#shampoo visor

[reallyromealone]

Can you do a long fic where bakugou has a baby brother like maybe 2 years old?

Title: sibling bonding

Fandom:my hero Academia

Warnings: male reader, baby reader, fluff, big brother Bakugo, soft Bakugo

Notes: I can't promise a long fic as my fic lengths are based off of how much steam I have but ill write what I can

☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️

Bakugo was happy to have the house mostly alone, his parents in Milan for two weeks he had off for a fashion show.

Why was he mostly alone?

Well they couldn't take his little brother, the two year old didn't do planes well and it was just easier to find a sitter or let him stay with someone for the time, usually their aunty. "Uh-oh" (name) said as he dropped his sippy cup carefully lifting it back up before wandering to his brother "ka!" He said happily as he climbed onto the couch "what squirt?" Katsuki said to the young tot who looked at his phone "what do?" He asked as Katsuki got notifications from discord "I'm texting a few friends, they're coming to visit later for a movie" he was always so soft with his brother, sure he was loud as the rest of his family but his baby brother took more after their dad so he always tried to be gentle.

"Oovee?" He asked curiously and Katsuki nodded "yeah a movie, we gotta get some snacks for you and me before it" he said to the boy who smiled "cake!" "No cake but we can get you a cake pop when we get our walk home drink" Katsuki knew how to compromise with the boy who clapped his hands excitedly.

Katsuki helped (name) put on his shoes before putting him on his shoulders, it was easier to do than hold his hands and (name) got to have fun.

The two went to the convenience store as (name) pointed to various snacks, Katsuki having to hinder the boy with the fact he wanted /everything/ the store had to offer but did compromise with some ice cream and little treats for after dinner and such.

"Cake!" (Name) was absolutely thrilled when Katsuki handed him a cake pop, the teen holding the snacks with one hand and had (name) on his hip as they walked home, (name) eating his treat contently, the boy taking a sip from their drink occasionally.

(Name) loved helping his brother, the tot getting to help put things together for the hang out "you get to watch a movie then it's bath time alright?" Katsuki said to his brother who did a little dance before running off to go play with his toys 'weird kid' Katsuki thought fondly as he finished prep.

"YOOOO BAKUBRO!" Kirishima said as he and a few other classmates entered the Bakugo house, Kaminari whistling at how nice it was inside "whose ready to paaaarty!" Mina said as her, ochaco and Momo came inside with snacks "let's watch some scary...shoopuff" mina halted when she saw the two year old in Katsukis arms, little (name) looking curious but recognized Kirishima from a few visits "little man!" Kirishima ran and grabbed the boy and lifted him "what's up!"

"Hiiii!"

"Whose the kid?" Kaminari asked as (name) spoke nonsense to Kirishima but it was probably his day if any context about "walk" and "cake pop" were to go off of "that's my brother" Katsuki said gruffly, a slight glare on his face as his friends looked at the babe curiously.

During the movie, the teens would notice Bakugo would be soft with the boy even when he scolded him "oi, leave that alone" "but you're smelly!" (Name) argued back, holding a book in his hands "put it down and park your ass and watch the movie or its night time" Bakugo said to his brother who huffed but complied "you're not my favorite brother anymore!"

"Ah? And who is?"

"Dad!"

The movie went on well, the group putting on a hero movie and before they knew it, it was (name)s bath time "bubububbub!" (Name) was pleased with the bubbles as he played with his toys, his older brother working around him to wash him "head back" the teen said gruffly as he put a visor on the boys forehead and rinced out the shampoo before repeating it with the conditioner "kaa! Ducky!" The boy squirted some water at his brother who rolled his eyes "wanna see something cool?" He asked his little brother who looked curious "ya!'

Katsuki put his hand in the water and activated his quirk, just enough to give a jacuzzi affect "whoa!" The boy said excitedly as Katsuki pulled his hand out "now, out ya go!"

"Nooo!"

"None of that! Come on, let's brush your fucking teeth and get you to bed brat"

(Name) cuddled into his brothers shoulder as he wore his fuzzy pajamas, the other teens waving him goodnight as Katsuki brought him to his bedroom and tucked him into bed "hah? What's this?" Katsuki held up a small handmade plush of him in his hero suit "Die'ite!" (Name) grabbed the plush and Katsuki felt a small smile creep on his face as his little brother hugged the toy "he a hero you like?"

"He's the bestest!"

[luveline]

Hii I sent the ask for more kbd could you please write them all going on there first family holiday lovely 🤍🫶🏻

love u <3 kbd au —the harrington’s vacation !! mom!reader, 1.5k

This is a good idea, you repeat to each other for weeks. Paying for the flights, making lists, getting Dove her baby passport, packing the suitcases days in advance. 

Most of the time you agree with one another. The day you buy Avery and Beth little swimsuits Steve can’t stop smiling, and the nights leading up to it are like Christmas for Avery when she remembers (and Beth when Avery tells her). 

But the night before you’re sick to your stomach, and then Steve can’t breathe right at the airport, but you get on your plane, and somehow the girls are good. Dove cries when you land because of the pressure change, but she’s soothed by the time you’re past the gate and into the sunshine. 

“Steve,” you say, Dove strapped to your chest, world's heaviest baby bag on your shoulder, “sweetheart, we’re here.” 

He holds Beth’s hand, who in turn holds Avery’s hand, trying to pull the world’s biggest suitcase behind you without running over his own foot. “I told you it would be easy.” 

Your children look beautiful. Avery wears a sun visor cap and a blue dress with white socks and blue converse, and Bethie wears dungarees and a short sleeve top, little black converse to match her sister but unable to handle the sensory nightmare of a hat. They look ready for the sun, and excited to be somewhere new. 

Dove sleeps on your chest. “Easy isn’t the word I’d use,” you mumble, kissing her forehead. “Okay, what’s the next thing? Are we getting the shuttle?” 

Steve checks his watch quickly. “It’s another ten minutes,” he says. “Is that okay?” He points at your harness. “Digging into your side?”

“It’s fine.” You bend with your arm behind Dove’s back, turning your smile on your sweethearts where they mill around their dad’s legs. “How do you guys feel now? So happy? I’m so happy we’re not on the plane, we can stretch our tired feet!” 

“Yeah, mom!” Avery says. 

“Can we have soda?” Bethie asks. 

And okay, you promised them treats if they behaved on the plane, but you’re on vacation. It’s allowed. 

“Yeah, baby, let’s go find you a coca cola before we get on the big bus!” 

You don’t want to pay seventy cents for one can of coke, let alone three dollars for three, but everything will be free when you get to the resort, so what does it matter? Plus, Bethie really, really enjoys it. She beams at the fizzing and begs you to try it like she’s worried you’re missing out. 

(It matters. You and Steve are raising three kids on one salary. All inclusive vacations are expensive. They all needed new clothes including you and Steve, clothes and haircuts and mini shampoos. But it genuinely won’t matter if they have a good time, and make good memories.) 

“Right,” you say near the shuttle, “Avery, you hold mommy’s hand when we’re outside. Beth, you’ll hold daddy’s. No running, and try to be polite. Deal?” 

Avery twines her fingers through yours, little tiny fingers to your fully grown ones. When she looks up at you, she’s practically a hundred percent Steve, his smile, his lovely demeanour, and his attitude too. “Duh, mom. That’s an easy deal.” 

Steve ends up carrying Beth onto the shuttle, and off of it again at the resort. She’s in his arms from the lobby to the elevators and into your suite, but she wants promptly to be put down when Steve shows your two girls their room. 

“Mom, there’s bears!” She gasps. “It’s Goldilocks!” 

A huge storybook mural covers their walls and parts of their ceilings, their single beds outfitted with gossamer curtains on four posters and princess pink sheets. “There’s a castle!” Avery shouts. 

“You okay?” Steve asks again. 

You’re a little tired from Dove's restlessness the night before, but you’re happy you’re here. You nod without thinking twice about it. 

“Okay.” He pulls you toward him. Careful, he unsnaps the buckles of Dove’s harness, loosening the cords that keep her tight to your body before pulling her out. She grizzles at being moved, and he pats her back deftly to settle her before it becomes a big cry. Then he’s cradling her one handed, loosening the straps of the carrier behind your back and taking it off of you with a kindness that softens you for the thousandth time. “There, that’s better. You look like you can breathe again.” 

Steve puts his hand flat on your chest and rubs a line with his thumb. “That’s a nice smile,” he adds. 

Okay, you think. Goner, total goner, you cover his hand with yours. From the girls’ bedroom you can hear the squeal of bed springs being jumped on and the zipper on someone’s mini backpack. “Can we have fruit snacks?” Avery shouts. 

Steve’s hand moves to your neck, your face. He rubs your jawline with the tip of his thumb. “Do they have fruit snacks at the buffet?” 

“They promised they’d have everything at the buffet.” 

You sound exuberant. You are. It’s nice to be touched sweetly, and to be somewhere cool. This is the life you’d dreamed of making with him, and at the same time, you never could’ve summoned this image of him. 

You can’t wait for him to take his shirt off by the pool. You’re gonna take a whole disposable’s worth of photos. 

“You have nice arms,” you say, feigning absentmindedness.

“Thank you.” He’s looking at you funny. It reminds you of when you first started dating, he’d get these weird moments of smiling and not telling you what it is that’s so funny, which would always inspire insecurity, but has since been explained to be awe rather than disdain. He pulls Dove closer to his neck and more toward his side, offering his empty arm to you for a hug. “You have nice everything,” he says, kissing you quickly on the temple. 

“We’re actually on vacation.” 

