#help me these books have a vice grip on my brain

[semipreciousartist]

Locked Tomb Meme Zine

[stayandot8]

Defrost

Genre: angsty mess

Relationship type: idol!chan x reader

Important Contents: Thank you Jellybean. I hope this lives up to it. It's short but...eh...

WC: 1.5k

Part Two l masterlist

This apartment had dropped ten degrees since he left. No matter how much I turned up the thermostat, it was always freezing. The winter months had been the hardest, when no amount of layers would help. Bundled in several coats all day long and curling up on my couch with a hot mug was starting to become a habit, the norm. The frost of the previous night was slowly but surely starting to melt from the early spring sun.

Christmas time had been the worst. My family asked every question that was certain to rip my heart out all over again. A slew of ‘where’s Chris?’ or ‘when is Chan getting here? I’m excited to meet him’ everywhere I turned, impossible to escape. My mother had to intervene, the angel that she was. I couldn’t bring myself to answer their attacks, knowing no answer would suffice. I didn’t even have one myself, not really.

That night was a bur. All I could remember was my emotions taking control of my brain and my mouth. A flash of you’re home late again and I didn’t realize I had to answer to you and words coming out faster than either of us could think first about the repercussions, all things neither of us meant. Bitter tones, angry words, and a slammed door later, I told him I needed space. I didn’t mean months, but months I was given all the same. And then, he stopped completely. That was when I missed him the most. But by the time his calls and texts had faded, I was too late. 

So now I was alone. Alone to face every holiday family gathering, every unbearable question, alone to fix this vice grip on everything good. Nothing helped. Not the condolence texts from his friends that had become like family while I was so far from mine. Eventually they stopped too, to be ignored at the bottom of my contact list. Sometimes I thought I missed them more than I missed him, but then I would find something of his left over in my pantry or bathroom and that thought would disappear faster than it came. 

Today was no different than the past several months. Mug in hand and staring at the several books on my coffee table that I had started and left unfinished while trying to sleep. I couldn’t bring myself to pick one up, my favorite glaring at me from the center of it all. The comfort of the familiar pages was doing nothing for me. Nothing that used to bring me comfort from that time in my life, the need to find other things just another pressing matter to go to the top of the list.

Another thing to add, another day to get through, another passing hour to fill with menial tasks that mean nothing in the grand scheme of the pit that had become my life. Each day was the same, any day I wasn’t working was just looking forward to the next time I went in for something to fill my mind with. I believed the thoughts of him would die down eventually after all this time but they only dulled in how vivid they came back. Now they were just getting blurrier and fuzzier, details not coming in their entirety until I slept and my subconscious snuck them into my dreams. Then they came back in full force. 

What I wasn’t expecting was a text from Hyunjin with a video attached. 

Hyunjin: This is how it’s been. Please come home. We miss you.

The video was from a lower vantage point, clearly taken without the subject’s knowledge. The subject being my ex boyfriend, sitting at his desk at their studio and seemingly looking at the screen but not moving. His back was to the video so his face was hidden underneath the shadow of his hood pulled up. 

“Chan-hyung?” A voice called from behind the camera. The hooded boy didn’t move, still staring at the screen. “Channie-hyung?” A few seconds passed, the image still the same, then the video ended and the picture of my ex was still on my palm-sized screen. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It was the first time I’d seen him since he left. It was like I was still there, in his presence. I was sure if I just reached out, I could touch his shoulder and he would smile at me, like nothing had happened. Everything would be fine.

I couldn’t bring myself to click out of the video, so I just continued to stare until the screen became a blur and my cheeks were wet. I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but as with everything lately, I was wrong. I hugged my phone to my chest and curled up against my couch pillow until I drifted off, chased by dreams of when my life was simpler, everything felt right, and I was in love.

*

My love was waiting for me, standing with his hands in his pockets, swaying to some song playing in his head and watching the people go by. His denim outfit was unusual but a welcome change to his wardrobe. The boardwalk was loud tonight, a carnival happening around me as I walked to him. The lights are bright and chatter even louder. Children walking around with cotton candy and all kinds of fried foods. I would have to convince him to try one with me, which wouldn’t take much. He always listened to me when it counted. 

He was looking around expectantly. He had his closed-lipped smile on and his eyes were shining, from the reflection of the lights or something else that made my feet so light I was surprised I was still walking on the old wood. He was waiting for me, I just knew it. He was right there in front of me. If I could just get to him…

But the closer I got, the more he stayed at the same distance. Still waiting, still eager. I was walking, I knew it, but my feet weren’t moving. I looked down to see my feet now having some sort of gravitational pull of their own. I was lifting with all of my might, baffled by how this force had suddenly come to be, but it was no use. I glanced up to find him to call his name, somehow get his attention. But he was no longer leaning against the railing where I had spotted him. No, I thought. Not again. 

I open my mouth to call his name but no sound comes out. My throat is empty of words, empty of air. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

My voice is lost. I am helpless. He is gone.

*

When my eyes finally cracked open, the tears I had cried in my subconscious broke the barrier into the real world. The trail of dried tears now made wet again. It was one thing to cry in my dreams, or nightmares, but for them to cross over and be made real…

I sat up, the moonlight now peering through my blinds. My empty cup sat on the table, as lonely as I felt. I was tired. I was so, so tired. Tired of being alone, tired of running from something I wanted. I wanted him back. I needed him. I couldn’t deny it anymore. 

But it had been so long. Would he want to talk to me after all this time? Would he even have my number still? Was he trying to move one, but was unsuccessful?

Like me?

I moved my feet in the ground, finding a solid footing and relieved to feel no extra pull on them . It had been such a vivid dream, the beginning looking so familiar. One of our better days, that carnival was so fun. We both had eaten so much funnel cake that we got sick when we got home. Whether it was that or the four rides we went on after that, I didn’t know, but it was the first time I had the opportunity to take care of him for once. He didn’t let me very often, but seeing him lying on the bathroom tile awakened something in me that I couldn’t ignore. After that, I took any chance I could to do for him what he did for everyone else. 

I missed that. 

There wasn’t much else to do now. I could either stay in this place of severe depth, or do the one thing I knew would fix it. One of two things would happen: he would answer or he wouldn’t. I would have my answer either way.

I felt that familiar pull of gravity. Not on my feet but on my arms. And in the other direction. Before I could think too much, they were bringing the phone to my ear. It rang and rang and rang, going to voicemail eventually. I waited until the beep and said the only thing that came to mind. 

“I miss you.”

And that was it. I hung up and left my phone on the table, going to my room where I could pretend I didn’t just do what I did. I ended up leaving it there all night long, trying to ignore it and drowning out my thoughts with mindless television and movies of peoples’ lives that felt much less complicated than mine. 

*

Chan: I miss you too. 

[myrmica]

do you have any tips for getting better at drawing anatomy? your poses are always so fluid and realistic

first of all THANK YOU!!! that makes me happy to hear!

under the cut because i got long winded... i hope something in here is useful! some of it may stray from the point, and i have no idea what stuff you already know.

in my experience a lot of it is about paying attention to form/volume. at one point or another i realized i vastly prefer art that emphasizes this, as opposed to flatter more stylized anatomy, as far as things i want to emulate in my own work go (flat styles can be cool when other people do it; this is a huge thing with art i think, developing a sense of discernment when it comes to the art you Want To Make versus the art you like but wouldn't want to mimic...)

so i add contour lines to everything i draw as i sketch because it helps me figure out where the object is in space, in relation to the viewer. doing this immediately establishes where the subject is in relation to the "camera" because lines curving one way mean you're looking up at something, and vice versa. if you've ever seen the coil method of foreshortening before, it's the same principle.

while construction lines won't always be there in a finished piece, you can communicate form in the curves of your lines. the round end of a sleeve is a countour line, so are fabric folds (although they have their own volume too), etc.

the feeling of looking up at someone, or their arm moving towards you, or their back turned away from you, that's where a lot of tension and dynamism comes from--some of the "fluidity."

