. The woman had kissed Din on the stairs each night, an apology on her lips just like the first night, but Din simply smiled and held her close a little longer - there was plenty of time, he said.

That night, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been tossing and turning, facing the fire and then turning his back on it, when she appeared at the end of the staircase. She lingered on the last step, head tilting as he turned to look at her fully - a smile caught on her lips then.

I can feel you looking at me.

“Can’t sleep?” she wondered, moving closer. “I haven’t slept much these past years,” he shrugged, lying on his back - from this position, he was looking at her upside down, the hem of her nightgown dancing at her ankles. “Is everything alright?”

“Can I lie down with you for a bit?” she wondered, rocking a little onto her heels, hands joined in front of her. Din smiled in return murmuring a yeah and moving to the side, lifting the covers he’d brought with him, along with the pillows. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I missed being by the fire,” he admitted, his arm extended as she settled down, her head on his shoulder. “I tend to doze off here for a couple of hours, then move to the couch. It’s warmer.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, cold feet brushing his ankles as she nestled into his side. “I tried talking her into her own bed, she wouldn’t hear of it,” he chuckled, turning his head to brush his lips to her forehead.

“She says it’s comfortable,” he justified, and she huffed a little, moving closer, if possible. Her leg hooked over his own, arm draped across his stomach as she tucked her head underneath his chin, her eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t mind it, really.”

“I do,” she almost whined, and Din’s arm tightened around her. “I miss having you in bed,” she added then, a whisper as she pressed her cheek to his chest. “And you’re just down here, every night -”

Din brought his free hand up to her face, ever so gently brushing her cheek before hooking his finger underneath her chin, slowly guiding her head back, her neck exposed as he shifted a little and looked at her. Her eyes opened, his own personal galaxy quietening his mind. He kissed the bridge of her nose, and she wrinkled it a little, a sheepish smile forming on her lips. They’d exchanged nothing more than a few, rapid kisses over the days - in the morning, before going to bed, stealing a moment while the children were otherwise busy. They hadn’t been alone a moment, getting on on quick touches and quicker instants.

When he bowed his head to kiss her, she sighed into it, her whole body relaxing against him. He went slow, tasting each moment of it - her soft lips, molding against his; her warm skin pressed against him; the slight tremble in her hand as she brought it to his face, cupping his cheek the same way he did hers, as if to beckon each other forward, closer.

She parted her lips for him then, shifting back, back, back until she was resting against the pillows and he was hovering over her, one leg locked between her thighs, pushing her nightgown up to her hips. As she let her own hand run through his hair, pushing the curls back before wrapping her fingers around the nape of his neck, his own hand moved down from her face, caressing her neck, following the curve of her shoulder, brushing right where her body met the floor down along her side, waist, hip, the bulked up nightgown - when he touched her naked thigh, she shivered and sighed again. He trailed down her leg, knee to calf to ankle and up again the inner side, her legs spreading furthermore to accomodate him.

“I’ve missed you too, cyare,” he broke away from the kiss, whispering as he shifted down. “Every night,” a kiss to her jaw. “Every day,” a kiss to her throat.

“Din,” his name was a whisper of times past, an echo of the years before, repeated and repeated in the safety of the dark, of their house. Their house, their home, Din thought. “I can’t stay long, if Sarad wakes up -” her hands threaded through his hair as she spoke breathlessly, torn between drawing him closer and moving him away.

“I know,” still, he did not stop kissing her, his hand trailing down her side, reaching her hip and then back up again. Shivers ran down her spine as she shifted towards him, wrapping both her arms around his shoulders to inch impossibly close, chest against chest, slotting her leg between his. Din groaned, stilling his hand by gripping her waist. “We should stop,” he breathed out, somewhat mopish, because after all those years to have her in his arms again made him eager, it stoked the fire at the pit of his stomach, the burning desire that he’d believed would consume him whole while he was away.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered, warm breath fanning his cheeks, one of her hands moving up to the nape of his neck - the touch made him shiver, pull her closer and capture her lips in yet another kiss, bruising. “Me neither,” he admitted.

