this is sort of pathetic, but when you were younger, you were sort of puzzled by the cartoon representations of fathers: how a kid would be outside with a mitt, waiting to play catch.
it's not that your father never played catch with you, but you also didn't like when he did. something about a hard ball coming quickly towards your face doesn't seem exciting. not that you'd ever say you don't trust him. you trust him, right?
it's not like he never tried to teach you anything. or never tried to parent. on rare days, a strange person would walk in your father's skin. bright, happy, magnificent. this version of your father was so cheerful and charismatic that you would do anything to keep him. and this is the version of your father that would laugh and gently coax you try again. this is the version of your father that would break down the small elements of a problem and point them out so you have an easier time with them.
as a kid, those days happened more often. but somewhere around 11, you started being too much of a person, and he was often cross about it. when he'd try to sit you down to learn something, you spent the whole time with your shoulders around your ears, nervous, uncertain. terrified because you didn't immediately understand how to navigate something. worried you will run out of his goodwill and then you will have the Other Father back, and you will have ruined a good day for your entire family. something about you being visibly afraid - it just made him angry. he would accuse you of not wanting to learn and storm away.
on tv, it's not like there's a lot of versions of men-who-are-mostly-fathers. they can be good dads, but usually their stories are not told in the household. so it's normal that your father is there, but he's never around. you know he was in the house, somewhere, it's just not that you guys ever... "hung out". he just seemed to get kind of bored of you, annoyed you weren't made in his perfect image. frustrated with how much energy it took to raise a kid. over time, you kind of adopt a bittersweet band around your throat - he knows nothing about me. he says at least i never abandoned my family.
and it's technically - technically - true. he was there for you. sometimes he even made an effort and made it to the big moments; the graduations and the dance recitals. he grins and tells everyone that he taught you. it almost erases the days in between, where he complains because you need a ride to school. the weeks that go by where he doesn't actually ever speak to you. the times you say i am struggling and he says figure it out on your own. i can't help you.
and that's fine! that's all fine. you can call him if you are having a problem with your car. or if you need a ride to the hospital. he loves playing hero, he just doesn't like the actual work that comes with being a father. and you've kind of made your peace with that; because you had to, because you don't want to live your life like he does; the whole world at a managed distance, a little rotating and controlled orb he can witness and take credit for but never truly love.
as an adult, you are rewatching some dumb cartoon - and again, the child standing in the rain, with a mitt, waiting for their father to come play catch. as an adult, there's this strange creeping dread - this little thing? this little thing, and their dad can't even show up for that? oh god, holyshit, it's not about the mitt, is it. oh god, holyshit, your father spent most of your life leaving you hanging.
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fuck it friday
tagged by @steadfastsaturnsrings @tizniz @daffi-990 💖
more fluff from my new wip that for now is called 'buddie secret relationship' bc that's the title of the doc from may last year that i decided to open last week lol 😂
prev snippet
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“Hi.” Eddie breathes out, smiling so wide his cheeks start to hurt.
“Hey.” Buck responds, taking a step inside, and as Eddie closes the door behind him, Buck sniffs and frowns, an alarmed look on his face. “Something’s burning?”
“Uh, it was.” Eddie says with a small chuckle, waving off Buck’s concern. “Just food, no casualties or property damage. I tried to make breakfast.”
“Eddie.” Buck laughs, kicking off his shoes. “Why?”
“Because.” he shrugs, then feels his cheeks burn as he looks at the ground. He’s being so silly. “You said you’d come over, and I wanted- I just wanted to make breakfast.” he says lamely, not sure how to put into words how much he wants to do anything and everything to make Buck happy, and how giddy last night made him, how kissing Buck was the most amazing thing that he wants to do over and over and over again, and how he wants Buck at his side forever and ever and ever. And he wanted to start off by doing this one simple thing for him. Plus, he was too antsy to just sit and wait for him to come over, and trying to cook was a good distraction. Until it wasn't.