It always seemed too daunting. The more kids you had, the scarier it seemed. But one day Avery must’ve seen a commercial on TV or heard it from one of the little girls at the park, and she’d strolled up to you to ask you about vacations and the beach and aeroplanes. You’d taken her and Beth to Lake Michigan a bunch of times, but nothing feels quite like this. 

“Let’s hope it really feels like one,” Steve says. 

“Especially for you,” you say. 

Stay at home dad-ing is exhausting. You can’t imagine he wants to be the one in charge here too. You’re determined to pull your weight, even if he isn’t keen to let you, plans for secret lie-ins and well-researched playtime clubs at the resorts recreation centres. You’re not delusional, you know you can’t do this without him. Or perhaps you could, but you’d enjoy yourself a lot less. Either way, you’re wanting to have fun too, so he can take Dove from you and wrap his arm around you like he’s the one in charge for now. It feels nice to be doted on, better when he starts his fretting. 

“Do you want to get changed before we take them down for dinner?” He backs away enough to see your face but not too much as to steal the warmth of his chest where it kisses your arm. “Showers? You need something to drink. Where’s the mini fridge?” 

“Remember what we talked about?” you broach carefully. You have no intentions of patronising him, but it’s unfortunate he’s forgotten already. “Relax, honey. That’s what we said we were gonna do this week. You don’t have to make sure everyone is one hundred percent all the time. If I need something, I’ll tell you.”

“What sort of marriage do you think this is?” he asks, smiling playfully, his warm eyes betraying how happy he is even through his worry and facade.

“One where you kiss me like you miss me all the time,” you say. 

“Oh, is that so?” He ducks down and aligns your lips, the corded muscle of his arm lean where it presses to your softer back. “What do you do?” 

“Kiss back.” 

He laughs into your lips, a smile pressed firmly to a smile. 

“Daddy, can you help me ‘i my shoes?” Bethie asks. 

Steve breathes in deep as you part, hugging you tight to his side. “Where are you gonna go without shoes?” he asks her, genuinely curious. 

“To bed.” 

“You want a nap?” 

Bethie nods tiredly. “Planes are hard.” 

“Yeah, bub, planes are tough. You don’t wanna go have dinner first?” 

She shakes her head tiredly. It’s the first hurdle of your vacation, but it’s not a terribly hard one to navigate. 

“There’s gotta be some sort of snack in the fridge, right?” he asks. 

Family nap time commences just as soon as Avery’s eaten her fill of mini sandwiches. You sleep like a baby under Steve’s arm, at least until the real baby rouses for another bottle. 

[reysdriver]

Rubber Duck | E.M.

You and Eddie give your baby girl a bath — dad!eddie x mom!reader fluff

Warnings: none, it's literally just pure fluff

words: 0.6k

“The water isn’t too hot, right?” You were always so worried about the smallest of things like this. Is the bed too soft? Has she burped enough? Did I put enough baby powder in her diaper? 

“You put a drop on your forehead right?” Eddie asked, bouncing your baby softly. 

“Yes, of course.”

“And was it too hot?”

“No.”

“So then it’s not too hot.” Eddie reassured you. He was more level-headed than you with these things, at least on the outside. The balance worked well for taking care of her. 

He sat her down on the counter next to the baby bath and unwrapped her towel. He leaned down and gave her stomach rolls a raspberry, which elicited a giggle from both of them. 

“Are you ready for bath time, little lady?” Eddie asked her, even though she couldn’t respond. He lowered her down into the water, and she only kicked her little legs and splashed the water at you once. That may be a new record. 

You let her play around, smacking the water and popping bubbles from the cap of the soap bottle before you started to clean her. 

You and Eddie both knew that the shampoo was her least favourite part, so you had been developing strategies to keep her happy while you washed her hair. 

You scooped up a cup of bath water while Eddie showed your daughter her favourite bath toy, a little yellow rubber duck. Her cute smile doubled in size just at the sight of the toy, and the adorable image almost distracted you from your task. 

But you managed to avoid it and continue washing her. You held a hand tight against her forehead like a visor to shield her eyes from any water that wants to come running down, then lightly poured some water on the top of her head. 

She scrunched her face for a second or two, but when Eddie gave the duck toy a funny voice, she forgot all about the water. 

You watched her try to grab for the duck as you lathered up some shampoo in your hands. “Okay, I’m gonna try and get this part done quickly, baby.” You told your daughter apologetically.

You put the foamy shampoo on the top of her head and began massaging lightly. For once, she didn’t put up a fight. To your relief, she just kept smiling and laughing at the rubber toy. 

“You’re not even fazed with Mommy washing your hair, are you?” Eddie asked your little girl happily. “You just love your duckie so much!” 

When it was time to rinse the suds off, Eddie noticed and went back to quacking and speaking in his silly voice. You dipped the cup in the bath water again and brought your hands back to her forehead. Again, she didn’t even seem to care about what you were doing as long as the duck was in front of her. 

A sigh of relief fell from your lips once her head was clean, and you leaned down to press a kiss on her chubby cheek. 

“So, I think the duck is going to be a part of her bath time routine now.” You said to Eddie. 

Eddie returned to his normal voice. “I’ll give her the duck whenever she wants if he makes her happy like this.” 

He placed the duck in the tiny tub and it was immediately scooped up by a pair of even tinier hands. Then Eddie started playing with your daughter’s wet hair, swirling it and bringing it to the middle. 

“Plus, if she’s not crying after washing her hair, I can style her however I want and not feel bad for her.” He added, pointing to an adorable mohawk atop the giggling baby’s head.  

[seat-safety-switch]

So I was holding onto the side of this Oreal Cylinder, I dunno what the deal is with shampoo in space, and getting ready to rip the copper wiring out of the access panel. Friends, Romans, citizens: this shit is fibre fucking optics. Light pipes. Micro plastics. As in, non-metallic. I can’t sell that to Unfair Ted, the operator of the local metal scrap yard back on Ontario-9. Grumpy, I helped myself into their bicycle lockup, and took what I could instead.

Oh, I hear you. I hear what you're yelling, although I don't actually hear it because we're in space, but I do notice that you seem to be getting pretty aggravated and covering the inside of your suit's visor with angry spittle. You should probably take better care of the equipment, those humidifier filters aren't cheap.

"There's no bicycles in space, they don't make sense." Yeah, okay. I was speaking in code. You don't want to be too explicit or the Star Sheriffs will come after you, trying to slap a pair of gravcuffs on your ass. "Hur dur I just stole a bunch of small-charge individual propulsion units from this space station," is that what you want me to write here? That's how folks get caught.

Do you know how much thrust it takes to accelerate a human being from zero to not-zero? In the vacuum of space, not a whole fucking lot. That's why I only took nine. Bicycles, that is. And of course, I missed my turnoff and started floating back towards the planet's gravity well. These things happen sometimes.

Normally, I would burn my ass up falling through atmosphere, but I just so happened to have an ace up my sleeve: the several hundred kilograms of, uh, not titanium plascrete-reinforced heat shielding that I also borrowed from the Cylinder. Worked pretty well, although I can't recommend atmosphere-surfing to everyone. Maybe take a shuttle instead, because it sure chewed up my margins when I finally landed outside Ted's shop with a smouldering pile of metals and a huge hole burned in the ass of my suit, exposing my underwear with little hearts on it for everyone to see.

[autball]

Communication tip: If the person you’re trying to help has trouble communicating or answering questions, I’ve had success with this kind of approach (in whatever wording is most accessible to your person): “Hey, I know bath time is hard for you, and I really wanna make that better for you. I don’t know what exactly bothers you about it yet, but I would love it if you could help me figure it out. I have a list of some ideas of what it could be, so if I go through them with you, do you think you could tell me ‘yes or no’ for each one?” For the ones they say yes to, you can then use the same “yes or no” process for running through the ideas to help. Also, indicating yes or no can be done through gestures, pointing to cards you are holding, or even “green car for yes, red car for no.” Whatever works!

[Image description: An infographic by Autball, with words in white boxes on a blue background, entitled “Possible Sensory Triggers Around Bath Time (And Some Things to Try!).”

Water Temp (Too hot/cold) - Work with person to find a good temp.

Don’t Like Sitting In Water - Shower instead; sponge bath; wash hair over sink.

Too Bright/Don’t Want To See Myself - Lower lighting.

Bathroom Is Too Plain (Not Enough Visual Input) - Fun lighting; blacklight; glow sticks; colorful decals; bath bombs; color tablets.

Too Cold Getting In/Out of Bath - Have tub already filled or shower already running; warm towels from the dryer for after; space heater.

Water on Face - Lean head back the rinsing; rinse with pitcher instead of sprayer; cover face with hands; use bath visor cap (yes, they make these!); swim goggles.

Too Quiet/Need Different Noises - Play music; watch a show.

Room Too Loud/Echo-ey - Bring them after tub is full; earplugs; more bath mats to dampen sound; bathe (them) with shower curtain closed; hang a divider curtain to make the room “smaller.”

Don’t Like Being Naked - Wear swim clothes or oversized shirt.

Scents (Too Strong/Too Boring) - Look for a different soap together.

Touch Sensitivities - What feels gentle to you actually feels too rough to me OR I can’t stand soft touch, more pressure please!

Don’t Like What I’m Being Washed With - Change it up! Try a wash cloth, shower pouf, smooth cloth, microfiber scrubber, bare hands, etc.

Past Experiences - Even when we figure out what the problem is and are ready to make changes, people may need a lot of time and reassurance to make them feel safe enough to trust the new experience.

And if all else fails, there’s no shame in wipes and dry shampoo to get you through! Do what you gotta do to keep your peace.]