another thing is to focus on weight, and how things interact when they touch... if you grip someone's arm, how does the skin fold/warp under pressure? can you actually draw it doing that, instead of leaving the arm being grabbed unaffected? stuff like that. a huge inspiration for this (and i think it shows in some of the artistic choices i've been making lately) is margot maison's work. like, check out this panel from bora the brain:

or this one of mine, where i just grabbed my own arm like that to see how it felt and what the skin did...

these are both examples of smaller details but the same principle applies any time you're drawing two people touching, or even a bent leg where the thigh and calf meet. i'm more interested in how skin/fat moves around than i am in getting the nitty gritty details of muscle groups and bones right. knowing the muscles and bones certainly HELPS; my personal favorite bones are the radius and ulna in the forearm, and keeping the way they move in mind Is useful because it reminds you that the arm isn't a uniform tube shape, it's a flat rectangle type thing, and it'll look wider or narrower depending on the angle... etc. see pronation/supination gif below:

they get recomended all the time but the morpho books are my favorite reference for doing actual intentional anatomy practice & in redrawing stuff from them a ton of tricks for constructing bodies have stuck in my head. like, here i was focusing on how they simplify the shoulder/armpit in relation to the ribcage:

(you can download most of 'em for free off of libgen btw.)

you can also get something kinda special drawing bodies from life. if you don't have other people to draw, your own hands/legs work too, and it's good for foreshortening and perspective because you're always seeing them in relation to your own viewpoint:

granted both this and the morpho studies are things i find fun to do. on the off chance that you're someone who finds studies tedious or boring, rather than pushing through it you might want to paint a character you like onto the pose you're practicing or something like that to keep yourself invested?

i also use references gratuitously. usually many pictures at once, where i'm combining them to get the pose i want. either just referencing different photos as i draw different things or literally editing them together depending on what it is. over time, i've gotten better at coming up with dynamic and interesting poses without a ref, because using them has built up my understanding of the body (it's actually way easier IMO to draw a dynamic pose without a ref than it is to draw a dude just standing there without one ?!)

there's sort of a push and pull for me between accuracy/realism ("can the arm Actually bend that way???") and exageration/stylistic liscense ("if it doesn't, does it look cooler like that?") where it helps to KNOW if you're drawing something that isn't technically "anatomically correct."

there's also a lot to be said for tracing over photos for practice!

thank you for the question, i love to talk about these things ^_^

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Hand in hand - Chapter Five

Pairings: Peter Maximoff x Reader, side Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr

Work Summary:

It’s not always easy, but someday this will all be worth it.

Sequel to Hold a Lover Close.

Chapter Summary: Your baby is on the way.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2637

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @trashmaximoff @kaischeetos @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @raincoffeeandfandoms @josephines-simps-fics @mrs-kai-anderson @fauxcongenialite @cursedandromedablack @ifilwtmfc @ang3l1te @missryerye @rottenstyx

Taglist info

Notes:

Sorry if there are any mistakes in this, I keep reading over it but my brain just won't engage. Warnings for gross birth stuff.

---

“You’ve got to breathe, babe. Remember the breathing?”

“Pete, I am breathing.”

Sitting in the backseat of your dads’ car, Peter had a vice-like grip on your hand. Erik was driving at a far more leisurely pace than Peter wanted him to.

Your dad, sat in the passenger seat, assured you that you didn’t want to get to the hospital too early or they might send you home. He’d already called ahead, and the hospital were expecting you.

Your contractions had been steadily getting more regular for the past hour. Peter had paced anxiously up and down your living room until Magda had assured him that the baby was a while off yet.

It was only when your contractions started to last around 60 seconds that your collective parents agreed it was time. Your dads agreed to take you and Peter to the hospital, while Magda dropped the girls off at their house.

“Can’t you go faster?” Peter whined. His leg was bouncing up and down, until you set a calming hand on his knee. He stopped then, and covered your hand with his own.

“I’m already going five over the speed limit. I’m not about to get my whole family killed on the way to the hospital,” Erik snapped. That shut Peter up.

As you pulled into the hospital car park, Peter jumped from the car before it had even fully stopped. He sprinted around to your side to help you out of the car.

“I’m fine, Pete. Stop fussing,” you said, swatting his hands away. As you pulled yourself upright using the car door, you watched him swallow and step back from you.

Feeling a little guilty, you reached out and took his hand. He squeezed your hand in response.

Erik was helping your dad into his wheelchair. You could see that Peter was desperate to whisk you inside, but he didn’t say anything. When your dad was situated, Peter put an arm around your waist as he guided you towards the hospital entrance.

Thankfully, your room was ready for you when you arrived. Peter held your hand while the doctor checked the dilation of your cervix. 6cm. You were well on your way.

Still, it wasn’t quite time yet. You covered yourself up with your blankets again, feeling self conscious. Your dad parked himself by your side and took your hand in his.

“You feeling alright, sweetheart?”

“Bit scared,” you admitted. “But I’ll manage.”

Peter grabbed your other hand and squeezed. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said, sounding a little uncertain.

“Yeah, Pete.”

You leant back into your pillows. You were feeling pretty tired. It was getting late, after all.

You were sure he didn’t notice it, but Peter was bouncing his leg again. Out of the corner of your eye, the movement agitated you.

“Can you sit still?” you asked, harsher than you intended.

Peter froze. “S-sorry.”

You gritted your teeth. Tired and anxious, you couldn’t bear to have to carry Peter’s emotional state as well as your own. In fairness to him, he wasn’t asking you to.

He’d been so good to you for the past few months. You tried not to feel guilty for snapping. You had both been expecting this.

Your dad cleared his throat. “Peter, why don’t you go and grab some snacks from the vending machine? I think Y/N needs an energy boost.”

“Of course,” said Peter, getting up immediately.

“Pete?” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Could you get me a puzzle book from the little shop? I could use something to occupy my mind.”

“Of course.” He kissed your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

There was a small shop near the reception area of the hospital that sold snacks and also books and newspapers. Peter picked up a book of puzzles. It was entirely wordsearches. He frowned and picked up another one, which had a variety of puzzles. There was also a sudoku one, and another one that had a different range of puzzles.

Peter could feel his breathing starting to speed up as he considered his options. Should he go back and ask you which one you wanted? That might annoy you. He didn’t want to bother you with unnecessary questions. He could get one of each, but then you might be upset about him wasting money. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing.

“Peter?” He looked up to see his dad standing at the end of the aisle, holding three cups of coffee. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I…” Peter’s voice trailed off. “I don’t know which one of these to pick,” he said, gesturing to the puzzle books. “I don’t wanna choose wrong.”

“Peter,” said Erik, closing the distance between them and handing one of the coffee cups to him. “You know where I was when your mother was in labour with you?” Peter shook his head. “I was at a conference. Magda told me not to go, but I thought it would be fine. You weren’t due for another two weeks, but she knew you were on your way. You always were in a hurry to get where you were going.” Erik chuckled sadly. “I missed the delivery. I got on a plane home as soon as I heard she was in hospital but by the time I made it, she was already holding you in her arms.”

Peter frowned. “Mom never told me any of that.”

Erik sighed. “I think she didn’t want you to lose respect for me. And I feel guilty about that every day. I know I haven’t been the best father. I’m trying to do better, but I know there’s a lot of work to do.”

“Dad-”

“But you, you’re not like me. You’ve been there for Y/N every step of the way. I can see how much you love her. And you’re great with kids. Just look at how much Lorna adores you. You’re much more like your mother than you are like me, and I’m thankful for that every single day. Being a parent isn’t going to be easy, of course not. But I know you can do this.”

Peter rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. Standing here with his father, he felt like such a child. “Thanks dad,” he murmured.

“You know what you’ve got to do, kid.”

Peter nodded and grabbed one of the variety puzzle books. It was slightly thicker than the other one, so hopefully it would provide more entertainment. He then grabbed a handful of your favourite candy bars, and some small bottles of juice, paid, and then headed back to your room, feeling fortified.