Still, they pulled apart - not by much, still basking in each other’s warmth, bodies entangled as Din sighed and placed a kiss to her forehead before she tucked her head underneath his chin, arms falling from his shoulders to wrap around his waists, positions now flipped.

Truth be told, Din could stay like that for the rest of the night - for the rest of his life - and be satisfied, satiated. She was solid in his arms, real, real, real and his, and there, not a dream that would slip through his fingers when he opened his eyes and found himself in a place he would never belong.

“What are you thinking about?” she wondered, her voice still a whisper - leave it to her to know exactly when his mind lingered on a thought for too long. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and started drawing slow figures across her back. “Honey,” she chided, but a content little noise left her lips.

“Home,” he said carefully - he’d been so guarded the past four years, it felt dangerous to fall back into the openness he’d reserved for her only. But she was real, he was home. “You, and Sarad, and Grogu, I -” he wasn’t even sure he could put into words the feeling clinging to his heart, that pleasant weight that had settled on his heart when he’d returned into the woods and found her there. “I never thought I’d have a home - I was young when I lost Aq Ventina, and the Razor Crest was the closest thing I thought I’d ever consider homely, but -”

Her hands were imitating his movements, up and down across his spine, soothing and gentle and oh-so-familiar. Her head was still tucked underneath his chin, fitting perfectly like the rest of her, and she kept it slightly tilted - he had her attention, he knew, yet she went all the way to show him she was listening.

“This place, you, the kids - it’s something I never dared to dream of,” he moved so he could kiss her forehead again, holding her tighter, to the point where a low oof noise left her, followed by a tired chuckle. “Now that I’m here I don’t understand how I ever thought I could be happy with anything else,” her hands stilled, holding onto his shirt. “I think the whole galaxy could disappear and I wouldn’t care, as long as you’re here with me. All of you.”

“Din,” she sighed, her voice sweet as honey as she turned in his arms - she wanted him to see her face, he knew, to let him know that she meant each of the words she was saying. She’d done it before, because she knew it would comfort him, somehow - because even though no one had ever learned his expressions, for years he’d relied on the tell-tales of other people’s faces. “Will you stop blaming yourself for leaving?”

It didn’t surprise him she knew, wouldn’t surprise him if she’d known since the first moment. The guilt clung to him like a second skin, and though during the day - when they were together, busy, talking and stealing kisses and Sarad ran after Grogu between their legs, laughter filling the whole house and his heart - it dulled itself to a distant discomfort, it always came back at night, when he was alone by the fire and could notice each little shift in the house that had happened in his absence.

And she knew. Without him having - or wanting - to tell her, she knew, tired to make him feel better about it.

“We lost four years, cyare,” he replied, and his voice sounded incredibly distant. With another sigh, she reached up for his face, fingers gingerly tracing the arch of his nose before running across his forehead, pushing his curls back with the movement.

“We didn’t lose anything,” she retorted, and rested her chin on his chest once he moved on his back. “Grogu needed you, and you needed him. You didn’t leave on a whim, didn’t abandon me.”

“You needed me,” a weak protest she met with a little smile, head tilting to the side so that her cheek was pressed against his chest, ear resting right above his heart - she’d fallen asleep like that countless times, countless nights, just listening to his heart beating.

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, her hand cupping his cheek, the slight scratch of his beard familiar against her palm. “I didn’t. I managed just fine before you, and I wasn’t -” she hesitated, chewing her cheek for a moment, “wasn’t happy, exactly, without you here. But I wasn’t helpless.”

“Still,” he cupped his hand over hers still resting on his cheek, kissing her palm, then moving it up to kiss the scar on her forearm, the one he hadn’t known before. “I should’ve been here.”

“You’re here now,” she said, firmly, taking his hand in hers, resting both onto the pillow at the side of his head, nestling closer with the tip of her nose brushing his chin. “That’s all that matters. And you’re not leaving,” the last sentence was whispered, her head tipped back.