“Eddie.” Buck repeats, this time softer, taking one step towards him, and Eddie looks up at him. “That’s really nice. But just so you know, it’d be even nicer if you didn’t try to burn your house down for me.” he adds through laughter.
“Oh, shut up.” Eddie huffs, playfully punching Buck’s shoulder, and as he’s taking his hand away, Buck grabs it. It goes limp, letting Buck easily unfold his loose fist and intertwine their fingers. It feels right, holding his hand, they fit together so well, as if made for each other. Eddie watches Buck’s face as Buck’s eyes are on their hands, watching in awe and wonder. As if he couldn’t believe he can do that now. As if he still doubts he can.
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no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @sunshinediaz @giddyupbuck @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @exhuastedpigeon @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie
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“hi.”
“hey.”
“aren’t you tired after the game?”
“can’t sleep,” sirius said, kicking his feet up on remus’ bed. “it seems like you’re in the same situation, though. what’s up with you?”
“nothing,” remus muttered, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging his legs, his chin resting on his knee.
“come on, i know you better than that,” sirius tsked, putting his head on remus’ shoulders and lacing their fingers together, an old habit, his touch igniting sparks in remus’ body.
“do you have a cigarette?” remus asked, changing the topic of the conversation.
sirius gave him one of those devilish grins, that only he had, and that made remus’ heart thrum in his chest. then, held out a hand for him. “let’s go sit on the windowsill. otherwise, potter will wake up and complain about the smoke.”
“alright,” remus sighed, watching sirius get up and look through the pockets of the jeans discarded on the floor.
he watched him, a moonlit shadow, open the window, and he took that as a sign to get up and join sirius, his joints still aching. sirius pulled remus next to him, their knees knocking together and sirius’ leg between remus’.
sirius lit his cigarette up leaned forward, awkwardly but with his usual elegance, bringing their mouths close together, helped remus with his. he leaned back against the wall, and remus watched his plump lips wrapped around the cigarette, and how hie eyes were lit up by the dim spark.
“so?”
“it’s stupid.”
“is it, though?”
“mhm.”
“i’m willing to listen to it either way,” sirius shrugged, taking a long drag out of his cigarette, and remus watched it flicker between sirius’ long fingers. “we’re mates, aren’t we?”
“that’s the problem,” remus said, looking away from sirius. “that if i tell you, it will all go down to hell.”
“oh, come on, you’re being dramatic.” sirius grinned, pushing himself up on his knees so that he was sitting next to remus, and so that remus had to turn his head to face him. their lips were so close, and there was a lump in remus’ throat, and his heart was beating so fast, and, and—
“let me do it?”
remus didn’t even know what he meant by that, but he nodded, and sirius’ mouth was pressed against his, their cigarettes discarded somewhere that didn’t matter anymore. and sirius’ mouth was pressed against his, and his fingers were wrapped around remus’ arm, and sirius’ shirt was crumpled in remus’ fist and it wad all too much and too little at the same time and it was addicting and fucking beautiful.
it might have been a few minutes. it might have been hours, or days, or forever, until they broke apart, and sirius laughed. remus didn’t know what they were laughing about, but he joined in, their laughter bouncing through the smoke-filled air.
“why did you do that?” remus asked, and tried to stop himself from bringing his hand up to his lips, to make sure that it was all real.
“just wanted to. been wanting to for a while, actually,” sirius added, and there was something in his eyes that made remus go weak in the knees.
remus hummed, his eyes gliding over to sirius’ lips, which parted into a grin.
“right. well, i—”
“you think i should do it again, don’t you?” he asked, looking at him with a raised brow, and an amused expression.
remus nodded, and sirius cupped the back of his neck, where soft curls were nestled. he pressed their mouths together, again, and remus let himself be guided by him. he let himself be loved, he let himself be held, through cigarette smoke and cold night’s air.