You had your eyes closed, leaning back against the pillows. Your dad wasn’t with you. It was late, and Peter knew you were tired, so he set the book and the snacks down on the bedside table as quietly as he could and then took up his seat next to you. The coffee that his dad had given him was still too hot to drink, but Peter had never been patient, so he burnt his tongue when he took a sip.

As he winced, he heard you say, “Did you burn yourself?” and turned to you.

“A little,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” You took the puzzle book from the table and pulled off the pen that was taped to it. “I’m bored. Help me with this crossword?”

“Of course.” He shuffled his chair closer to you. He wasn’t very good at crosswords, or any kind of puzzle really. He could never sit still for long enough. But he gave it a good go. By the time your dads made their way back into the room, you were almost half done.

“Dad, what’s the capital of Denmark?” you asked. Of course, you could’ve googled it, but that would take the fun out of it.

“Copenhagen,” said your dad.

“Right.” You moved your pen over the little white squares to fill it in, but stopped. Your fingers clenched around the pen, and you closed your eyes. Peter was saying something, but you couldn’t focus on it. A warm hand curled around yours, pulling the pen and book from your grip.

“Are you alright?” Peter’s voice was close to you now, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Hurts,” was all you were able to say.

“I’ll get the nurse,” said Erik.

Tears were rolling down your cheeks now. Peter took your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you liked.

“Is it a contraction?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s worse than the other ones.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He brushed away your tears with his thumb. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He didn’t let go of your hand the entire time the nurse was checking your cervix. He only let go when they told him it was time to move you to the delivery room, and even then it was grudgingly. You crossed your hands over your belly, and whimpered with the pain.

*

Peter didn’t let go off your hand from the moment you started to push until the moment your baby daughter was passed into your arms. Your eyes went wide as you looked down at her, still covered in blood and so, so small.

You heard Peter’s sharp intake of breath as he looked down at her for the first time. She felt so small and fragile, and you were scared that you would break her.

It was almost a relief when the nurse took her from your arms to clean her up. As soon as she was gone, you missed her warmth, and you felt a shuddering sob escape your lips.

“Babe?” Peter was looking at you. You were staring down at your empty arms, tears spilling over. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You just shook your head. He took your hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

In truth, you were exhausted. You didn’t have the benefit of coffee, and it was well after 3am now. You just wanted to sleep. When the nurse came back with your baby girl, Peter took her into his arms.  

“We’re going to get you cleaned up, okay?” said the nurse, in a gentle voice. “And then you can try feeding her.”

“Okay,” you said wearily. You leant back against your pillows and shut your eyes.

*

You awoke with a jolt a little while later. They had put you in a clean hospital gown, and you were back in the room you’d been in before the delivery. Your dad was by your bed, and said your name as soon as you sat up. Peter, who had been dozing in his chair, sat bolt upright and rubbed his eyes.

“How long was I asleep?” you asked.

“About an hour,” said your dad. His tone was soft, as if he was scared to wake you, although you were already awake. You looked over at Erik. He was holding your baby, rocking her gently in his arms.

“Can I?” you asked, holding out your hands. He passed her to you.

“They said you should try to feed her, if you feel up to it,” said your dad. “If not, they have formula.”

“I want to try,” you said. You looked from your dad to Erik, feeling embarrassed.

“Do you want some privacy?”

“Please,” you said, grateful.

“We’ll be right outside if you need us.”

You watched as your dads left the room. Peter shifted his chair closer to your bed. You didn’t look at him as you readjusted your grip on your daughter and pulled out your breast. Gently, you coaxed your nipple into the baby’s mouth. Her eyes stayed closed, but she latched on, and began to suck. It was a strange sensation. Something primal had ignited within you; a need to protect, to nurture, to love. You couldn’t take your eyes off her as she fed.

“She looks like you,” said Peter, soft and adoring. “So beautiful, just like her mama.”

“Her mama isn’t all that beautiful right now,” you said, half-joking. You felt as though you’d been split in half. Your body was aching and exhausting, you were sweaty, and your hair was a mess.

“Nonsense. You’re perfect.” And with the way he looked at you in that moment, you believed him.

Once you’d fed and burped your daughter, Peter put her down to rest in the little cradle the hospital provided. Your dads went home to get a few hours sleep, and Peter curled up on the armchair in the corner of your hospital room. Feeling strangely empty and cold, you pulled the blankets up under your chin, and slept.

*

You awoke to the sound of your baby crying. Sunlight was shining in through the blinds, and you sat up, dazed. Peter was standing by the window, your daughter in his arms.

“I think she’s hungry,” he said. “I already changed her diaper. It was…” He shuddered, dramatically. “Traumatising.”

“Give her here,” you said in a playful tone. He obliged.

As you began to breastfeed her, he said, “Our family showed up about half an hour ago, but you were asleep. I sent them to go get breakfast. The nurse said that once you’ve eaten and you feel strong enough, we’re free to go.”

“That’s good,” you said. Your daughter’s hand flailed around, so you took it in yours. She was so small that she could barely wrap her fingers around your thumb. Your heart felt so full it might burst. “I really want a shower. A proper shower.”

“I’ll ask the nurse to bring in your breakfast.”

Breakfast was bread and jam. It wasn’t much, but it filled the emptiness inside you. Peter held the baby while you ate, but set her down in the cradle afterwards so that he could help you dress.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table, with a text from his dad saying that they were outside. Once he had your approval, he texted him back, telling him to come in.

A few moments later, Erik led the way in, leading Magda and the girls in behind him. Your dad brought up the rear. Magda was crying as she picked up your baby girl. Wanda wrinkled her nose in disgust at the strange, misshapen creature in her mother’s arms. Lorna was more curious than anything.

“Alright, alright, I’m ready to get out of this damn hospital now,” you said, half-jokingly. Magda strapped your daughter into her car seat, and Peter carried it from the room.

The seven – eight – of you made your way out of the hospital and across to the parking lot. You, your dad, Peter and the baby were taking one car, while Erik, Magda and the girls took the other. At least, that was the plan, until Lorna begged her mother to let her ride with you.

She took to being an aunt with great gusto. Under Peter and Magda’s careful supervision, she was allowed to hold the baby all by herself, which she took great pride in.

As exhausting as it was to be around all of these people, you were thankful that your family was here. It meant that you could shower as soon as you were home without worrying about your baby. When you awoke from your nap to feed her, your dad was holding her.

Even when Erik and Charles and Magda and the girls all left to go home, you knew they were only a phone call away.

The first night you spent as a family – you, Peter and the baby – you got an early night. You fell asleep with Peter’s arms curled around you, breathing him in. Your baby slept soundly in her crib. For that, you were grateful. You were grateful for a lot of things. Peter, most of all.

[maybeimamuppet]

and this burning inside me would usually fade (but it isn’t today)

hello everyone!! i hope you’re having a great day!! 

welcome to technically the first thing i ever wrote for this fandom and just didn’t finish until now lol

tw for

sensory overload/meltdown

mentioned child abuse/neglect 

and please let me know if i’ve missed anything so i can add it!! :) 

enjoy!!!

—————

“Matilda?” Jenny asks when Matilda slams the door to her office open in a frenzy. “Darling, what’s the matter?” 

“Everything’s too loud!” Matilda yells before breaking down in tears. “My brain is fizzing again but it’s not a good fizzing, i-it’s a bad fizzing and-and it’s meant to go quiet now and it’s not and it won’t stop!” 

Jenny stands and rushes over, gently ushering her further into the room and closing and locking the door behind her. She crouches down to Matilda’s eye level. 

“Help,” Matilda sobs. She doesn’t say anything else, but that’s plenty. 

“Can I touch you?” Jenny asks softly. She thinks she’s familiar with what Matilda is going through. She recognizes the panic in her eyes, the tension in her little body. It makes her heart ache, seeing her six year old hurting in this way. 

Matilda nods frantically, practically pitching herself at her. Jenny takes her into her arms and holds her close, giving her the tightest hug she can muster. Tight enough to hug all the air out of her. 

Matilda clings to her and weeps into her neck. Jenny stands and takes Matilda with her. She slowly closes all the blinds on the open windows to darken the room, and turns on a fan for some soothing white noise. Silence would be preferable, but Jenny isn’t about to tell the other children outside to stop enjoying their recess time. This will just have to do. 