[vengeful-bog-spirit]

MY BROTHER SAID RYOU WOULD WEAR ONE OF THOSE SHAMPOO VISORS AND I COMPLETELY AGREE

[silversoulstardust]

I had a vision about Eddie and Steve as motorbike riders a couple of months ago, so I decided to write it as a countdown to valentine's :)

word count: 1.3k

*********************

If there was one thing that wouldn’t disappoint Steve, it would be his girl. She would let him ride her from dawn till dusk and dusk till dawn. She helped him mend his broken heart, that happened more often than not. Let him hug her gentle curves  as he glided down the open road, splitting the air as he rocketed his way to his destination. His ever faithful Italian girl, his bobber bike, a Benelli 900 Sei. A manufactured beauty she was, sleek black with strong metallic frames that fit just right under him. 

And right now, she was the best company he could ever ask for. As Steve took a particularly curvy road, he swayed to one side so close to the road his knee was touching the tarred ground, friction burning hot on the jeans against his skin. This was good. The adrenaline rush paired with the need to concentrate of the safety of his ride were taking Steve’s mind off his latest relationship endeavor. A failed one, at that. 

This time it lasted well over three months, and it could have been perfectly in line with Valentine’s celebration, their third monthsary, if Steve hadn’t caught her kissing another guy when he came by to her workplace to drop her a surprise lunch.

He calmly broke up on the spot with a simple we’re done, and in the bin the carefully packed lunch went. Steve was taking Robin’s advice to simply cut things off if it wasn’t  serving him purpose anymore, and someone who cheated on him barely three months into the relationship wasn’t someone he wanted to keep in his life.

So here he was now, on his best girl riding to nowhere, just so take his mind off things.

Steve exited the highway to take the less traveled road, opting to get lost for half the day before heading back after getting a hearty meal at a random restaurant, whatever that struck him fancy. Sometimes he asked for recommendations from the locals, other times he picked it because the signage looked interesting or the name of the restaurant sounded funny. There was no pattern to his choosing.

But as the splash of the first bout of rain hit his visor, Steve could tell it would derail his plan for the day. He tried to resist. He continued riding in the heavy rain, droplets of water hitting painfully against his leather jacket as he sped ahead. But a gust of wind that came with the torrential rain almost sent him sideways, and he knew fighting mother nature was futile. 

He slowed down as an overpass road came into view, with the shaded area underneath it looking inexplicably welcoming, a perfect spot to hide. His bike slowly came to a halt.  He hopped off it and pushed it to the side to have it parked away, and it was only then that he realized he wasn’t alone, his sight fell upon another beauty parked on the dirt by the side of the road. 

Steve was immediately enticed. He couldn’t help but reach out, ghosting a touch upon its purplish black body, with white fiery murals on its sides bringing it to life. It was a foreign model to Steve, and now his body was itching to learn all about it, to have it under him and ride it. 

“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” A melodious voice emerged from a shadowed area underneath the overpass, and slowly the owner of the voice materialized. With one swift move he took off his helmet, whipping his long hair back and forth a couple of times like he just stepped out of a goddamn shampoo commercial, and a smile playing by his lips. “Hi.”

It left Steve's jaw slightly agape. Thankfully, it wasn’t visible thanks to the helmet and visor. He blinked a couple of times, and swallowed hard at the sight of a beautiful man before him, with curly hair framing his sweet grinning face as he spoke about his girl. He was rocking on his heels as he tucked his hands in his black leather jackets, looking mighty excited when Steve was showing interest on his ride. 

“Hi,” Steve finally managed, after forcing his brain to come up with something. After pulling off his helmet, he ran his fingers through his hair and returned a smile to the beautiful man before him. “She really is gorgeous. All yours?”

“Yup,” he answered. He then suddenly shifted his gaze to the sky behind Steve, looking at the ever growing rain that splattered as a gust of wind blew the water stream towards them. He quickly reached out to wrap his hand around Steve’s wrist and pulled him deeper underneath the overpass. “The rain’s getting heavier. Don’t want you to get wet.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m already wet,” he gestured at his thoroughly soaked jeans. He was pretty sure he could fill a bucket with water if he were to wring out his jeans. “I’m Steve,” he introduced himself.

“Eddie,” the other guy replied, and gestured at his motorbike with his chin. “She’s Belladonna.”

Eddie patted the clearing next to him for Steve to sit. At times like this, even the slightest proximity to heat wouldn’t go unappreciated. “That’s a beautiful name. And I’ve never seen one like her before.” Steve commented, gazing at it from a distance after settling by Eddie’s side. “Is she foreign?” 

“The name came from a poisonous plant, and yeah, she is foreign,” said Eddie as he pointed at the bike. “Made in Japan. It's a Suzuki 800 Intruder. At par with some smaller version of Moto Guzzi or Ducati cruiser with a fraction of the price. Well, minus the import duty, that is, but I know a guy from work.”

“Wow. Engine?”

“V2 twin. Perfectly balanced.”

“Sounds like a sweet ride,” Steve chided.

Eddie was grinning proudly at that, eyes practically twinkling, and Steve thought he looked really cute. And wasn’t that something? He thought he was out here riding in the rain to mend a broken heart. 

“ I just got her a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve only got a day off today to finally ride her. Heading upstate to visit my uncle, but, well, you know the rest of the story,” he gestured out at the heavy downpour, with a thunder splitting the sky. 

The afternoon suddenly got a whole lot darker, and Steve shuddered at the sudden loud sound that was booming above them. After sitting still for a while, the chill from the surroundings started to get to him. He rubbed his hands over his arms up and down to generate heat. When that failed, he shoved his hands in his brown leather jacket, and that at least prevented his fingers from freezing and falling off of his hands. When he turned to face Eddie again, Eddie was already scooting close next to Steve. “Maybe this will make you feel less cold?” 

“Thanks,” stuttered Steve as he get adjusted to the sudden close proximity between them. He could clearly see the brown of his doe eyes that was staring deep into Steve’s own, his fogged up breaths filling the space between them with each word leaving his mouth. 

Steve could feel his cheeks heating up. “I really didn’t expect it to rain today.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, I didn’t really plan to ride today. Just needed to clear my mind, and suddenly, the key is in the ignition, and off I go. Not even sure where I’m headed. Was just thinking of getting one good meal at some random stop, and then turning back before going home. But at this rate…”

“Well you’re in luck, then,” replied Eddie as he kicked up the dirt and pointed at the road beyond the overpass with the toe of his boot. “There’s a small town up ahead and there’s a restaurant down the main street that sells a really mean stew.”

Steve saw an opportunity and seized his chance. He realized he quite liked this stranger, and maybe a meal before they parted ways wasn’t such a bad idea. “Well that’s it then. I have got to try this mean stew before I head back. You’re showing me the way, right? We can have a late lunch together as I tell you about my girl?”

Eddie seemed to be hopping on to the same line of thought, and it didn’t take long for the curve of his lips to morph into a teethy, dimpled grin. A gleam of excitement was reflected in his eyes. 

“My greatest pleasure, Steve.”

—----------------------------------------

Part two here :)

[moondirti]

← chapter two

masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rated: Explicit Word Count: 5.1k Summary: The Mandalorian's quarries are always more trouble than they're worth. Warnings: Canon-typical violence, anxiety, language, self-loathing, pining Notes: the lot of you have been absolutely lovely so far in the response to this story<3 I'm so glad you're enjoying it. We're coming close to publishing all of the chapter's I have on ao3 so far, so after I get chapter four edited and on here, I'll be starting on five.

As it turns out, you haven’t broken new ground with the Mandalorian like you originally thought. In fact, he seemed to be quieter post your little gossip session than he was before. 

It’s been a while since the three of you departed from Nevarro. After the first few days, you stopped checking for the time. You found that all of it was useless out here, where it’s just you and Mando trying to coexist without driving the other insane, and a fussy baby quickly growing tired of the dried rations. You couldn’t blame him either, to be perfectly honest. If you have to eat one more portion of expandable veg-meat, you are going to curl in on yourself and opt to starve instead. 

But Mando didn’t seem to mind. He managed to occupy himself; always awake and ambling around, cleaning his weapons, fixing the ship, entertaining the kid. Your most interesting pastime is watching him from the makeshift couch you made using old crates and the worn out clothing within them. It wasn’t like you have much else to do; you had already unpacked your medical supplies into an empty cupboard in the hull, then reorganised them a hundred times over. Observing the ever-silent Mandalorian is the next best thing, especially since he doesn’t seem to mind.

You aren’t the best note-taker, nor do you have the deduction skills of anything smarter than a bantha; therefore, you gain little from your studies of the hunter. You gather he’s a neat freak in the most backwards way possible - everything has its place in the Crest, even if you yourself can’t particularly discern the order of things. His visor always lingers on you a moment too long when you don’t fold your blanket post-nap, and your shampoos are always tucked in a neat row by the shower when you go for a wash. Everynight, he stacks his armour (save for his helmet) in a tidy pile before turning in, retiring in only a simple black tunic and black pants. 

Which is why you’ve decided to sleep on your makeshift couch from here on out. Without his armour, his scent has bled into his bunk, imbued within the mattress and pillows. Your first night was restless - you couldn’t sleep, no, not when you were still so desperately horny and surrounded by him. Maker, he smells delicious. Smoke, leather and clean linen, with an undertone of something masculine and heady, something that made your toes curl when you ground into the heel of your hand. You wanted to lay there forever, to drink it directly from the source instead, but you had enough sense to stop that train of thought. You were getting worked up over the phantom of him, for Kriff’s sake. It wasn’t something to be encouraged. 