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Kunidazai reunion sparking them finally, actually, truly getting together (cause they're idiots who have essentially been and old married couple for years and were the last to notice)? I think yes.
kunikida offering his apartment to Dazai, as his partners was in no shape to be lived in, after all the time that had passed with no upkeep and the time it spent in police custody, being milled through for any potential evidence. there was no way he could let him go back to it, not now, not tonight. Kunikida needs him close tonight.
Dazai takes him up on his offer. he doesn't want to be alone. he won't admit it, but he can't be alone, he doesn't know what it would do to him, what he would do to himself if he was left unattended. so he gratefully, while making jabs and cracking jokes at his partner, follows him home.
their night proceeds as normal, as it had for years of Dazai crashing with him. Kunikida cooks while Dazai sits up on his counter, rambling on and on about anything he can think of. Kunikida never realized how much he missed Dazai's voice until the relief of not cooking in silence hit him.
when they eat Dazai drags his partner to sit on the couch, even though Kunikida hates eating on the couch, knowing he would make an exception for him, just for tonight. they sit too close to just be friends, coworkers, partners even. their arms touch, their knees lean into one another.
when Dazai's finished with his dinner he lays a head in Kunikida's lap, turning on the TV, flipping through all of his partners recorded media until he finds the show they had been watch together, every episode that aired since he was arrested is recorded and unwatched. with blurry eyes he hits play. Kunikida's hand is in his hair and it doesn't leave.
they don't talk, they don't have to, they've talked enough. for now they just want to sit and feel each other's touch and hear each other's breathing. it's all they need.
its nearly 3 in the morning when Dazai finally starts to doze, he'd curled up into a ball, halfway in Kunikida's lap at that point, holding onto one of his partner's hands. Kunikida knows he should get them both to bed, he should offer Dazai the room and take the couch, that he should have the man some space after all he'd been through. but he aches at the thought of leaving his side, at being separated again.
but he doesn't even have to say anything, should have known he never had to, Dazai's always been sharp as a tack, his intuition, almost terrifyingly, even sharper.
His partner turned lazily in his arms, looking up at him with tired but knowing eyes. let's go to bed, they say. you don't have to go, you can stay, they assure. please don't go, they beg.
Kunikida breathes a long, heavy, sigh of relief.
"ok," he answers, before finally getting up after hours laid up on the couch, watching as Dazai continues to doze.
his heart aches with feverish heat. he'd missed him so much he had begun to go mad, had gone mad really, and now his partner was back, he was back and alive and mostly well, and now he was so relieved it ached in its own right.
he went about making up his bed for two, for Dazai, knowing he needed enough pillows and blankets for half a dozen people, but kept stopping to look over the back of the couch to make sure he was still there, still with him, that he hadn't been taken away again. by the time he's done he's probably crossed his apartment two to three dozen times, from his room to the couch again and again, before he's finally decided the room was good enough, there were enough blankets for Dazai to cover himself with and pillows to hide in.
when he goes to Dazai this time around, he kneels in front of him, carding a hand through his hair, tracing a thumb over his brow, to his nose, and then his cheek. his partner's eyes flutter open, a smile graces his lips.
"come on," he whispers, worried too loud a voice would shatter the delicate air of safety and comfort around them, "time for bed."
Dazai hums, getting up with a stretch and a yawn, much like a cat, before gingerly hopping off the couch and into Kunikida's arms, a false smile and air of cheekiness to him, hiding the ache Kunikida knew all too well resided in his partner's heart as much as it did his own, if not more. he holds him for a moment, savoring the feeling of him in his arms, before taking his hand and leading him to their room.
Dazai knows the drill. he goes to the other man's dresser and picks out a pair of his own sweatpants, ones he kept here for nights like these, and as per usual, one of Kunikida's shirts, gliding across the room, out into the hall, and into the bathroom.