She heads to the calm down corner she replaced the Chokey with and settles amongst the cozy cushions with Matilda firmly in her lap. 

“You’re going to be alright, I promise,” Jenny murmurs into Matilda’s hair as the young girl continues weeping into her shoulder. 

She looks around the room as she gently rocks Matilda side to side. She’s half expecting to see things start floating or to be hit in the head with a book or something, but Matilda hasn’t been able to do her telekinesis since the downfall of The Trunchbull, much to the disappointment of the young girl. Jenny reassures her every day that she’s still a superhero even without magical powers. 

She wishes she could be a hero here. Matilda’s little fingers are digging into the skin of her back. Not enough to hurt, but enough that Jenny knows she’s truly desperate. Afraid. 

It feels wrong, almost. Matilda may only be six, but she’s strong. Beyond strong; she’s mighty. She’s practically a hurricane in the body of a little girl. And here she is, reduced to hysterical tears as she clings desperately to Jenny.

Jenny squeezes her closer. Matilda squeezes her too, as if squeezing her hard enough will get the comfort she desperately needs to seep out of Jenny like a sponge and directly into her. 

It doesn’t seem to be working fast enough. Matilda is getting more and more worked up the longer this continues. Jenny knows why. It’s a terrifying combination of sensations; especially in a young mind, and even more so when there’s no end to it in sight. 

She lets go of Matilda with a single arm to reach into a pocket of her cardigan. Matilda pauses when she feels the familiar faded white fabric of the scarf slip around her little wrist. She grips it like a vice, slipping the silky bit between her fingers and running the pads of her thumbs over the scratchy glitter woven through the fabric. 

And after a while, it does seem to help. Matilda calms on her own terms. Her desperate sobs slow to choked whimpers and gasps for breath; her harsh grip loosens as she gradually starts to go limp with exhaustion. Jenny gently pulls her face away from her neck when she finally gives a last sniffle and gently wipes her tears. 

“Goodness, my little firefly,” she murmurs. Matilda sniffles and leans into her hand as Jenny gently strokes the tears off her cheeks. “That was intense.” 

Matilda nods and sniffs again, resting her little head back against Jenny’s shoulder. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Jenny asks gently. Matilda seems to consider this for a moment. Jenny doesn’t press her. Matilda may be a genius, but for all her love of reading, reading herself and her own emotions remains a struggle for her. She eventually shakes her head gently against Jenny’s shoulder. “Alright.”

“I want to go home,” Matilda chokes against her neck. 

“I know, darling, I know,” Jenny hushes, gently pressing her lips to her hairline. “I’d ask Mrs. Phelps to take you, but she’s on the other side of town today.” 

“I’ll be alright,” Matilda says softly. 

“You will,” Jenny agrees. “But you aren’t right now, and that’s alright too.” 

“I don’t want to bother you.” 

“You could never bother me, darling,” Jenny replies sadly. “It’s my job to take care of you.” 

“But-”

“No buts, young lady,” Jenny insists. “You’re going to stay right here and rest until it’s time for us to go home.” 

Matilda is quiet again. Jenny knows Matilda feels like a burden, another thing they’re both working through. Eventually, she feels a little, “Okay.” mumbled into her neck. 

“Good girl,” Jenny says. She primps up the beanbags and rests Matilda on top of her makeshift bed. Matilda cuddles the yellowed white scarf like a teddy bear as Jenny gently covers her with her cardigan. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” Matilda echoes softly, finally giving the faintest of smiles. Jenny stays until she drifts off to sleep and hopes she dreams of simple, comforting things. 

It’s easy to forget how young Matilda truly is. How much she’s seen in her short life. Jenny is beyond proud of the strong, impenetrable front that Matilda puts up, but she knows that behind it is a frightened little girl in desperate need of love and care. 

And as Jenny does everything she can to help the one in front of her heal, she feels the one mirrored inside herself begin healing too. 

She watches as the tension fades from Matilda’s small frame, as the worried lines are etched away from her angelic little face. She gently kisses her forehead before she returns to her desk to keep going with her work. 

—-

Matilda wakes from her nap after about an hour. Jenny can’t find it in herself to make her return to classes, so she allows the little girl to stay with her. Matilda helps tidy her desk, and double checks her math on the monthly budget for her. 

She’s reading Jenny’s personal copy of Anne of Green Gables in the corner as the day comes to an end. 

“Time to go home, darling,” Jenny says gently. Matilda looks up and carefully marks her place with one of the special bookmarks they had made together before she takes Jenny’s outstretched hand. 

Jenny tries not to worry as Matilda is practically silent on their walk home. Matilda usually spends it prattling off facts about the trees or bugs or birds or whatever she can see around them, or talking about the twist in whatever book she’d been reading most recently, or talking about what she’d learned in her advanced classes that day. 

Today she’s quiet, simply holding hands with Jenny as she trudges through the tall grass towards their home. 

Jenny unlocks the front door when they arrive. Matilda hangs her book bag on her hook and takes off her shoes. Jenny hangs her purse on the next hook and takes off her shoes as well, resting them neatly next to the little Mary-Janes. 

“Do you think I’m strange?” Matilda asks as she sits at their kitchen table to wait for Jenny to make tea. 

Jenny pauses with the kettle in her hand. She knows Matilda is too smart, too clever, can read her too well, for her to answer with her gut instinct of, “No.” 

As she grabs the cups down from the cabinet she comes up with her response. “Do you think you’re strange?” 

“…Yes,” Matilda says. “But don’t you think I’m strange?” 

“Yes, I do,” Jenny says simply. Matilda blinks in surprise at the bluntness of her answer and furrows her brow at her reflection in her tea. 

“Oh.” 

“And I am too,” Jenny continues. 

“No you aren’t,” Matilda protests suddenly. 

“Aren’t I?” Jenny hums, raising an eyebrow at the little girl. Matilda blinks at her. Jenny can practically see her neurons firing rapidly behind her eyes. “Tell me some synonyms for strange.” 

“Abnormal,” Matilda recites immediately. “Unusual. Bizarre. Atypical, weird, deviant, irregular. …Different.” 

“Exactly. Different,” Jenny says. “You’re different. I’m different. Everyone’s different. And everyone’s strange, in their own way. It’s those strangenesses that make us… us.” 

Matilda is quiet again. Jenny gently reaches out her hand for her, fingers arched in the shape of a loose claw. Matilda looks up and gently presses the tips of her own against them. It grounds the little girl enough to look into Jenny’s eyes. 

“You are strange,” Jenny says softly. “But you’re you. And you’re an absolute miracle, Matilda.” 

Matilda gives her a half smile and takes a drink of her tea. They hold hands as they finish their drink in a peaceful quiet. Matilda finishes hers first and comes to settle on Jenny’s lap. Impishly, she takes and sneaks a sip from Jenny’s mug as well, giggling faintly as she earns herself a gentle bop on the nose. 

Jenny downs the last of her tea and cradles Matilda in her lap. Matilda rests her head against her shoulder contently and asks, “Why didn’t my powers come back?” 

“What?” Jenny asks. 

“Earlier,” Matilda says. “It felt the same. Like my brain was too big to fit and was gonna burst completely out of my head, but I couldn’t do my magic. Nothing happened.” 

“I’m not sure, darling,” Jenny says. “Why don’t you tell me what happened before you came to see me, and we’ll see what we think?” 

“I felt… strange, when I woke up this morning,” Matilda begins. “Like all my senses were… working harder. The birds felt louder, and I-I could feel every little teensy crumb on my toast at breakfast, even on my littlest fingers.” She wiggles them to demonstrate. “And I couldn’t learn in class. The teachers were talking, but I couldn’t really hear them because everything else was just as loud, and then it was lunchtime and the cafeteria was too loud, and I got scared. It felt like… something inside me… something inside me… broke.”

“And that’s usually when your powers came out? When you felt that breaking?” Jenny asks. Matilda nods. “Did you ever have that happen before your powers?” 