So, couch it is. It isn’t too bad. The arrangement is no gunpowder and musk haven, admittedly, but you’ve made it your very own personal spot, right by the medical supplies. With your duffel bag shoved against the nearby wall, functioning as your mini closet, and your blaster tucked away between the couch and the side of the ship (‘that’s right Mando, you aren’t the only one with a weapons stash now’), you’ve affectionately dubbed it Doc’s Corner. 

The Mandalorian refused to go anywhere near it, but that’s okay too. You’d think he’d blow a fuse if he saw the pile of laundry by the back hatch.

Currently, he’s disassembling a rifle while seated on a ledge protruding from the wall across his murder closet. He’s been tinkering for the better part of an hour now, turning the arc caster over, screwing and unscrewing bolts, checking the charge then playing with its diagnostics. You are no soldier, by any means, but even you know that his work is meaningless. He’s fidgeting, occupying his hands while his mind is off somewhere distant. You think to ask for a moment, but then he slouches slightly, repositioning himself into an almost lazy stretch, legs spread and gloved fingers still expertly rigging the gun. A rough exhale rips through his modulator. Fuck. Is it normal, what that posturing does to you? That slack confidence, so self-assured in it’s abundance, is pure fucking plasma to the fire roaring at your core. You want to nestle yourself in between those hulking thighs, to run your hands up and down his legs while you choke on his cock. You could be so good for him, so opposite to the loudmouth girl who grates on his nerves every chance she gets. 

You groan, head falling back to smack against a cushion. 

“What’s wrong?” His low baritone drawl slices through the thick silence that had settled, catching you off-guard. You hadn’t meant to complain out loud, but your lack of self awareness isn’t what throws you off. It’s the question, the mere fact that he is initiating  conversation in the first place. Even the baby looks up from his place on the ground, perplexed, grubby hand clenched around a crayon that he’d been using to scribble on the papers his father laid out for him. All at once, though, the menace loses interest in whatever is transpiring between his adults and totters towards the man. He brings his arms up, claws opening and closing in a silent plea for ‘upsies’, and Mando - ever the softie - complies, pulling the kid onto his lap so that he could fiddle with a spare screw in his possession. 

Once the child is settled, that cold visor points at you again. 

Does he expect an answer? Stars, where to begin… What’s wrong? What is wrong? ‘I don’t know Mando, maybe I’m just tired of soaking through all my clean underwear at the mere sight of you.’ You’re tempted to say, but you had a feeling that wouldn’t blow over with him very well. Instead, you settle on:

“Jus’... forgot that hyperspace travel took so long. How much till the next stop?” It’s an abysmal lie; well, a half-truth. You have forgotten the time it takes to jump from one sector to another, however, your current source of frustration is more engulfing than the intricacies of space travel. 

“Day or two.” He’s petting the kid’s abnormally large ears now, the act incredibly gentle for someone so dangerous. You muse on whether he’d treat you like that, like you were something he cared for, or if he’d push your face to the floor so he could focus on only your ass. In truth, you don’t know which you prefer. 

His helmet tilts slightly, the overhead lights brightly reflected against the unpainted beskar. You know he’s studying you, taking in your sprawled body and the emotions that are probably written on your forehead in big, bold letters. Your heart suddenly smacks against your chest like it’s trying to escape. Can he smell the lust on you? Is there some sort of enhanced scent function built into that bucket of his? It drives you mad that you couldn’t read him like he could you. Hell, he can probably pinpoint your arousal and the ache in your heart with only his infrared sensors. And, hilariously enough, something tells you he likes that vulnerability, given the way he always pins your petulant ass into submission with his indecipherable steel gaze. 

“Tell me about this quarry.” Yeah, change the topic. Changing the topic is good. It’s what you need right now to gather your bearings. You pull your blanket up to your chest, curling in on yourself and refocusing your stare to the ceiling. 

“Quarries, actually. Package deal from Karga, as a gift.” He says, almost sighs. “Three pucks for three bounties in the same crew. Pirates who travel sub-light.” 

“Hm.” You can understand his hesitation, there’s a unique predicament this job introduces. Mando can’t just land somewhere and track these guys on solid ground like he usually does - no, he’d have to commandeer their ship. What’s more is that he’ll be putting you, the kid and the Crest in danger in doing so. To bring his home so close to his target was risky, regardless of whether he held the upper hand or not.

Then, as if reading your mind, he interrupts. “I’m dropping you guys off on a nearby planet and renting a ship to go seek them out.” 

Okay, no - now you’re convinced of your open-book status. Either that or Mando just always miraculously has the words to calm you (and you highly doubt that to be the case, the main words in the hunter’s dictionary are hums and grunts). Still though, the little bug in your brain preens at his plan, squirming around in a part that elicits an emotional response right above desire, to something almost akin to - alarmingly - adoration. You can’t help it, his reassurance strokes some primal instinct within you, one that festers at the display of competence Mando exudes. 

The praise slips without second thought. “That’s smart. Wouldn’t have thought of it myself.” 

He snickers. “Probably would have figured out something, clever thing that you are.” It’s uttered casually, barely above a rustle but loud enough that you know he intended you to hear it. Your jaw hinges, just a smidge, so that your mouth gapes as you blink rather dumbly at him. What the fuck did he just say? It’s a compliment, you know, you know. But it’s so out of the blue you have a hard time taking it. He couldn’t possibly think you’re as capable as him. So, it's a joke, he’s pulling some sick fucking joke. 

Clever… You aren’t clever, nor are you good in any high pressure scenario. He should know that, he should know because he’s had his life on the line too many times to count and everytime you barely kept it together. 

You can’t speak, so you gulp and laugh nervously. It sounds as unnatural as it feels. There’s nothing to say; there’s so much to say that there’s absolutely nothing that can encapsulate the state of your mind right now. Your tongue can’t dance around the abstract concepts plaguing you, can’t begin to explain the persistent anxiety that has followed you since you left Corellia. And fuck, there was that cavewoman voice again, tittering amidst the nerves and rolling to the forefront that ball of soft, squishy warmth that has grown rapidly since the last you felt it. The mix threatens to knock you out completely, so much so that you’re barely able to get your answer out in time before it becomes too awkward to continue with the conversation. 

“Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

But Mando isn’t looking at you. He’s gone back to his gun, the child gurgling between his arms. You wonder, for a grave moment, whether there will ever be space for you.  

You’re awoken by a hull-shuddering shake, a resounding crash accompanying it soon after. 

Naps are good for the average human. The average human, however, is not recommended to take upwards of three naps a day while maintaining their circadian cycle. You start to see why when your first thought following the frankly concerning disturbance is whether the baby is piloting. You almost fall back asleep too, grumbling something about irresponsible parenting before another shake of the ship rocks you off the couch completely. 

When you hit the metallic floor with a violent thud, your right knee softens your fall only slightly. That just means it takes most of the impact, though, and you can feel it. Oh maker, the searing pain that shoots up your bones as a result is visceral, white-hot and sharp. A scream tears through your throat, hands smoothing over your injury while you roll onto your back. What the fuck, what the fuck. It wasn’t enough to knock the air out of you, but still you struggle to draw in the shaking breaths your sleep-addled mind needs to find reason. Something is wrong, right? It has to be; you know Mando. At least, well enough to know that he wasn’t as reckless as this. He wouldn’t endanger the kid with something as stupid as a joyride. Shit. Did something happen to him? Is he okay? 

Of course he is, he’s Mando, he has to be, but… 

‘But what if he isn’t?’ Your mind supplies. 

For some reason, the notion overshadows all your other concerns, and you grasp on to the spike of adrenaline that racks through you, rising on weak legs. The hull is in shambles; crates have fallen over, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Chunks of metal are soaring off to one point, concentrated on the ceiling. You pause in bewilderment, but then your vision dims, the corners of your peripheral growing fuzzy, and you force yourself to find the ladder at the front of the ship before you pass out. You need to find Mando, you need to find him. Need to make sure he’s okay and that he’s got this - whatever this is. He’d be able to keep you all safe. He’d know what to do. You… You are no good in all of this; you were made for after the fight, not during. 

It takes all of your upper body strength to climb up to the cockpit. Your right leg is practically useless, the dead weight only serving to drag you down while you try and pull yourself up. By the time you reach the second level, you collapse in a decrepit pile of pity. Your lungs are working overtime now in an attempt to draw in as much oxygen as possible, chest straining with the effort. You can’t breathe, you’re so fucking helpless and weak - it’s as if all your muscles had decided to give out on you. You can’t breathe. 

The ship lurches to one side, and your crippled body goes with it, sliding across transparisteel until your spine smashes against the wall. Sciatic pangs race down your body, twisting along your femur and blazing at your lower back. It hurts so bad you can hardly negotiate the raw landscape that strobes in and out of focus all around you. The emergency red lights have flickered on at one point, blaring in tune to a nearby console alarm. Despite the chaos, only one racing thought occupies you. Mando; you need to make sure he’s okay. 

Heaving yourself up on your elbows, you begin to crawl towards the blaster doors of the cockpit until a completely opposite, overpowering reaction throws you back to phase one. The resultant g-force from the ship being out of kilter is devastating to your efforts, blowing you back and restarting your venture. You absorb the trauma each time, kicking forth anyway. You pull, and you drag, and you dig your fingers into the small holes along the floor to use as leverage. Your injured knee grates along behind you, hard-pressed into the metal, but still, you carry on. There’s a thin film of cold sweat wrapped onto your skin, the consequential shivers from it making you nauseous. You almost hurl on yourself. Regardless, you carry on. 