“I’m not,” his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of her lips to his throat, a feather-like touch. “It wasn’t a question,” she sounded almost amused, tenderly nipping his throat before murmuring, so close he felt the vibrations of her voice in his chest, “I’m not letting you go.”

He laughed then, almost too loud, squeezing her hand where it rested interlocked with his on the pillow, and he could feel the smile on her lips right against his skin, the way she seemed to get closer and closer with each passing moment, and if he could he would’ve let her crawl into him.

“Can you stay here a little longer?” he asked then, almost tentatively. He felt that perhaps, for the first time in years, he could truly fall asleep just by having her weight on his chest.

“Just a little,” she nodded, thumb drawing circles across the side of his hand. “I don’t want Sarad to wake up alone.” “Okay.”

The intentions were there, on both parts: stay close a little longer, then she’d make her way back to bed. They fell asleep after five minutes, both comforted by the familiarity of the other’s presence, listening to his heart, her breaths, the feeling of his hand in hers and her head on his chest. After four years, they slept through the night without disturbance.

The following morning, Sarad and Grogu walked down the stairs and found them still tangled together, still asleep in spite of the light filtering through the windows. They’d moved during the night, resting on their sides, Din’s arms around her from behind - she was smiling, and his head rested between her shoulder blades.

That same night, Sarad fell asleep on the bed underneath the hammock, in her own room.

Sarad adored her father. She hung onto his every word, followed him out into the woods and searched for his hand as they walked, climbed onto his lap whenever he sat on the couch with a book that had been recovered from the old woman’s possessions. Din read to her, to Grogu, to Sarad, all three listening with rapt attention, though Grogu would usually fall asleep on the woman’s chest, cradling her hand.

Most of all, Sarad loved having Grogu around - four years she’d known her mother and the woods only, and to have someone so close to her warmed her heart in ways she could not yet describe, could not yet know. But she smiled more and laughed brightly and taught Grogu things around the house.

Her favorite room was the kitchen - she seemed to know far more than Din had learned in his time there before, bringing her mother’s ingredients without her even having to ask. She walked to the counter with a plate of meat in her hands just as she lit the fire beneath the pan, iron warming and oil sizzling. Just before she reached the counter, Grogu reached forward with the Force, a bite flying in his direction and greasing his claws as he tried to fit it into his mouth immediately.

“Kid, no,” Din called softly at her side, stepping past her to reach for the child and stop him. Sarad, observing the scene, giggled. “You have to cook it first, silly,” she was amused, eyes squinting with her laughter. Din glanced at her, doing his best to not grin - her mother smiled instead, fondly.

“Sarad,” her voice was reprimanding nevertheless, gentle but firm enough. “Be nice to your bother,” and after speaking, she stilled, tilting her head to the side.

Meat recovered, Din turned to look at her - there was a stunned look on her face, blinking rapidly as her eyebrows arched and she turned as if to look at Grogu and Sarad standing side by side. Her lips moved soundlessly - your brother, she said, and Din smiled. It seemed to dawn on her like that, the way they’d fallen together into a family. Their family.

Grogu adored her. He’d hop behind her until night came and he grew tired, tried everything he could to gain her attention, followed in her footsteps across the woods floor because he’d understood she knew it like the back of her hand. And he spoke to her - not with words, his vocabulary still restricted to a few words (buir and da and mam and sa’ad because his sister’s name was too difficult to pronounce fully), but the same way he’d communicated with Ahsoka, and later with Skywalker, and through images Din could not see.

He found them one day, when winter bled into spring, sitting on the porch with the sun shining on them. Grogu stood on her lap, both hands outstretched touching his face - he seemed to be mimicking Sarad’s and her own motions, his eyelids trembling shut, except the woman’s hands were held over his, keeping him in place as she leaned forward. When Din stepped at their side, she saw her cheeks strained with tears, and felt his heart leap.

“Kara’vhipir,” he called her softly, crouching at her side. She hiccuped a breath, eyes flying open, and a shimmer ran through them as Grogu fell back seating on her knees, shaking his head slowly. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?” he eyed the kid, reaching for him with the hand he hadn’t rested on the side of her neck - her pulse jumped under his touch.