Kunikida crawls into bed, feeling like he's been hit by a bus by the days events, and ends up half asleep by the time he feels Dazai crawling into bed next to him.
he expects to see bandages peeking from the borrowed nightshirt, to watch Dazai shield himself from the world, from his partner's touch, with a swarm of blankets, for Dazai to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for him to fall asleep first.
but tonight's different, so different.
Dazai's skin is bare where the shirt doesn't cover, his scars on display, each and every one of them, the burns, the cuts, the bullet wounds, the ones Kunikida has never one been able to decipher the story of. they're all bared to him, with no visible hesitation on Dazai's end.
when his partner climbs into bed he neglects the pile of blankets laid out for him, the pillows too. instead he lifts the comforter that's draped over the entirety of the bed, Kunikida included, sliding beneath it like it's natural to him, like he'd done it every night for months, years even.
he looks at Kunikida for a moment, silently asking for permission, which Kunikida cannot give fast enough, and then Dazai's in his arms, his own wrapped around his neck, nothing between them but the clothes on their backs.
Dazai pulls away, just a bit, Kunikida almost cries out, almost pulls him back in, but knows better. he lets dazai go, but he never leaves. he's moved just far back enough so they could both look each other in the face.
"I missed you," he spoke softly, his hands shifting to hold the blonde's face.
"I missed you too,"
there's a moment of silence.
"I love you." the words are hesitant, skittish even, like he's unsure of how Kunikida would take it.
"I love you too," he replies without a second thought. he loves his partner, he loves him, more than he knows what to do with, so much it drives him mad and makes him ache.
Dazai nods. he's thinking, Kunikida can see it on his face, his mind is going a million miles a second. worry flashes on Dazai's face, and Kunikida panics, goes to pull away, goes to give Dazai space, even if his own skin burns at the thought of parting with Dazai's.
but Dazai doesn't let him, he clings to him, "Don't go, please don't go, please," he begs.
his voice is desperate, so Kunikida doesn't. he watches his partners face twist and turn, watches as fear spreads across his brow and tears gather in his eyes, and he doesn't know what to do because this has never happened.
but than Dazai leans in, slowly, tugging Kunikida closer so they can meet in the middle. Kunikida feels his partners lips on his. he kisses him back. he can't decide if that was a foolish decision or not. It's soft, softer than either of them knew they were capable of, it's gentle and earnest and good.
Dazai stops after a moment, lingers in Kunikida's space before looking him in the eye once more, he doesn't speak, they don't need to. Dazai looks at him, tears running down his face, but he's smiling, he's ok. his thumbs wipe away tears Kunikida hadn't realized he'd shed. they're ok.
"I love you," Dazai mutter's again, speaking again before the other man can answer "Kunikida?"
"yes, Dazai?"
"don't go."
"I won't."
"promise?"
"I promise." its a foolish thing to say, but Dazai needs to hear it, hell, he needs to hear it, "I'm not going anywhere, so long as you promise me the same."
he hesitates, his eyes avoid Kunikida's for a moment, before returning from their shared gaze, "I'll try, I promise, I'll really try this time"
Kunikida nods, slowly moving to kiss Dazai's forehead, the brunette leans into it.
"I know you will," he whispers into Dazai's skin, "and I'll always be here when it's too hard to manage on your own."
there's silence again, but it doesn't feel wrong or heavy, its soft and warm and it feels right.
"I love you," Kunikida finally returns.
there's more silence, Dazai just looks at him, just watches, fingers playing with Kunikida's hair and drifting over his face until something clicks into place in the other man's mind, something nobody but Dazai could ever understand.
he leans in once more to kiss his cheek before he settles against Kunikida's chest, letting out a pleased huff as he curls himself into a ball, "goodnight," he muttered, almost instantly going still with sleep.