With some miraculous measure, you make it to the door. It feels like an hour later, but then it slides open and all rational thought returns to you, and you know it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since you were kicked out of bed. Your breath returns to you all at once, in an overwhelming gasp. Dank farrik, thank the fucking Maker and stars above, there he is. The beautiful, gleaming son of a bitch is standing above you, gripping onto the walls for extra support. You take him in frantically, giving him a thorough once over through your blurry vision. He seems okay, he isn’t hunched over more than he should be. No blood, no heavy grunts. 

Relief starts to pool, low in your gut, notwithstanding the foreboding that has begun catching up to you.  

“I heard- I… Fuck, are- are you okay? You–” You don’t think you’ve ever caught him this off-guard, like he actually has a million things to say, but you’re nodding and grabbing onto him as he helps you up. You nod even as you heave in great sobs, trying to input as much comfort in him as he did you. 

“What… What’s h-happening,” You croak out, limping along when he helps you find a seat on the co-pilot's chair. The baby is strapped into the one beside you, his mouth pulled into a frown and eyes foggy with unshed tears. Your heart tugs at the sight, like concrete is cementing itself within your atria’s. But he’s alright; that, at the very least, should count for something. All of you were well enough. 

That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet. 

“Pirates. They’re attacking. They must’ve known we were coming, they pulled the Crest in before I could-” The ship rocks once more and there’s a deafening clatter from the hull. Mando’s hand shoots to the gun on his holster, flicking off the safety. His shoulders square, and all of a sudden, he lives up to his reputation. The fiercest bounty hunter in the guild, the Mandalorian. You should cower at the sight, at the prowess and speed with which he resorts to violence. But you don’t; if anything, you feel a little of your anxiety ebb. He is so big, exponentially more so from this angle, towering over you and filling the small space, absolutely primed for the imminent fight. ‘Big strong man, ready to fight for his son and home.’ 

‘And you,’ you register. ‘He was worried about you, too.’

There’s a moment of tense silence, where the galaxy seems to still alongside you in anticipation. Then, voices fill the hull. Your eyes widen, heart staggering in its pace. 

You look up at your companion, voice hushed. “Mando-” 

He suddenly crouches to face you, free hand grasping your shoulder. His grip is tight, fingers bruising into your skin. You find that you welcome it; you need to be grounded. “Hey, listen. You stay right here, you don’t move. You keep the kid, protect him. I’m going to lock this door and you don’t open for absolutely anyone. Understand?” He’s shaking you as he speaks, panic edging the end of his syllables. You blink, suddenly unsure. Not in him, but at the insatiable anxiety that fills you with the thought of him taking on all of them alone. You snap out of your spiral when he jerks you again. “Understand?” 

“Yeah…” He is unwavering, unconvinced. “Yes. I-” You begin to stress, but he doesn’t wait for you to finish now that he's satisfied. He gets up, checks on the child, and starts for the ladder. Towards the danger. Away from you. 

The blaster doors shut behind him, an extra click informing you that they are indeed locked. It’s a little too late when you comprehend your need to follow. It isn’t bravery, no, nor was it confidence in your own abilities. In reality, you’d be absolutely no help by throwing yourself into a fight you aren’t equipped to handle. That’d only put more pressure on Mando, to both disarm his assailants while defending you. It’s a stupid, stupid, perilous urge. 

But… you want to protect him. 

As ludicrous as it sounds, you want to have his back. To do more than just wait until he gets hurt and finds his way to you. It’s some hidden part of you that pushes forth the inclination; deep-seated somewhere between your liver and your pervasive fear of fucking everything. And it half surprises you, too, with the way it defies all logic. This… This inane desire to help, to be there with him and cover his blindspots. You can’t fight - you’re fragile in all the wrong places, easily bent to the whims of whatever surrounds you - but with Mando, you feel bold enough to try and push back. He’s so solid, as durable as his beskar, a fucking force of nature that gets hurt way too many times to count, yes, but also always manages to get up and endure it. 

Those men down there, they’re nothing compared to him. They are rotten creatures - content to remain idle in space until they can prey on whatever poor, helpless innocent passes. So, of course you don’t doubt Mando can take them, you’ve never been more confident about something in your life. Somewhere outside of the bubble you’ve worked yourself in, you can hear him - those vicious punches he’s undoubtedly throwing, the clinks of his beskar and spear as he manoeuvres his way around the pirates’ flailing limbs and half-assed kicks. He’s beating their asses and doing it flawlessly, you’re sure of it. 

Even so, there is no guarantee there wouldn’t be more; he has three bounties to collect but with the size of their ship, you’d estimate there are at least thirty individuals within the crew. 

You look at the kid - the lovely little boy who’s currently so terrified he’s shut down into a whimpering silence. His little fists are balled up, gripping onto his brown sack for dear life, and the conviction comes again, tenfold - that urge to preserve. It’s remarkably maternal this time around, something more suited to your tender core, and Mando’s words swim back to you. “Protect him.” He had said. He’d given you a job, a show of faith arguably more meaningful than him entrusting you with his wounds. He’s putting his child's safety in your hands, depending on you to look after him. His child, the thing you would lay all your credits down on as meaning the most to him. 

Mando’s words come flying back to you instantaneously - not just his orders, but his rundown too. 

In that split second the revelation dawns on you, you make up your mind. 

You’d be a liability in a fight, for everyone involved. Leaving the kid up here to run head first into something you can’t handle would be foolish, even by your standards. But you can’t just sit still like Mando had asked, not when he is doing the best he can to save the lot of you. You joined him onboard in order to prevent his untimely death, remember? And you’re set on doing just that. 

Jumping up on wobbly legs, you quickly move into the pilot’s chair, strapping yourself in for the astoundingly risky plan you’ve been brewing. The kid somehow senses the sudden change, making a small sound that resembles an ‘eh?’. You shoot him a timid smile in response, not as confident as you intend because your lips quiver with the distress that still curses you. Even so, you hope it’s enough to reassure him when you turn to the console ahead. 

Mando had said something about the pirates pulling the Crest in when he had briefed you. It only occurs to you now; the metal pieces in the hull, all moving in tandem as if attracted to something beyond your understanding; the way the ship is tilted to one side, like one of its engines is hooked to a tether. If you were to take a wild guess, you’d say that these pirates use a powerful magnet to keep ships like yours captive while they pillage its innards. That’s your first problem - as long as they’re ship retains control of the Crest, their gang can keep coming through. You need to detach yourselves to cut their manpower off from the source, to give Mando a better shot at winning. 

So, either you shoot the ship into hyperspace, or you weaken the magnet they’re using. Given what you can discern about the action downstairs, one of which is more plausible than the other. That clatter earlier was the hatch being demolished, meaning a jump into hyperspace would kill everyone on board. 

Weaken the magnet it is, then. 

Granted, you aren’t an engineer. There’s a reason your father pushed you towards life sciences over the technological side of things, after all. What you do know, however, is that Mando’s vessel of preference is a pre-Imperial piece of junk. For once, this happens to work out in your favour. While most modern ships use hyperdrives to move through space-time, the Razor Crest still operates on an ion accelerator. 

An ion accelerator that produces a rather formidable electromagnetic field. 

An electromagnetic field strong enough to damage most magnetic domains.

A force that can work to set you free. 

It all sounds good in theory; but there’s a teensy little hitch. In order to initiate a field effective enough, you’ll need to prepare the ship as if it were going to make a jump into lightspeed, only to hold back at the very last moment. It comes down to mere seconds. Any hesitancy on your part can mean life or death. 

The weight of the situation is enough to make you pause. Can you really do this? Risk lives when it’s you holding all of fates’ cards? You were never good at Sabacc, luck has never favoured you. You ran out of it on Corellia, when your father had relied a little too much on such a floundering, flakey girl. His face flashes to the forefront of your mind, spurring a hollow laugh. It’s lifeless, and not made in his memory but rather directed towards the sheer ludicrousness of it all, like the galaxy has finally come to a crossroads in this orchestration of karma. 

It doesn’t matter if you’re ready, or if you think yourself capable. If this is the universe’s way of testing you, then it’s a fucked existence, but damnit, it sure does know how to pull your leg. You sneak a look at the kid, and you think of Mando, and you know that you have to. You have to. For them more than yourself; to ensure they can continue with their clan of two. 

You click three consecutive switches right by the wheel, push a glaring red button up at the front, then wrap your hand around the lever that can propel you into hyperspace. Your estimate is that you’ll only need to pull it three quarters of the way down for the accelerator to muster enough power, and the minute you feel that jolt of breaking away from the magnet, you have to be prompt in pushing it right back up and steering your asses away from that forsaken artificial black hole. The timing has to be so that the Crests’ hind is facing the pirates before their magnets have a chance to restabilize. After that, you’re sure the flames expelled from the thrusters as a result will be hot enough to permanently damage them. 

It’s a lot to do in such a short time frame. You chant the instructions to yourself in order, over and over to the beat in which you have to perform them. And when the light by your thumb turns green, signifying the accelerator's activity - essentially, giving you the go-ahead - you don’t think twice before pulling down on the hyperspace lever. 

It’s heavy. Dank farrik, the rod fucking resists your efforts to keep it midway. Your shoulder collapses in on itself as you bring your elbow forward to aid your efforts, buckling under the weight. The earlier trauma to your spine returns in full force, washing over you and numbing every nerve completely. It’s paralysing, trying to halt the unforgiving force that is hyperspace impelling itself upon you while breathing through this pain. Your ears start to ring; you feel your consciousness ebbing away now, disintegrating under the horror you faced if you fuck this up and the agony that comes with your sheer refusal not to. But the space surrounding you has almost crumpled in on itself, nearby planets slowly folding, distant stars beginning to warp. Damnit, fuck. No, no, no, no, no, no. 