“Yes, it’s fine, it’s -” the hand that was not supporting Grogu reached her face, quickly brushing away the tears that did not seem to stop. “I’m fine, sorry, I’m -” Grogu cooed in her direction, then looked at his father and tilted his head just a little.

“Sa’ad,” he mumbled, reaching for Din. “She’s gone flower picking, sweetie,” she said, sniffling and closing her eyes again. “Do you want to go find her?”

Instead of replying, the kid hopped off her legs and, after spinning on the spot once, walked towards the forest. Din’s heart leapt each time he saw him walk into the trees, despite knowing there was no safer space than that. He felt temporarily torn, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say.

Her hands were cold when she reached up to brush his cheeks, turning until she was facing him, one leg bent onto the porch floor and the other still onto the step in front of her. She ran her thumbs across his cheeks, the underside of his eyes and up to the arch of his nose.

“Cyar’ika,” he called in a whisper, still unsure of what to do as he brought his hand to the back of her head. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her, her head bowed towards him. She was still running the tip of her fingers across his face - she’d done so multiple times during the nights they’d spent together again, mapping the planes of his skin, burning his shape into her memory. “You have brown eyes.”

It took him a moment to register her words, the surprise in her voice, breathless as a confession. All the while, she kept on caressing his face, inch by inch of skin.

“What?” he frowned, and her thumb smoothed the lines of his brow down.

“Brown eyes,” she said again, still incredulous. “Brown hair, too. With greys in your beard. You -” another tear fell from her eyes and Din caught it quickly, her shaky breath against his hand as she moved closer. “He showed me your face - memories, I think. And Sarad. And she looks so much like you, Din.”

Din’s frown returned, his lips parting as her thumb moved across his bottom lip, capturing it and gently pulling it down. She leaned close, closer, her eyes fluttering shut until her forehead rested against his, breathing in slowly.

“Memories?”

“The day you took your helmet off for him,” her legs pulled onto his lap, he wrapped her into the circle of his arms - still, she did not stop tracing the lines and edges of his face, over and over, each dome and bent so familiar to her, even more so now. “Days here, with Sarad sleeping next to you.”

“I didn’t know he could do that,” he murmured, and she smiled so brightly it burned him, shifting to kiss her forehead. “Are you alright?” he asked then in a whisper into her hair.

“Of course,” even her words carried a smile, palms against his cheeks as she tilted her head back to make him look at her. “I knew your face already, love, I just - never expected to know it like that,” gently, he took her hand and turned her palm upwards to place a kiss at the center of it, beard and mustache slightly scratching her soft skin. “And I knew Sarad looked like you, I just didn’t know how much.”

“You know,” he said after a moment, his lips still brushing her palm before he brought it back to his cheek, leaning into her touch, “that was the first time I took my helmet off because I wanted to. Because he wanted me to.”

Holding his face in her hands she kissed him ever so gently, the salty aftertaste of her tears clinging to his lips as he chased her down a moment longer, seeking more and more and more than what they’d managed to have during those days.

“I’m glad you went, Din,” she said suddenly, between one peck and the other. “I’m glad you went and got him back. I don’t care about the years and the distance and time, I just -” another kiss, another touch, “I couldn’t have beared knowing you so sad.”

“You wouldn’t have seen it,” his protest was weak, her hands running through his hair, so much hair, longer and curling wildly around his head.

“I would’ve known,” she retorted, a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I know you,” whispered against his closed eyelids, hold tightening around her. “I’ve known you since I first met you.”

There were so many things he wished to tell her in that moment - things it would take him years to say, feelings he didn’t even know could be expressed out loud, and some that he’d never use words for but show her over and over again, day after day, year after year - yet the only thing he could do was hold her tight against him and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her, steal the breath from her lungs and make himself dizzy as well.

When she held him, the whole world was kept at bay - there was no former covert, no former creed, no bounty, no job, no kingdom. It was him, where he was meant to be, with the person he had to be with, with his family - and nothing else would ever matter again.