Matilda thinks this over for a moment. “I’m not sure. I-I think, maybe. Sometimes when… when my…” 

She trails off. The subject of Matilda’s biological parents is still sensitive for her, and Jenny doesn’t press her. Matilda talks when she feels the need to, and beyond that, Jenny doesn’t feel a need to bring them up. 

“Sometimes when they’d yell,” Matilda continues softly. “I’d feel the burning, but… I couldn’t do anything. Scream or cry or get it to stop. Even when I broke inside.” 

“I’m starting to think,” Jenny begins softly. “That maybe your powers weren’t connected to your brains at all.”

“What? But-”

“I think they’re connected to your heart, Matilda,” Jenny says. “You’ve had this fizzy feeling, this… scary breaking inside feeling, before and after you had your powers. But you only had the powers when you knew people you cared about were hurting. Your heart wanted to protect them, and yourself, and it knew you could. So it… gave you a special little gift. And now that you and your loved ones are safe, you don’t need the powers anymore, and you’re just left with the… feeling.” 

“Then what is it?” Matilda asks, looking curiously into Jenny’s eyes. 

“Have you ever heard of something called sensory overload?” Jenny asks. 

“I read about it in a neurology textbook once,” Matilda says. “It’s common in people with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, autism, and other similar disorders.” 

“That’s right,” Jenny says. “Do you remember reading anything about what it feels like?” 

“No,” Matilda says. “The book was for doctors, I don’t think it was meant to give much detail about what someone experiencing it is going through.” 

Jenny nods. “Well, it… sounds to me like it’s what you get. Noises being too loud, lights being too bright, certain textures can be overwhelming. Sometimes that all builds inside you, and if you aren’t prepared to handle it, you can get the… breaking feeling.” 

“I thought I was just being babyish,” Matilda mumbles, tugging at a loose thread on her dress. Jenny gently slips her hand into the little one’s to stop her. 

“Having feelings is not babyish, Matilda,” Jenny insists. “Especially ones you can’t control. You’re only six. I’m not convinced you don’t know everything else already, but your mind is still learning how to regulate itself. Sometimes you’re going to be overwhelmed.” 

“I never used to cry,” Matilda says. “When it happened before.” 

“That can happen too. Sometimes the way you process things changes,” Jenny says. “And… something tells me you didn’t get many chances to cry in front of someone who cares before we met.” Matilda nods. “Sometimes asking for help is the best thing we can do for ourselves. And I think your mind is learning that you’re allowed to ask for help now. And you did.” 

“Have you ever had it?” Matilda asks. “An… overload?” 

“Yes, I have,” Jenny says honestly. “I know how frightening and upsetting it can be.”

“It hurt,” Matilda mumbles. “My chest aches.” 

“I know that too. The best thing you can do now is rest,” Jenny says. “We’ll have a nice quiet night in together, hm?” 

Matilda gives her a soft smile and nods eagerly. Jenny squeezes her close as Matilda winds her arms around her neck for a hug. 

“I love you, Matilda,” she whispers. 

“I love you too, Mummy.” 

“I’m proud of you,” Jenny continues. Matilda pulls back and gives her another odd look. 

“What for?” she asks quizzically. 

“Handling your overload the way you did. You were very brave to come ask for help, and you listened and were willing to try everything I suggested that might help. And I’m proud of you for making it through that. It’s overwhelming, but you dealt with it so well,” Jenny says. She’s learned over the few months they’ve lived together that Matilda doesn’t believe vague ‘well done’ statements, so Jenny makes a point to get as specific as she can. 

“Oh,” the little girl says. 

“Let’s get you into a bath, that’ll be nice and calming,” Jenny says. Matilda nods and takes her hand to be led upstairs to the restroom. 

In the beginning, Matilda would protest every time Jenny tried to aid in taking care of her. I can draw my own baths, Miss Honey. I can make my own food, Miss Honey. I can choose my own clothing, Miss Honey. 

Jenny always said, I know you can. Do you want to? 

Matilda always hesitated, before she said, No. 

Matilda picks a soothing lavender bubble bath. She’d chosen some as a part of a spa day kit they’d put together as a gift for Lavender’s birthday. They’d both fallen in love with the soft floral smell of it and gone back to buy more for themselves. 

Jenny adds a sizable dollop to the running bath water and fetches Matilda’s towel as it fills to the proper level. Matilda starts unbuttoning her uniform when she returns. 

“Take as long as you’d like, alright? Just relax,” Miss Honey instructs as she leaves the towel folded on the counter. Matilda nods and smiles as Jenny kisses the top of her head and leaves her to her bath in privacy. 

-

Matilda takes her sweet time in the bath. Jenny doesn’t blame or bother her, though the water must be cold by the time she hears it draining through the pipes. 

Jenny looks up from the lesson plan she had been creating when she hears little feet padding down the stairs. She looks up and smiles when she sees Matilda wrapped in her towel with the little butterfly hood pulled up. Matilda had gawked when Jenny first pointed it out in the store, but after a few weeks she’d taken quite a shining to her blue butterfly towel. 

“All clean?” 

“Behind my ears and all,” Matilda nods. Jenny grins. 

“Good. Shall we go choose some pajamas?” she asks. Matilda nods again and follows her back upstairs. 

She asks softly, “Could we wear the matching ones?” 

“Of course,” Jenny says with a smile. “I’ll go get mine.” 

She wasn’t planning on getting changed into her own pajamas so early in the day, but after the day they’ve both had, she thinks it might do them both some good. Matilda smiles as she returns to the room in her yellow nightgown; clad in a smaller version of the very same one. 

“Comfy?” Jenny asks with a matching smile. Matilda nods contently. “Good. Let’s do your hair, hm?” 

Matilda inhales sharply, but she nods. Jenny, of course, notices. 

“You don’t want to?” 

Matilda looks away from her, shuffling her fingers between her hands. Jenny knows that’s one of her anxious fidgets and gently crouches down in front of her. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she says softly. “Do you want to wait and do your hair later?” 

Matilda shakes her head, but she still won’t look Jenny in the eye. “…I don’t know.” 

Jenny frowns sadly and gently reaches for her hand. Matilda stares intently at their interlocked fingers as Jenny gives her a squeeze. “Are you still feeling a bit overwhelmed?” 

Matilda nods. “I’m… I’m worried the hairbrush will make it worse.” 

“That’s alright,” Jenny says lowly. “I understand. It can be an overwhelming sensation.” Matilda nods. “Can you think of anything that would help you through it?” 

Matilda hesitates for a second. Jenny smiles as she finally looks up and meets her eyes. She can see her trying so desperately to think, to speak, to ask for the help she needs, but she’s never had this sort of experience before. Jenny knows how hard those first, “I need help”s can be. It took her years. 

Matilda is growing more and more frustrated with herself as time goes on and she can’t think of anything that might help her. Jenny moves her hands higher; close to her shoulders and gradually squishes her way down Matilda’s arms. 

“It’s alright, darling,” Jenny says quietly. “How about we start with picking the hairstyle you want after we brush it out? We’ll work back to this.” 

“Will you do the French braids?” Matilda asks softly. 

“Of course,” Jenny says. “You want two?” 

“Yes,” Matilda says. 

“Two French braids,” Jenny says. “Now… you’re worried about how the hairbrush will feel on your head, or something else?” 

“Yes,” Matilda says again. “And… I don’t like when my hair drips on my clothes.” 

“Alright,” Jenny hums. “We can put a towel around your shoulders to catch any drips, would that help?” Matilda nods. “And… what if you read me something, so your mind has something else to focus on? And you can let me know if you need me to stop brushing for a moment if you get overwhelmed. How does that sound?” 

“Okay,” Matilda agrees quietly. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, darling. Let’s go,” she says. 

Matilda grabs her stuffed worm off her bed and heads down the stairs. Jenny grabs Matilda’s hair kit from the restroom and follows after her. She smiles as she sees her daughter standing on her step-stool and looking intently at their bookshelf. She stands on her tippy toes to grab a thick book from a high shelf and almost falls as she pulls it into her arms. Jenny rushes over to catch her, but Matilda just giggles at her panic. 