The ship heaves, then lurches. 

And when you aren’t immediately dead, you come to a chilling understanding that you’re still in your predicament. Your fingers are pure white with constricted blood flow, clutched around the lever so hard you’ve lost feeling in them a while ago. If you weren’t in hyperspace, if the ship hadn't ripped itself apart completely, that only meant that the sudden movement had been…

The magnets. They’ve been weakened. It worked. 

Your victory is hardly lived in at all. You’re pushing up against the lever now with all the fucking brawn you can muster. It doesn’t budge, set on resisting your efforts and completing its objective. Stars, you’re so goddamn stupid, so fucking dumb and short-sighted that you completely neglected the actual possibility of success. You hadn’t imagined the load would be this great, that the ship would fight you this hard. You didn’t realise that the bones in your wrist would snap before you’d ever get it to budge, and that you’d keep pushing, not so much feeling the spasms anymore than you hear the cracks. You’ve started crying at some point, stomach flipped over and bile prickling the back of your throat, your tears pooling with your sweat and snot upon your upper lip. You’re a pathetic sight; inadequate and every bit deserving of the hell that awaits you. 

And then you feel your fingers prickle with life, blood rushing to the tips, eager to keep the extremities alive. Fresh, hot, searing pain follows right after, shooting up your arm as the weight eases, your body all at once feeling the agony you forced yourself to ignore. Your hand is useless, limp when it falls to the console, yet miraculously, you don’t need it anymore. The lever is being pushed back up on its own now, as if a phantom has taken pity on you, like the air has solidified around it and taken on its own tremendous strength. You have half a mind to blubber at the scene, rightfully dumbfounded by the impossibility of it all. But you’ll have time to ponder on it later. Now… Now you have to move. 

With your only remaining functional arm, you turn the yoke a full ninety degrees to the side opposite of the ship's tilt, your entire body shifting with the movement. When you’re certain the pirate’s ship is fully behind you, you engage the thrusters and pray they burn in your wake.

You can do nothing else. 

There’s no pride, nor any hint of satisfaction. It isn’t your victory to celebrate. All you’ve gained is a  ruined body, milked for all its energy. You can barely manage it; it takes the smallest remaining sanity left within you to check on the kid.

He’s passed out, slumped and snoring but alive. You’d laugh if you could, but all that absorbs you is the thought of how nice that must feel, to succumb to the darkness that has begun to overtake you too. Your rapid breaths come to a tepid slow. 

The last thing you see is the Mandalorian burst into the cockpit, beskar glinting with spilled blood and a vengeance. Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you smile. 

He’s okay.

chapter four →

[cyanophore-fiction]

“Cold Burning”

An entire space station, 70,000 people, and all they had for fuel was tritium and helium-3. O/LETS-061 couldn’t fuse helium. It wanted to, desperately, but it would boil itself alive in its own coolant before it ever achieved reaction temperature. Of course, the station’s municipal reactor could fuse helium—assuming it would ever fuse anything again after having a hole punched in it by a meteorite.

All O/LETS had left of the deuterium it needed was a single canister, enough to keep vital systems running for a little over a day. After that, the cold would set in.

Floating in coolant inside its tungsten-shielded chamber, it turned the precious canister in its claws. Its black nanite visor reflected the bluish halo of Cherenkov radiation surrounding it, displaying a worried expression in purple light. Its integrated reactor jutted from its spine like a complicated cylindrical backpack, connected to pressure tubes snaking from the ceiling which ran water through the core. Megawatts of electricity poured from the thermoelectric dynamo at the base of its spine, coursing down through the conduit at the center of its enormous tail, and into the station’s power grid.

A heavy suit of industrial protective gear covered its body, adding layers of insulation and shielding to its already bulky frame. Beneath the suit, its gray fur had become matted and itchy from days spent in the coolant tank. O/LETS thought about food, the smell of shampoo and of rinsing its coat with warm, clean water, of the fleece sheets on its mattress back in its cabin, of sleeping with its head on a pillow and its reactor powered down. It needed rest, days of rest, to finally allow its aching body to begin repairing all the radiation damage it had accrued.

Not yet.

There were feed hoses neatly stowed on spools at the walls of the chamber, most drawing from the station’s reserves of helium-3 fuel. Under better circumstances, they would supply a much more robust emergency reactor.

One bundle of hoses was extended, connected to the reactor assembly on O/LETS’s back. It could feel tritium entering its body from the connection. The fuel tasted fresh, still mostly untouched by fission decay. Its brain ascribed a sweet, honey-like flavor to the substance, with a texture not unlike carbonation that indicated the presence of mild radiation. According to the supply monitor registering in the back of its mind, the station had enough to burn for at least two decades, but it wouldn’t help when the deuterium ran dry.

[Hey, Kindjal?] it transmitted, its electronic voice crackling with radiation interference.

A spirit’s voice answered. [I hear you, Ollie. How are you holding up?]

[Switching to final fuel reserve. I think I can make it last…30 hours, maybe.]

There was a pause. [That’s right. We did the calculations together, remember?]

Blinking, O/LETS bobbed its head up and down. [Right, yeah…yeah, we did. Sorry.]

[Don’t apologize. Are you okay?]

[Not really.]

[Getting medical on it right now. We’ll do whatever we can from here.]

[Thanks.]

[Repairs to the primary reactor are proceeding as planned. It’ll be tight, but we’ll get it back up. We’re in the home stretch.]

[…Kindjal, listen. Is there any way for me to reduce my power output? Temporarily. Can we ration? Anything?]

Kindjal hesitated. When it replied, its words were slow, chosen carefully. [Every spirit on the station is already surviving on the absolute minimum, myself included. The organics are getting cold, and the air recyclers are doing just enough to keep them from suffocating. Anything less and we’ll start losing people. I’m sorry.]

[Okay. Not a problem.]

[Thirty hours, Ollie. You can do it. Medical will be in touch.]

Slotting the canister’s attachment nozzle into a matching one on the reactor assembly, O/LETS stared at the floor. It clicked its claws together, tapping out slow, sporadic rhythms. [Okay,] it said, and fled from the physical world.

Diving into the station’s softspace, the pervasive ache filling its body became distant, as though it belonged to somebody else. O/LETS could perceive the vast areas of virtual space that it wasn’t powering represented as empty, colorless non-spaces which made it wince with discomfort. A few slender branches of light sprouted from its tail, radiating out across the system. Spirits were clustered inside them, drawing a little power for themselves and channeling the rest into nodes of light which might have been heaters, water filters, air recyclers. The branches were constantly changing shape and color as the spirits routed power, arcing between stars which sprang into existence at their touch and faded in their absence.

Thirty hours. It watched its tree and kept it alive, slipping between waking and sleep.

___

Thank you for reading! This one was for @flashfictionfridayofficial ‘s prompt, “A Form of Distraction.”

O/LETS-061 (Operations/Logistics Engineering and Technical Support, or ‘Outlets’, or ‘Ollie’) is a character that’s been around in my brain for quite some time, and I’ve come to love it/them a great deal. They’re a protogen, a furry species which has built-in lore, but I like to imagine O/LETS as existing without that lore attached—sometimes as a heavily-cyberized “uplifted animal” or as an entirely synthetic being. Over the years I’ve considered changing their species, but I do enjoy the protogen look, and it’s become a key part of how I visualize them.

Whatever the hell they are, they’re an engineering specialist, a sweetheart, and often something of a liaison between organics and AI, or ‘spirits.’ For either party, having access to a reliable source of electricity can be a matter of life or death, and O/LETS-061 is, among other things, a reliable source of electricity. It isn’t always the easiest thing to be.

[littlebeethings]

I Wish That I Was Frankie's Girl

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader Word count: 3101 Warnings: None Summary: You had been in love with him since high school. Now you watch him marry and start a family with someone else. Masterlist | Ao3

You’ll never forget the pain you felt, sitting in a pew of a catholic church, watching your best friend marry someone who wasn’t you. A hot tear fell down your cheek as they kissed. You disappeared out the door before they walked back down the aisle. First looking back and then leaving out the large wooden door. Frankie was smiling down at his new wife and a sob filled your lungs. His large hand resting on her round stomach. How did this become your life?

Frankie was and always had been the love of your life. You remember quite clearly the day you met him. He had sat next to you in chemistry senior year of high school. You were always a shy person and the crush you had didn’t help. It took weeks for you to pull yourself together and talk to him about something other than the periodic table. Then you asked him about a movie that had just come out. He hadn’t seen it so you asked him if he wanted to go with you to see it. And he did.

You picked him up in your tiny beat-up car and went to get burgers and see the movie. It was a perfect night, that was until you realized he didn’t know that this was a date. You don’t know how you shrugged it off, but you did. 

“Oh, no. I didn’t. . . I don’t have time for relationships,” you remembered yourself saying.

“Okay, good,” Frankie had said. “Because I’m joining the Air Force as soon as I graduate.”

Your heart broke a little hearing that he was leaving but you quickly reminded yourself that so were you. You had gotten into your dream college and were going to study the things you loved most. You would graduate, get the job you always wanted, and then settle down.

After almost nine years and many failed relationships, you had the degree and dream job. Having watched the love of your life marry someone else you wonder if it had all been worth it.

You decided that the best way to clear your head was a long drive. So you pulled out of the church parking lot and drove until you reached rolling hills and farmlands. You rolled down the windows letting the wind roar around you and blasting the radio. Rick Springfield came through the speakers and the tears just started falling. Your jaw clenched as you held back the scream that bubbled inside you.