“I love you,” she whispered, her lips bruised and still chased by his own - still, she said it, over and over until the words did not sound real anymore, and still she said it - I love you, I love you, I love you, Din.

“Da-ad!” Sarad’s voice rose from the trees, making them jump away from each other and up on their feet, both alert. The girl came running towards them, a disgusted expression on her face as Grogu toddled behind her. “He ate a frog!” she cried, hiding behind her mother’s legs and clinging to her. “It’s still alive!”

“Kid,” Din groaned, his hand resting atop Sarad’s head reassuringly for a moment before walking towards Grogu with a sigh. “We really need to fix that diet of yours.”

There was a creek near the house, wide enough Grogu and Sarad could play in the water but not enough they were at risk. Summer came, and as the kids played and giggled, they sat on the bank and remained closed until one or both were demanded into the games, day after day spent in idleness and laughter and wet clothes that clung to them and cooled their skin down.

Night came, and the children were exhausted - more often than not Sarad’s eyes would start falling shut while at the dinner table, and before she effectively fell asleep, Grogu had climbed down his chair and cuddled onto his mother’s lap. So they carried them to bed, fixed the kitchen in silence, bumping into each other on purpose and smiling again, a stolen kiss between dishes washed - a routine by then. Normality.

It ended in fleeting touches and quick encounters in the middle of the night, or just before the sun rose - the door closed for not enough, the kisses always too rapid, the touches never enough, tangling themselves to the other for as long as they could, whispering softly until they succumbed to sleep, too. 

One evening, sunburnt cheeks and tired eyes, Sarad and Grogu started falling asleep earlier than usual, a light whine in the girl’s voice as she asked Din to read them their story once tucked in - the story of a princess named Love and a king with no face - a part of their ritual he never missed. Ten minutes into the chapter though, they were both sound asleep, and Din could creep back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible.

“Honey,” she was on her side already, eyelids heavy and face pressed into the pillow, sheet kicked at the foot of the bed leaving her uncovered. “The kids?”

“Sleeping,” he murmured, shedding his shirt and climbing into bed next to her - she wrapped her arms around him instinctively, lips finding his collarbones with a gentle peck. “Grogu was out before I even put him up,” a sleepy smile pulled at her mouth, and Din bowed his head to kiss her forehead.

“You closed the door,” she hummed, tilting her head back until it was aligned with his. He grinned a little, tip of the nose nudging hers as one hand cupped her jaw, the other slowly making its way down her body, across the light fabric of her nightgown. He could feel her underneath, warm and soft and shifting towards his touch.

“They’re exhausted,” he dropped his head to kiss one cheek, the other, guiding her until she almost rested on her back. “Thought we might have some time to ourselves,” a kiss to her jaw, right above where his hand held her. “Just us.”

“How are you not tired?” she was still smiling, threading her fingers through his hair and shuffling her thighs apart. Din’s hand caressed her inner thigh, goosebumps raising across her skin in his wake. “You’ve been running after them for the whole day.”

“You seem to forget I was a bounty hunter, mesh’la,” she snorted quietly, immediately pressing her mouth to his to quieten herself. For a moment, he kissed her back, stilling his hand against her thigh, gently kneading the flesh. “What’s so funny?” he whispered against her lips as she squirmed lightly into his touch.

“Nothing,” she shook her head, a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, lifting her head off of the pillow. “Never heard you talk about yourself as the big bad bounty hunter,” her lips brushed his ear when she spoke again, and he could hear the smile in her words as she pulled his head closer, hand threaded through his hair still. “I’ve always known you soft, like this.”

“Soft,” he scoffed in mock offense, but her smile got so bright he couldn’t help himself as he kissed her again, deep and a little rougher, pushing her fully onto her back as he settled between her thighs. Her surprised yelp remained trapped between their lips, legs parting furthermore to accommodate him. “Soft?” he repeated, pulling back and making her gasp.