“Very funny, giving me a heart attack,” Jenny says, gently chucking her under the chin. 

“Sorry,” Matilda says. “Les Misérables?” 

“If you’d like, sure,” Jenny agrees. She’s a little bit concerned it’s too morbid for the child, but Matilda has read plenty of dark books before. They’ve had several interesting debates and discussions about War and Peace and Crime and Punishment. 

Matilda takes the book and settles on the ground in front of the sofa. Jenny sits behind her and gently brackets Matilda’s shoulders with her legs so she has the best angle to work. She carefully drapes a dry towel around her small shoulders like a cape. Matilda holds it in the middle so it doesn’t fall off and opens the massive book with her little hands. 

Jenny picks up the hairbrush and carefully starts combing through the damp ends of Matilda’s hair as she begins to read. 

“In 1815, M. Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D——— He was an old man of about seventy-five years of age; he had occupied the see of D——— since 1806.” 

Jenny hates to admit it, but she’s only half listening to Matilda read. The other half of her is deep inside her own mind. 

Jenny had always loved children. She knew by the time she was ten years old that she wanted to be a teacher. To help, to educate, to care for, to love as many generations of children as she could possibly squeeze into her life. 

To do her part to make sure no child ever felt how she did growing up. 

The one thing she never saw herself doing was having children of her own. 

Years upon years of being told how unlovable she was wore heavily on her and frightened her completely away from ever looking for a partner. She’d always figure it would happen if it was meant to, but she was never very fussed by the idea of a life of relative solitude. 

The mere idea of pregnancy was also terrifying to Jenny. After what her mother had been through to bring her into the world, she knew she didn’t want to risk all the dangers that can come along with carrying and birthing a child, rare as they may be. She couldn’t bear risking any potential child she’d have growing up without their mother. 

Adoption would have been the most likely solution, if Jenny had ever decided concretely that she wanted children of her own at all. 

Truth be told, the idea of being a mother to any child, biologically hers or not, terrified Jenny to the very cells she’s constructed of. Who’s to say she wouldn’t snap, be as abusive as the tyrant her childhood had been ruined by? Who’s to say she wouldn’t completely ruin everything some other way as a result of her trauma? Or, even worse, who’s to say she’d be a decent mother in the first place, regardless of what her own childhood was like? Regardless of what she went through? Who’s to say she’d have what it takes? 

Parents of her students would constantly rave about how kind and patient and wonderful Jenny was with their children. Jenny could never help but to doubt their every word, somewhere deep down inside herself. They’d always ask when she would be having children of her own. “Whenever it’s my time to,” she’d always say with a falsely content smile. 

She’d been terrified upon meeting Matilda for the first time. Her heart seemed to reach out of her chest for the little girl, and every day she got to spend as her teacher let it get further and further away from her. Eventually, she found herself wanting to… let it go. The heart wants what the heart wants, after all. 

Part of her had always known how their story would end. Happily, she’d hoped. But Jenny knew she couldn’t allow the Wormwoods to keep on as they were. She’d had trouble breathing simply being in that house. So many reminders of her own childhood. 

Matilda’s unbrushed hair, her dirty hands and feet, her out-of-fashion and ill-fitting clothes and shoes. Not a toy or a book in sight. Argumentative parents who weren’t afraid to curse one another out or shout full volume right in front of their young child. Matilda already knowing strategically how to avoid setting them off at her. The way she tried not to let Jenny know. The slight fear in her eyes when she realized Jenny knew anyway. The amount of stairs Jenny heard her run up to reach her bedroom. The size of the window the young girl was watching her through. 

Jenny cried herself to sleep when she went home that night, wishing and praying to a higher power she never believed in for something she could do to help this child. 

And she had no idea why. 

She’d had a few similar cases before. Foster children who were clearly only there so the foster families could get a paycheck. Children from large families who weren’t getting the attention they needed or deserved at home. The, blessedly few, that warranted a ring to the police. 

She did what she could for those children. Having extra snacks around so they could eat, styling their hair if their mothers couldn’t or didn’t before school, staying late to help with reading or arithmetic practice. She’d smile and say hello and hope they were well once they’d left her class, and she kept her door open as a safe space if they ever needed anything. She knew every child was special and she did her best to treat them as such, but she had never felt any particular calling or urge to do more than what she had done for those children.

Until she met Matilda.

Something about Matilda spoke to her. Something about Matilda called to her, plead for help, though the girl herself didn’t outright. Or maybe it all happened the other way around. 

She’d been terrified, but the most certain of anything she’s ever been, when she’d begged Harry Wormwood to let Matilda stay with her. It was almost as if something in the universe briefly took over, said, “Wait a moment, this isn’t how your stories are meant to end.” 

Something saved them both. Jenny likes to think it was the both of them saving each other. 

Regardless of where they came from, no words had ever felt more correct passing through her lips than, “Let Matilda stay here, with me.” 

And goodness, that hug. Little arms and legs wrapped completely around Jenny like a vice, the small sobs of relief and mourning and hope shaking the girl in her arms. Similar tears pouring down her own face into Matilda’s blazer as she clung just as tightly to her daughter. 

Her daughter. 

Jenny comes back into herself and realizes Matilda’s thick hair is already half brushed. She’s also a solid fifteen pages into their story, and her shoulders are very tense. Jenny gently sets the brush aside and presses down on them, giving a firm but gentle squeeze to coax Matilda’s attention. 

“Deep breaths, darling, let’s take a break,” she says. “You’re alright.” 

Matilda takes a deep breath and clings to Jenny’s hand. 

Jenny knows in that moment that she’s doing decently at this whole mothering thing, after all. 

She gently runs her thumb over the back of the small palm in a repetitive, soothing motion. Squeezes in response to the squeezes the little one gives from time to time. 

“I’m okay now,” Matilda says after a while. 

“Are you sure? You can take all the time you need, firefly,” Jenny says. Matilda nods. 

“I’m sure.” 

Jenny nods too, even though Matilda can’t see her, and picks up the brush again. Matilda picks up where she left off in the book as Jenny carefully strokes through what remains of her unbrushed hair. 

“Hard part done,” she says proudly when her hair is all brushed through and sleek. Matilda’s shoulders sag in relief. Jenny chuckles and bends to kiss her cheek. She gives her a break for a few minutes before she carefully parts her hair down the middle and starts intricately twisting it into braids. 

Matilda’s hair had been one of her first priorities when they’d moved in together. Matilda was always trying to hide it or hide behind it. She knew she didn’t like having it unbrushed and unstyled when all the other little girls had their hair tied neatly with pretty bows or ribbons or in cute pigtails. She simply didn’t know how to take care of it herself. 

Jenny makes a point to brush it after every bath, and style it for her every morning before school. Matilda deserves to feel beautiful. 

“There we are,” she says as she snaps the small elastic band into place around the end of the second braid. “All finished.” 

“Thank you,” Matilda says, tipping upside down to see her. 

“You’re very welcome, darling. Have you got any homework? We have a bit of time before we should start preparing dinner,” Jenny asks gently. Matilda shakes her head. 

“Only reading. And I’ve already read it through six times.” 

Jenny nods. She had missed a significant portion of the day, and her morning classes tend to give less homework by comparison anyway. “Alright then. Why don’t you come up here and we’ll read together?” 

Matilda happily climbs up and joins Jenny on the sofa. Jenny turns so she’s half sitting and half lying down, and Matilda settles in the cradle formed by her body. Jenny holds the heavy book so they can both see, and they begin to read silently, but together. 

This is one of their favorite new pastimes. Whenever they both have a spare moment, which are unfortunately few and far between, they like to cuddle up with a nice book and read. Matilda gives her a gentle tap whenever she finishes a page. She reads much faster than Jenny, but as they’ve started to do this more regularly, she’s gradually started to slow down and take a bit more time with her stories. 

Jenny turns the page when she finishes, and the process begins again. Jenny listens to the ticking of the large clock on the wall across the room; the quiet, quick breathing of the girl in her lap; the rustle of fabric as one of them shifts occasionally or the crinkle of the pages as they turn. 