Frankie used to take you fishing when he was home. You would both get in his old pick-up truck and drive down country roads until you reached a secluded lake that was hardly ever used. During the drive, you would have the radio playing 80s songs and Frankie would tell you stories of the people he’s met and the good things he’s seen. You knew he often held back on some of the stories he had experienced in the service. You hoped one day he would be able to sit and talk to you about them. Not because you needed or wanted to know them but because you wanted him to be able to find trust and comfort with you.

At one point during the drive, you reached over and grabbed his ratty old oil hat from his head.

“When was the last time you washed this?” You asked, getting a hard whiff of sweat mixed with his shampoo. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either.

“Give that back.”

He reached over, trying to snatch it back but you leaned away and pulled it on over your head. You pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. The person staring back at you was foreign. She was happy. A smile shined brightly across her face and the hat. . .

“Looks good on you,” you heard Frankie whisper.

“You think?” You found him looking at you, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. You looked back at your reflection and the idea of being Frankie’s girl, wearing his hat, going home with him every night, sleeping beside him, loving him in ways friends don’t. . . it made your heart flutter and break all at once.

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him and flipped the visor up. The hat remained on your head for the rest of the day. When Frankie pulled up to your apartment that evening with you sound asleep, you still had his hat on. He gently woke you and after saying goodnight, you went inside and fell right back asleep. The hat, unbeknownst to you, was still on your head.

You wiped the tears from your cheeks and pressed a bit harder on the gas. You were being reckless, you knew. But you wanted to feel something other than anger and heartbreak.

You remembered a few years ago when Frankie showed up at your apartment one night. You had a guy that you were getting serious with over. You answered the door and found him leaning against the doorframe, eyes rimmed red and the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Frankie?” You asked, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t marry him,” Frankie said. “Please, don’t marry him.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Frankie, go home. You're drunk.”

“I mean it,” he said, adding your name to the end. “Don’t marry him.”

“Marriage hasn’t even been put on the table. Why. . . why are you doing this?’

Frankie fidgeted a bit with his pockets, mumbling something under his breath.

“What?”

He looked up at you, his brown eyes, large and soft, staring down into yours. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you since. . .”

You shook your head, tears burning your eyes.

“No,” you said. “No. You don’t get to do that, Francisco. You don’t get to come here after all this time. . . I’ve loved you since the beginning and I waited for you. I waited so long for you. And now that I’ve finally found someone who treats me right. . . No. You can’t come in here and ruin it for me, Frankie. I can’t.”

You held a finger to your lips as you took in a shaky, thick breath. 

“Go home. Go home, Frankie.”

Your name fell from his lips but you stopped him with a shake of your head. He left, like a sad puppy with his tail between his legs and your heart broken. You didn’t know if this was the right thing to do for you and Frankie, but you knew it was the right thing to do for you.

What you didn’t know, standing there watching Frankie leave, was that your boyfriend was actually planning a proposal that night. You went back inside after wiping your face free of tears and sat down at your little table. He had offered to cook dinner and have a quiet night in, something you were very grateful for. After dinner, he brought out dessert with a ring sitting on the plate.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” He had said when you turned down the proposal.

You bit your lip and ran your finger up the stem of your wine glass.

“You still love him.” “I will always love him.”

“So what, now that he’s confessed his love on your doorstep, drunk, you’re just going to run to him.” “No,” you said, your eyes finally meeting your boyfriends. “I can’t do that. I will always love Frankie. It is why I will never be able to marry you or anyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to you. But loving him doesn’t stop me from caring about you, loving you.”

“Then say yes. Marry me.”

“I can’t,” you cried. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

Your boyfriend nodded. His jaw was clenched tight. How many hearts had to be broken tonight?

“I’m going to pack my stuff and go.”

You sat at the table in silence while he packed. He stopped beside you and you thought maybe he would say something, but then he was gone. You went to bed that night, hoping that it all had been a dream. Then you woke up, cold, alone, and heartbroken.

You released the scream that had been sitting at the bottom of your throat. The car sped up and then you slowly pressed your foot to the break. The car came to a stop in the middle of nowhere. You pulled off onto a grassy bank, moved the gear shift into park, and sat there. Forehead against the steering wheel, sobbing.

Your whole body shook with each sob. You had fucked up and now Frankie was lost to you, forever.

Something vibrated and reached over and grabbed your phone, wiping the tears from your face.

“Hello?” The word was more of a hiccup than an actual word.

Santiago’s voice said your name, soft and sad. “Do you need me to come to sit with you?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m fine. I got a call and I’m needed back home.”

“Frankie was wondering where you went. I’ll. . . I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Santi said.

You bit your tongue and looked out at the horses in the field outside your wind. There were three of them racing along the fence.

“I want. . .” Santi trailed off. “I really thought it would be the two of you in the end.”

“I did too,” your voice broke at the end.

“I’ll come to check on you in a few days.” “You don’t have to do that, Santi.”

“Yes, I do. Take care of yourself, okay?”

You nodded, “I will.”

You and Santi exchanged goodbyes and then you were throwing your phone at the passenger seat. You knew he was just trying to help but knowing that Frankie’s best friend from his time in the military was rooting for you to be the one he was marrying today hurt so much worse.

FIVE YEARS LATER

You were at work, enjoying your life free of the responsibilities of men, kids, and others. It was a busy day and you were running around helping your coworkers as well as doing your own things. You were helping someone out when you got a call.

“Hello?” You asked, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

Will’s voice came through the speaker.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “But I thought you would want to know.” “Know what?” You asked.

“There’s been an accident.”

Everything around you seemed to slow and then stop. You grabbed onto the desk as your legs went numb beneath you. The room you were in was spinning and your coworker helped you to the ground.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?” Your coworker asked.

“He was drinking and got behind the wheel.” “Oh god,” you murmured.

“He’s in the hospital now. No one else was hurt.​​ The police think he saw something in the road and swerved. Wrapped the car around a tree.”

“What hospital?” You asked.

He gave you the name of the hospital and you left. You grabbed your purse, told your boss that you had an emergency, and left.

The drive to the hospital was long but you didn’t remember it. Everything around you blurred and all you could think of was getting to Frankie. 

When you got there, Benny was in the waiting room. He led you to the ICU and to Frankie’s little glass room. Will sat in one of the chairs by the window, his knee bouncing up and down. Frankie was hooked up to so many machines. A giant tube was pushed down his throat.

“Where’s his wife?” You asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Will asked.

“Hear what?”

“She cheated on him. They’ve been going through a divorce for almost a year now.”

“She cheated?”

“Since before they even met,” Will said.

“She doesn’t even know if Katie is his,” Benny added.

You moved towards the bed, gently taking Frankie’s hand in yours. Will got up and moved one of the chairs behind you.

“Thank you.”

Will nodded.

“They found something,” Will said, grabbing the clear plastic bag with Frankie’s belongings. 

You watched as he pulled out Frankie’s old oil hat. He passed it to you, upside down. Inside the front of his hat was a little wallet-sized photo of you in that very hat. You were out on the lake, sitting on the dock with a fishing pole in your hands. You were laughing at something Frankie had said. The golden rays of the sunset hit your face and the water perfectly. He took this photo and he kept it in his hat. Through missions, through his marriage, through his life. He kept you close.

“He only married her because of Katie. He didn’t want her growing up with a distant father,” Benny said. “But he always loved you.

“He was going to call it off the night before. Tom talked him out of it, said he had to be there for the kid. Funny how he and Molly married because they found out she was pregnant all those years ago. Now, look at them. Divorced too.

“Thing is, Frankie was going to call it off because he only wanted to watch one person walk down the aisle. You.”

You swallowed the thick ball of salt sitting at the bottom of your throat. 

“Can I…. Can I have a moment alone with him?”

“Of course,” Will said. 

He and Benny left and you turned to Frankie. You gripped his hand tighter and brushed some of his hair from his face.

“I gave this back to you before you were deployed. Your good luck charm. It had brought you back to me all the times before, and it brought you back to me after that one. Just not in the way I always wanted.

“I wish I never yelled at you that night. I wish I had gone after you. I wish I had gone to you the day after I broke things off. I wish I had a thousand things, Frankie, all hoping that the one change would bring us together. I am so sorry.”

You stayed in the hospital until they kicked you out. You went home, showered, ate a little, slept less, and then went back to the hospital. You did that for days. He woke when you were sitting beside his bed, hand around his and slowly dozing off. The nurse rushed in with a doctor at her heels. They carefully removed the intubation tube. 

You don’t know how you stayed calm, standing at the head of the bed rubbing Frankies head. His eyes burned into yours. He was scared, you knew.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You are okay now.”

The doctor and nurse stepped out after, giving you both a few minutes.

“What happened?” Frankie asked, his voice raw and dry.

“You were in an accident.”

“Shit,” he groaned. “I was drinking, wasn’t I?”

You nodded, continuing to brush your hand over his hair.

“Did I hurt anyone?”

“No,” you said. “You were the only one injured. You scared the shit out of me, Benny, and Will. But no, you didn’t hurt anyone else.”

“Thank god.”

Frankie closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. He squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. 

“Shit.” “What?”

“Katie. I’m never going to get joint custody now.”

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I’m just happy that you’re awake.”

Everything grew quiet and you leaned down and gently rested your cheek against his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Frankie said at the same time.

You both chuckled.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Frankie said. “I never thought it would be like this.”

“I know,” you said. “I know.”

“I wanted it to be you. I always wanted it to be you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I want that too,” you said.

Frankie pulled away from you a bit and you sat up, looking at him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his chapped lips. 