“Soft,” she nodded in confirmation, and he kissed down her throat - her head tipped back, pushing into the pillows, hand never leaving his curls. “Gentle,” she continued as he dropped a kiss to her chest, the skin left exposed by the neckline of her nightgown. “Always so good to me,” one more kiss to her stomach as he moved lower, sighs escaping her. “What are you doing?”

“We’ve got time,” he placed one kiss on each hip as she tilted her head on the pillow, following the sound of covers rustling beneath him, his breath fanning across her thighs as her nightgown moved up. “I just want to feel you.”

Her thighs shook lightly when he kissed her, small touches up her skin until he reached the juncture between her leg and pelvis, a louder sigh falling from her lips when his kiss lingered there, right above her underwear.

He looked up at her then, cheek resting against her leg as her hand curled over his head, gently scratching his scalp with the motion as his beard brushed her skin. Her eyes were open, head tilted as if to look at him - or have him look at her; her lips were parted, a little reddened, letting soft exhales out whenever he shifted forward, pushing her legs a little more open with his shoulders.

He waited for her - always did, no matter how much or little time they had, he’d always wait for her to say it - thumbing the sides of her underwear as if to pull it down but not quite. It didn’t matter, he could just stay like that for the rest of the night.

“Din,” she called quietly, his name a whisper as she arched into him, his beard scratching her skin lightly with the movement. He hummed, a peck to her core from above the piece of fabric that had her sigh again, a breathy, “Please,” falling from her parting lips.

He’d teased her endlessly when he was first home - when it was just the two of them, night or day, in bed or in front of the fire, dragging the moment on and on until she was panting and writhing under his touch. She’d done the same, tentatively at first, and then with more and more confidence that had his head spin, pliable under her touch.

But they’d spent so much time apart, and each moment back together had felt so fleeting, he couldn’t do it in that moment. He moved back to undress her, her nightgown falling up her stomach when she arched her back to help him, and as he moved back down he hooked his arms under her legs, holding her hips once he settled back down, shoulders holding her thighs apart.

The first slow sweep of his tongue made her cry out, her eyelids fluttering shut as one hand fell to the bed next to her, grabbing the covers underneath her. He moved his mouth from her, leaving an almost chaste kiss to the top of her thigh.

“You need to be quiet, baby,” his voice was lower already, huskier, making her squirm slightly. “The children are asleep.”

“Maker, you can be a real -” she gasped, sentence cut off when he lowered his mouth on her again, tongue pushing past her folds. She cursed under her breath, gripping the covers tighter as he closed his eyes, an almost content hum sending vibrations up her spine.

He’d never grow tired of it, the way her body reacted to his touch, the sweet taste of her on his tongue, the held back noises as he dragged his mouth up, up until his lips were wrapped around the apex of her core, as he sucked on the bundle of nerves and had her hand pull at his hair, guiding him wherever she needed him, thighs locking around his head - his beard would leave scratches on his skin, a welcomed burn.

He knew her body so well - how to wind her up, the little telltales that told him when she was close, closer, arching off the bed and doing her best to keep her voice down, low whines trapped in the back of her throat. Din reached with one hand for hers on the bed, locking his fingers with hers - she squeezed his hand once, a louder moan in response to him pushing his tongue flat against her.

“Din,” she called, almost a warning, though her hand on the back of his head kept him close, guided him - when the tip of his nose brushed her clit she gasped again, shoulders lifting off of the bed. “Fuck - Din,” he splayed his free hand against her stomach, pushing her back down as he repeated the motion, her walls fluttering around nothing, closer and closer and closer.

The quiet of the night was filled with the all but lewd noises of his mouth on her, her wetness and his sucking, nerve-wracking as she felt a cry stuck in her throat, heavy breaths falling from her mouth as she covered it with the hand that had been buried in his hair. She panted against her palm as he slid his hand down her front, over her lower belly, pressing onto it gently while his thumb drew a small circle at her apex, and then again and again, slow movements on her clit that pushed close, closer to the edge. 

With another squeeze of his hand and her legs locking around his head, she came gushing into his mouth, the hum coming from him dragging on the feeling wave after wave as she arched off of the bed, hips bucking and chest heaving as she choked on her moans, restrained, tiny whimpers leaving her instead until she started trembling, and still Din did not move back, looking up at her hazy-eyed, drunk on the feeling and taste of her.