"goodnight," Kunikida replied, knowing Dazai wasn't going to hear him, pressing his own goodnight kiss to the top of Dazai's head before burying his face in the other man's hair (Dazai doesn't smell like his shampoo anymore. it makes something in him cringe. he tries and fails to ignore it).
it takes Kunikida a while to fall asleep, he's too busy running the night over and over and over again in his mind. he holds Dazai close and lets his fingers trace over scars, feeling over his too-thin frame, feeling each bone beneath his skin. there's so many thoughts rushing through his mind, to many fears, worries, anxieties, what ifs. what if I hurt him? what if I break him? what if I ruin this?
his thoughts are only stopped when Dazai gently nudges his head into his jaw, hands pulling Kunikida's off of him, holding them gently in his own (he should have known sleep wouldn't come that easy to Dazai).
he takes a deep breath, steadying himself and his mind, his partner's hands squeeze his gently, good, they seem to say, and sleep finally starts to pull at him once more.
he lets it happen, let's his eyes close and his mind go blank, knowing Dazai is safe, he's safe in his arms, he won't be taken away again. he sleeps knowing Dazai loves him, that he kissed him, that tomorrow they'll wake up like this, and maybe, just fucking maybe they can finally have this one happy ending.
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idk man but i just picture din as this amazing cook who can whip up an delicious, healthy meals for grogu out of like 3 lame ass ingredients and luke is just never allowed in the kitchen bc he somehow burned water so din told him one day "i'll do all the cooking" and he does. and he's good at it.
but give this man a recipe for a cake or pie? no. absolutely not. he will serve you a blackened brick and think nothing is wrong with it. din's homemade cookies? this man is a mandalorian, he'll make the spiciest space chocolate chip cookies you've ever tasted. and that's if they make it out of the oven edible and not charred. not even grogu can stomach his baked goods. boba, cobb, and fennec have all told him that he's a terrible baker, and din's response is always, "you guys are just picky."
"yeah, vod, i choose to keep my teeth. not chip them on those abominations."
"bo is right—"
"don't call me that."
*chuckles* "bo is taken. call him booba."
"can it, shand."
din just shrugs and plops his horrendous snickerdoodles on the coffee table like they didn't just rattle the entire surface. meanwhile luke is in the kitchen with han saying that he "absolutely baked this bread! i'm capable of it!"
han takes another slice and gives luke an incredulous look, eyebrow arched and overly bushy. "sure, kid."
"i did!
"this is best kirffing bread i've ever had. it tastes like the holy land and carbs had a baby. i don't even believe if there's a holy land, but dank farrik, this bread can take me there."
"han...it's just bread."
and just like that, luke discovers that he can bake like a man mad. whatever he envisions, he can make with ease. cookies, snickerdoodles, cupcakes, pastries. he can bake it without so much as reading the recipe twice and din is flabbergasted.
"how can...how do you do that?"
"do what, my love?"
din waves his hand in a blobby, misshapen circle with luke—and his disaster of a kitchen whipping up some sort of blue macaroon for grogu that din knows comes out perfect every single time—in its center.
luke chuckles and moves around the island to place a floury kiss to his cheek, smearing some left over batter into the scruff of his chin.
"call it a gift."
"is this some sort of...force thing?"
luke laughs again and din hopes he kisses him one last time bc he deserves it for bringing forth such a lovely sound.
"no, it's just a me thing."
din hums, still not 100% convinced it's not luke and his confusing, space wizard magic, offers to help. only, luke shoos him out of the kitchen, brandishing his batter ladened spoon, dripping sticky all over the floor din just cleaned that morning.
"absolutely not. the last time you helped me, you mistook the sugar for garlic powder. chewie threw up, my love. i've never seen chewie throw up.
"...that was one time."
luke pats his cheek with delicate fingers, and if din wasn't already leaning into his touch, he would've griped about the batter trickling down his jaw.
"one time too many. it's fine, i can handle myself in here. now, get going. go on, out of my kitchen."
luke hops up onto his toes to press a fleeting kiss to din's lips and—really, it should be criminal how easily luke can turn off din's brain with one simple touch bc he didn't even notice how he ended up in the living room with both grogu and the family loth-cat trying to lick the drying batter off his face.
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