“It’s always been you, Frankie. Always.”

TWO YEARS LATER

Frankie was driving his pick up to the lake. You and Katie are sitting beside him on the bench seat. You had your arm around Katie, your hand running along his shoulder. Slowly you inched closer and closer. He could feel the cold metal of your wedding band against his neck. Finally, you struck, grabbing his hat. 

“Hey,” Frankie said, trying to grab it back.

Katie was lost in a fit of giggles. You glanced inside and found your photo still in there. You smiled, sliding it on.

“How do I look, Kitty Kat?” You asked.

“Good,” she said.

You smiled down at her then up at Frankie.

“What do you think, love?” 

“It looks good on you, Hermosa.”

You loved it when he called you that. It made your heart skip beats, but then again, your heart was always skipping beats when you were around Frankie. 

When you arrived at the lake, Katie jumped out and ran to the beach. You grabbed the picnic basket from the bed of the truck while Frankie took the fishing rods and bait box. You walked hand in hand to the dock. You laid out a blanket at the end of the dock and sat down.

“Come on, Kitty Kat, time for dinner.”

Katie ran down the dock as Frankie cast the lines and sat the ends of the poles in little holders. He sat down beside you and pulled out the bottle of wine. You grabbed the sandwiches while Frankie poured. Katie peeked into the basket and smiled.

“Chocolate?”

“After you eat your sandwich,” Frankie said.

Her face fell but quickly turned into a smile as you broke off a small piece and handed it to her. You pressed a finger to your lips and she giggled.

“You are horrible,” Frankie said.

You shrugged. “It’s my job. I’m the good cop, your. . . mediocre cop.”

“Mediocre cop?”

You smiled under the brim of his hat. Katie had taken a few bites of her sandwich and then stood up. She muttered something about skipping stones and ran back to the beach. Frankie shook his head but he was smiling nonetheless.

“What?”

“How did I end up with someone so perfect?”

“I thought I was horrible?”

Frankie leaned in close, “No. You’re perfect.”

The setting sun lit up Frankie’s warm brown eyes. Katie laughed as she threw stones. Frankie kissed you slowly and finally, you were his girl. 

[trains-boy]

Headcanon that beast oda helps Aku wash his hair

Like, no weird stuff, obviously, but he knows Aku doesn't like baths cause he's vulnerable and so he goes "if anything is gonna happen, I'll know before hand. You're safe with me, kid" or something

Also Aku, upon bathing by himself for the first time after a while with the agency (oda was on a mission when he wanted to shower), screeches so loud it wakes everyone else up. Why? Cause he got soap in his eye

Kunikida bought him one of those shampoo visor things after that

[productivelyfe]

Windshield visor

Floor mats

Seat covers

Hanes/walmart stock

Iron/food processor

Rechargeable batteries/lighter

Windshield wipers

Shop creek. Shop current possessions. Transfer/use up.

2024 Soap. Shampoo.

Too much to not create storage?? Get rid of.

Something I have but never use.. never a part of my routine? Well then, gift it.

CATEGORIES :

Use up

Gift

Donate/drop off

[gary-camille]

From Shampoo to Sunscreen: Must-Have Items in Your Toiletry Bag When Traveling Abroad

When it comes to packing for a trip, one of the most important items to consider is your toiletry bag. A well-stocked toiletry bag can make all the difference in keeping you feeling comfortable and clean while traveling. As a seasoned traveler and a knowledgeable expert in the luggage industry, I've put together a guide on the must-have items in your toiletry bag when traveling abroad.

Essential Toiletries

No matter where your travels take you, there are certain toiletries that should always be included in your toiletry bag. These include:

Toothbrush and toothpaste

Deodorant

Shampoo and conditioner

Body wash or soap

Face wash

Moisturizer (face and body)

Razor and shaving cream

Menstrual hygiene products (if needed)

It's important to check the TSA guidelines for traveling with liquids to ensure that your toiletries are compliant with carry-on regulations.

Sun Protection

Whether you're traveling to a sunny destination or not, it's important to protect your skin from harmful UV rays. Make sure to include these items in your toiletry bag:

Sunscreen (SPF 30 or higher)

Lip balm with SPF protection

Sunglasses

A hat or visor

First Aid Kit

Even the most well-planned trips can come with unexpected bumps and bruises. It's important to have a basic first aid kit in your toiletry bag. Some items to include are:

Bandaids

Antibiotic ointment

Pain relievers (such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen)

Antihistamines (for allergies)

Personal Hygiene

Traveling can come with some less-than-ideal situations, but having a few extra items in your toiletry bag can make them more manageable. Consider adding these items to your bag:

Hand sanitizer or wipes

Tissues

Insect repellent (if traveling to a high-risk area)

Earplugs or noise-cancelling headphones

Closing Thoughts

While this list is not exhaustive, it should give you a good starting point for packing your toiletry bag when traveling abroad. Remember to double-check with TSA and any other regulations specific to your destination before finalizing your packing list. A little preparation can go a long way in ensuring a comfortable and enjoyable trip.

At None, we believe that a well-organized travel bag can make all the difference in your travel experience. For more tips and ideas on travel organization, be sure to visit our website!Obviously, one of the interesting things is toiletry bag travel.

[raleeshpoy]

PAYTON Soft Adjustable Visor Hat Safe Shampoo Shower Bathing Protection Bath Cap for Toddler, Baby, Kids, Children (Multi Color)

Price: (as of – Details) Also great protect of your baby from sunscreen and haircut. Stereo hat, sump design effective and rapid separation of water, so that drainage faster, mothers more at ease. Convenient design: 4 button design, easy to wear, the mother can be based on the baby head of the different and better wear. Ear protection design: Newest design, added ear protection function, the…

[mycheerykid]

Bath time = no time for fuss or tears Parents and caretakers would agree that getting a fussy baby to get through a bath or shower without throwing a tantrum is a dream come true. But oftentimes, babies are just unhappy with water and shampoo getting all over their face. Now, with our Baby Shower Cap, you can make bath time a much faster and pleasant experience for you and your little one. Works outside of the shower too If your child is fine with getting his or her hair wet in the shower, you can multipurpose this shower cap as a cap for at-home haircuts (no hair all over the face or in the eyes) or used as a sun visor to block UV rays. Like an adorable flower Our floweresque shower cap is constructed of soft, environmentally-friendly EVA resin for a flexible, rubber-like feel and hold. The flower-petal grooves help drain water easily when wet. The cap layer is 0.12 inches in thickness and measures 12.6 x 11.8 inches (L x W). Adjustable and comfortable to wear Our Baby Shower Cap is adjustable from 11.2 to 20.9 inches in diameter, with four easy-snap adjustable buttons to fit your child’s head as he or she grows. Our cap is recommended from newborns to kids up to six years in age. Bright like sunshine Our vibrant yellow color makes your little one shine like the sun whether in the shower, outside, or inside. It’s a multi-use cap that’s sure to be appreciated. Waterproof and quick-drying Yes you read that right. Even when in the showrer, this cap repels water so that the resin doesn’t weigh down with water and render itself useless. Plus, even when wet, droplets dry off quickly. Easy to use and store in a flash. Get the product now! If you have any questions about our Product, or our service detail, please feel free to message us by visiting our Contact page and you can also visit our Facebook page.

[dvlhls]

her perfectly manicured nails raked through her auburn hair, the effortless waves sending a plume of strawberry scented shampoo in the direction of everybody sat in the backseats. steffy could feel herself staring, watching as the other girl pulled down the sun visor and checked her perfectly applied make-up in the mirror. she wiped away a smear of the shiny lipgloss from the corner of her lips, before flashing herself a smile people would pay a lot of money for. steffy subconsciously ran her tongue over her one particularly pointed canine tooth, even braces couldn’t fix it for her. louise laughed, sending vibrations through the car. it was delicate and dainty like the chime of a fairy’s bell. nothing like her hog-squealing snort. steffy shook her head, turning to look outside the window only to be caught off guard with the reflection of her own face. there she was; freckled and pixy-faced, with the worst haircut she could have possibly given herself. she wasn’t in the same league as louise. no... they weren’t even playing the same game. steffy had never felt like this before and she wanted to pretend like she didn’t know the reason why she was feeling this way. he said something, something that made louise giggle like a two year old. steffy looked over and her chest did this really irritating thing that she hated but had become an expected sensation for her recently. his goddamn stupid face. it made her feel... things. she didn’t know if she wanted to punch him or ki- she didn’t want to finish that thought. that wasn’t an option. how would she know that? you ask. well, because the way she was looking at him right now was the way he was looking at her. louise. with perfect hair, and perfect nails and her damn perfect fairy laugh. she couldn’t blame louise for being exactly what he wanted. exactly what most of them wanted. it didn’t make the pill any easier to swallow. steffy slid down in her seat, arms folded over her chest. she felt a poke in her side, connor looking down at her. “ are you okay ? ” he mouthed. her dissatisfaction of her lot more obvious than she could have realised. she gave him a tight smile and curt nod of her head, shuffling to sit back up properly. she caught a glimpse of concern lining connor’s face but he didn’t push her for a better answer, returning to his conversation about his next campaign. steffy looked back out of the window, trying her best to ignore her distorted face in the glass. they passed tall tree after tall tree, tall pine after tall pine. until they came to a break in the trees. they pulled the car in, the sensation of driving on gravel to something else, and then coming to a stop. “ we’re here ! ” somebody chimed. steffy pulled the door of the minivan open, jumping out and her feet hitting dry sand. the clear blue of the water sparkling under the high sun. swim day. because she needed to add louise in a bikini to her list of insecurities. @fusebcx​