Her hand, letting go of his, tangled through his locks again, pulling him off of her - he gasped, and she moaned into her own skin at the loss of the feeling, brows pinching together while his shoulders pushed her legs apart again. Still gazing up at her, Din kissed his way up again - stomach and chest and throat and chin.

“Do you think we can make this room soundproof?” she whispered as he hovered over her lips, voice low and breathy, making his snort before dropping a kiss to her mouth. She moaned softly, the taste of herself on his lips getting to her head as he shifted on her side - she chased him, the hand falling from his hair to his jaw, cupping it to keep kissing him a little longer, slowly licking into his mouth as she rolled towards him.

“We can work something out,” he murmured against her lips, and felt her grin, amused.

He traced the curve of her spine with the tip of his fingers, kissing her and kissing her as he drew her closer, and when he reached her side, down to her thigh, he guided her leg up against him, hooking it over his hip and shifting his hips forward. He rocked against her already sensitive core, drawing a hiss from her, followed by a sigh.

“Alright?” he checked in on her, pulling back enough to glance at her face.

Her eyes were still closed, lips bruised and glistening, cheeks warm when he ran his thumb across it. He moved his hips again, pushing his clothed length against her, the smallest friction that made him ache and had her lips part, a slight tremble in her eyelids as she nodded.

She moved her free hand between them, undoing the knot of his trousers as she dropped a kiss to the corner of his mouth, over his beard right across his jaw, then tilted her head again to kiss his neck, the spot where his pulse jumped every single time she touched him.

“Just wanna feel you,” husky-voiced, she kept kissing his neck and throat and up his chin again, relishing in the slight burn of his beard across her soft lips as she echoed his words. “All of you,” sliding her hand underneath his clothes, touching him so delicately he groaned, rutting his hips into her palm. “Please.”

Din made quick work of his trousers, never moving too far from her - it felt at times like they could not get close enough. Like touching each other, kissing each other, him being inside of her, would never be enough. And if she could reach into his chest and wrap herself around his now mended heart, she would. If he could make a home for himself between her bones, he would.

He coated himself with her slick, her hand sliding along his as she hooked her leg over his hip as a long sigh left her, her head falling back as he slowly eased himself into her. Din groaned into her shoulder, next to where the strap of her nightgown hung loose, his hand gripping her thigh a little tighter until he bottomed out.

They remained still like that a moment longer, him kissing her collarbones, down to the neckline of the nightgown and further, pushing it a little lower so he could nip tenderly at the top of her breasts, making her bring her hands through his hair, pulling him closer and up again to kiss his lips with a content sigh.

They silenced each other, the sound of their kisses the only thing that moved around the room, and she was the first one to move, rolling her hips pressed tightly against his and rubbing herself onto him. Din tucked one arm underneath her neck, pillowing her head with his forearm as he slowly stroked her hair, and his other hand fell to her waist. He guided her, seconding her rocking movements against him with his own body.

It was slow, quiet, but it dragged them as close as they could get, deep movements that had her breath hitch in her throat, moans that remained trapped into Din’s open mouth. Each shudder traveled down his spine, bringing him closer to the edge, making him push deeper, a movement that had her clench around him, harsh.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” he murmured, words barely choked out. “Ner cyar’ika, ner mesh’la cyar.” “I love you, too,” an exhale, her body going taunt at the snap of his hips back to meet hers.

She locked her leg behind him, her orgasm washing over her agonizingly slow and strong - her grip and her words tipped him over, too, twitching deep inside of her as he came, a gasp, a moan stuttered on her swollen lips. As he did, she melted against him, her hold easing, her every muscle relaxed, and she went heavy in his arms. 

“Don’t move,” she warned, voice rough, shifting as if to roll on top of him. Din chuckled, eyelids heavy as he dropped a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, then tucked his head into the crook of her neck with an exhale.

“I’m not going anywhere, kara’vhipir.”