When the clock chimes the hour, Jenny sighs and marks her place with her finger. “Would you like to keep reading or come help me prepare dinner?” 

Matilda’s only response is to carefully slip a bookmark into position. Jenny smiles and shuts the book, resting it on the small table behind her head and gently patting Matilda to coax her to stand. 

“What are we having tonight?” Matilda asks as they walk to the kitchen. 

“I was thinking pasta, maybe with some chicken?” Jenny says with a conspiratorial wink. Pasta and chicken are two of Matilda’s absolute favorite foods. Apart from books, the two together is basically the quickest way to the little girl’s heart. Sure enough, Matilda noticeably perks up and rushes the rest of the way with a happy squeal. Jenny chuckles and follows after her. “Careful, darling.” 

Matilda immediately drags her step-stool over to the sink and starts scrubbing away the germs of the day. She giggles as Jenny follows suit, wrapping her arms around her from behind and racing her to get the soap first. Matilda wins, but Jenny gets first go with the towel.

Matilda watches curiously as she pulls all the ingredients they’ll need from the refrigerator and cabinets. 

Surprisingly, out of almost everything the two of them have had to face together since Jenny took custody of Matilda, one of the most difficult things has been Matilda’s diet. She’d spent five years existing almost exclusively on snack foods and microwaved meals. Those have their place, but Jenny was desperate to get a vegetable into that child. 

It had taken time. Jenny didn’t force her to eat anything she wasn’t comfortable with while their lives together were adjusting into a comfortable area and they were both getting used to the idea of being a family. But after a while, she started encouraging her to try new foods. 

They’d started a garden together, which had helped immeasurably. Matilda getting to see the process from seed to food made her much more interested in sampling new fruits and vegetables. 

That’s not to say she enjoyed everything she tried. Jenny picked up on her tastes quickly. Strawberries are a yes, raspberries a no. Blueberries are a sometimes, especially if they’re in tasty homemade muffins. Matilda loved carrots, but detested cucumbers. She’d only eat tomatoes if they were in a sauce or something of the like. She’d eat leafy greens like spinach or kale if they were in a smoothie with loads of her favorite berries, but not otherwise. And, most interesting to Jenny, she loved broccoli and Brussels sprouts. 

“What’s this?” Matilda asks when Jenny places a bell pepper on the counter. Jenny smiles as she grabs the chicken and gently closes the fridge with her hip. It’s so rare for Matilda not to know something. Jenny adores any moment she actually gets to teach her about something new. 

“That’s a bell pepper,” she explains. “They can be red, orange, green, or yellow. And they aren’t spicy, they’re actually quite sweet.” 

“Oh,” Matilda says. Jenny grabs a couple of cutting boards and knives from their spots and places them in front of herself and Matilda. She’d originally been hesitant to give her child knives, seeing as she was only five at the time, but Matilda had rapidly shown she had more than enough motor control and responsibility to be able to help chop, slice, and dice. Sometimes she’s even better at it than Jenny. 

Matilda watches interestedly as Jenny pops the core out of the pepper and shakes the seeds into a bowl. She might try to grow some when it’s the season. Jenny slices half the pepper into long, thin strips; about the width of Matilda’s finger and only a bit longer. 

“Sniff it?” Jenny asks, picking up a strip and doing exactly that. Matilda takes one and hesitantly holds it to her nose. “What do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Matilda says honestly. “I think I like it.” 

“Good,” Jenny says with a smile. “Think you’re up for giving it a nibble?” 

Matilda hesitates again, but she carefully chomps into it with her molars so she can get a feel for the texture and a hint of what sort of flavor it might have. She pulls a face at whatever she experiences and looks at Jenny in disgust. 

“Don’t like it?” Jenny asks, trying not to sway her voice one way or another. She can’t expect Matilda to like every single food she tries, and she knows one of Matilda’s biggest worries is disappointing her. 

She’s surprised when Matilda takes a bite of her piece of the pepper. She chews it thoughtfully and swallows before she shakes her head and gives the rest back to Jenny. 

“No, thank you,” she says quietly, almost like an apology. 

“Alright, love. More for me, then,” Jenny says. Matilda smiles and helps her cut up the rest of it, along with some broccoli so Matilda can still get a vegetable in. She sneaks a few bites of it raw before she adds it next to the pepper on a baking tray to be roasted with some oil, salt, and pepper. 

They chat about little things as they prepare the chicken and the pasta. Matilda helpfully stirs the Alfredo sauce they’re making to tie it all together while discussing some film Alice had told her about at recess that morning. They usually don’t spend much time in front of screens, but Jenny does have to admit that it sounds interesting. Might warrant a special day out. 

Matilda holds their saucepan steady while Jenny drains and adds the pasta, and watches eagerly as the broccoli gets tossed in too. They slice their cooked chicken breasts into chunks and add it in. Matilda’s gets plated up then. Jenny adds the bell pepper and dishes up her own portion. 

Jenny did secretly have an ulterior motive choosing to prepare this dish tonight. She knows how hard it can be to eat after a meltdown, especially something nourishing and filling. Matilda absolutely adores everything on her plate, as Jenny had learned through careful observation. The first time they’d had Alfredo pasta the then five-year-old had wolfed down three adult sized portions in a heartbreakingly quick manner. It’s become one of their staple meals ever since. Chicken and broccoli just make it an extra special treat; with some added nutrients as a nice bonus. 

Jenny smiles as Matilda seems to get some energy back now that she’s got something good in her belly and had some time to recover from the events of the afternoon. She’s smiling and chattering again, just like Jenny is used to. Jenny just smiles and listens as she eats her own dinner. 

“Could we watch the sunset?” Matilda asks as they do the dishes together. They’d split chores fairly evenly. Jenny does the laundry, Matilda sweeps and mops. They both pick up after themselves and do the cooking. But they both hate doing the dishes, so they do them together whenever they get a chance, just to make it the slightest bit more enjoyable. 

“I don’t see why not,” Jenny hums as she dries the last fork and hands it to Matilda to put away. “Why don’t you go fetch the blanket?” 

“Okay!” Matilda agrees, rushing off with a flourish. Jenny hangs the dish towel up and follows the sounds of her rooting through their hallway closet. 

Matilda hugs the rolled up blanket close and goes running out into their front lawn. They’ve taken to doing this almost every night they can. Sometimes they bring a book, sometimes they chase each other all through the trees and around the garden, sometimes Matilda shows off her best cartwheels and other tricks, and sometimes they just lie together on the ground and live. 

Those nights are their favorites. 

Jenny unrolls the blanket and kicks off her shoes, spreading out with a stretch on the soft quilt. Matilda does the same and tucks herself against her side. 

Some starlings chirp overhead and fireflies twinkle faintly around them. Neither of them speak. They simply listen to the music of the world around them. Bird songs, bugs chirping, the occasional breeze ruffling the highest branches of the trees, Matilda’s swing clonking against the trunk of the large oak tree it’s suspended from. 

Matilda fidgets with the hem of Jenny’s nightgown; simply to have something to occupy her hands. Her eyes are firmly on the sky, as the blinding blue turns to shades of purple and pink and orange, and the faintest of stars begin to twinkle as the sun ends another day’s journey. 

“Have you ever wished on a star?” she asks softly when the moon is in full glow above them. 

“Yes,” Jenny replies quietly. “I used to wish on them all the time when I was a little girl.”

“Me too,” Matilda says. “Did any come true?” 

Jenny turns her head at a strange angle to smile down at the child. “Yes, they did. Did any of yours?” 

Matilda simply nods and cuddles in closer. 

Jenny knows how this night will end. Matilda will eventually drift off, lulled by the peaceful, dulcet tones of nature around them and by the steady beating of Jenny’s heart. Jenny will undoubtedly end up carrying her inside and tucking her securely into bed. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so content to know something. 

“I love you,” she whispers, stroking the tips of her fingers up and down the arm Matilda has lying over her waist. “My miracle.” 

“I love you too, Mummy.”

—————

thank you for reading!! hope you enjoyed!!

[douwatahima]

tag 9 people you want to get to know better!

thank you @thermoskind for tagging me!

three four ships: look, i tried to narrow this down to three but i thought of these four and got sad at the thought of not including them all so y'all are getting an extra one.

doumeki/watanuki/himawari (xxxholic) - MY BABIES WHO I LITERALLY NAMED MYSELF AFTER!!! listen, my son watanuki deserves to have a stoic but protective boyfriend and a sunshiney girlfriend who hug him lots and help him see he's worth loving. AND my daughter himawari deserves to be loved without fear of accidentally doing harm. AND my son doumeki deserves to be with the people he cares about despite the fact that they're both self sacrificing as fuck. this is the trio of my dreams and i will love them until i die.

satoshi/daisuke (dn angel) - so like...this ship is from a manga that a) isn't popular and b) i would not recommend despite the fact that it had a vice grip on me as a fourteen year old. that being said these two anime boys are truly THE BLUEPRINT against which i compared all other ships for YEARS. like, there was a time where how much i loved a ship could be directly correlated to how much they reminded me of satoshi and daisuke. they were IT. and this ship truly gave us everything! the romeo and juliet parallels of them coming from feuding families!!! the enemies to friends (to lovers in my heart) of it all!!! they are THEE fire and ice ship!!! THEE sunshine one and stoic one!!! literally never talk to me about the canonical dn angel ending i want to believe in my imagined ending where they were allowed to be in love.

nico/karolina (runaways) - this is specifically about the comic book version but the tv show version is also good! i remember reading the first few comics series like...a decade ago and OHHHH MAN these two messy girls really got me. i remember reading the first conversation that implied karolina was a lesbian and becoming the living embodiment of this emoji 👀. and then nico's whole mess of a sexuality crisis after karolina leaves? poetic cinema if i've ever seen it. i spent so many years holding a torch for these two that when they actually got together in the comics in 2018 i legit bawled my eyes out. i read the words "i'm not confused anymore, karrie. i'm not scared. i know what i want" and i DIED. their first kiss has been the background on my phone for nearly five years. they are my everything i am soooo serious.

ed/stede (ofmd) - OH YOU KNOW THE GAY PIRATES HAD TO BE HERE. when i say they rewired my brain that is in no way and exaggeration. i can vividly recall scrolling through tumblr and seeing how much people were talking about this show and thinking "okay but is it really gay or is this just another tumblr thing?" LIKE. I HAD NO IDEA. staying up until two a.m. to watch episodes 9 and 10 and feeling every human emotion all at once is a moment i will never recreate. i could've done anything that night. i could've fought god and won. it's ten months later and i still think about these two every fucking day. i truly can't wait to see more of them. david jenkins thank you for my life.

first ever ship:

arnold/helga (hey arnold) - i was like...seven and didn't know what fandom was yet but i watched every episode with baited breath waiting for these two to get together lmao. the romeo and juliet episode is burned into my brain for all time. when the jungle movie came out and they finally got together after OVER A DECADE of waiting i literally went out and bought a cake to celebrate.

last song:

grace kelly by felix hagan & the family - what can i say? this song is a bop!

last film:

glass onion - listen, i would watch benoit blanc solve murders for another fifty movies and never get bored. also janelle monae i am free on thursday if you are also free on thursday and want to meet up on thursday when i am free.

currently reading:

i'm between books at the moment but the one i most recently finished was lost boy by christina henry. it was genuinely the most five out of ten book i've ever read. like...not bad by any means but so meh i have no words.

my plan is to read the magicians by lev grossman next because i miss those characters more than i can say but like hell am i gonna watch the show again after...all that. i heard the books are worse soooooo we'll see how far i get.

currently watching:

the mayfair witches - i recently watched the first two episodes and i really enjoyed them! i've never read the books so everything is new and exciting to me. i'm looking forward to seeing where this story goes!

currently consuming:

a caramilk bar. ❤

currently craving:

the ofmd season 2 trailer. please djenks i need to see ed again my crops are dying.

tagging:

i feel like most of the people i would tag have already done this so instead i'm gonna do a cop out and say if you're reading this consider yourself tagged!

[godza]

techincally tagged by nico saeu. tagging nini cecil wei and whoever else wants to!

nicknames: lisey, lise, my actual name, tpickle, etc

sign: cancer <3

height: 5'4"ish. dont worry about it

last thing googled: webtoon, i then got the app

song stuck in my head: miniskirt by aoa. my brains in a vice grip

followers: 119 i think. too many

amount of sleep: depends. got like ten last night.

lucky number: 27 my beloved

dream job: social worker, though im not sure where and what i wabt to do. i just know i want to help people ^_^

wearing: loona concert t shirt and transgender boxers. the cute onesfrom tomboyx

movie/books that summarize me: i dont know! i dont usually see myself in fiction

fave song: i think its still yeah boy and doll face by ptv as its been for 5+ years

fave instrument: pianos are sexy and so are electric guitars

aesthetic: hm. fairy kei i think. ideally princesscore but thats saur expensive

fave author: mm tough bc i dont tend to stick to authors. carl hiaasen did some good stuff? emily?bronte slaps sometimes? is that even her name.

fave animal noise: wheeks are so silly especially inquisitive ones not rlly the ones where theyre yelling at you but purring is my ultimate favorite. or cats snoring. any happy sound from a cat and ill cry.

random: so glad i have aday off today bc school is evil. it snowed today but not enough, you can still see the tips of the grass.ugly. im rlly glad i went to the movies yesterday i enjoyed catmovie. the two most common dreams i have are new beach house layout and new school layout.

me courtesy of hajime.

[ohwowimlonley]

DAY SEVEN

Gabriel + praise kink

[warnings - thigh riding, shy!sub!fem!reader, dom!gabriel, praise kink]

[word count - 1497]

[kinktober list]

Barely holding back a whimper, you push the book away and twist around, your chest brushing against his own. He doesn’t back away, daring you to do so with a cocky arch of an eyebrow.

Barely holding back a whimper, you push the book away and twist around, your chest brushing against his own. He doesn’t back away, daring you to do so with a cocky arch of an eyebrow.

Barely holding back a whimper, you push the book away and twist around, your chest brushing against his own. He doesn’t back away, daring you to do so with a cocky arch of an eyebrow.

For a few, agonisingly silent seconds, you stay like that; breathing in each other’s closeness and eyeing each other’s lips. It took a while for you to register his question, even longer for you to force your brain to churn out a response. A simple, “uhm- reading?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He leans back, and air rushes into your once-barren lungs. Gabriel knows just how to push your buttons - to bring you to the cusp of humiliation only to bring the heat down and let you calm, watches you piece your mind back together.

“Telling you?” Again, your voice lifts at the end and Gabriel can’t stop his childish guffaw - one you find yourself giggling along with, resting your head on his shaking shoulder. His hand comes up, circles around your own shoulders and turns to smooth his lips across your forehead.

Things go silent again. He breaths in the scent of your hair, noses over your hairline. You slump back onto the table, hands supporting you to sit upright and staring up at the angel with lovelorn eyes.

“Let’s go to bed, pretty girl,” his fingers grasp your shoulder and then the pair of you are blinked away; wind whooshing in your ears for the short few seconds it takes Gabriel to fly you to your room. Often, you don’t see the point of using his wings for such a short distance but his fleeting touches had left you breathless and likely unable to put one foot in front of the other. You land on the frigid stone of your bedroom floor with a gasp.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” You peer up at him, raise an eyebrow and jut out your bottom lip. It was a gamble, sure. He’d likely tease you for eternity, but it was something you could live with if he rewarded you with a night alone.

He snaps his fingers, another dramatic show of his angelic prowess, and appears under your quilt - looking the picture of both sin and innocence with his bottom lip tucked behind his teeth. He pulls the covers back, and you’re almost startled how natural it feels to have him invite you into your own bed. Obedient, you crawl across the mattress and into his awaiting arms.

“Good girl,” he slips a hand underneath your shirt, up the small of your back and curling round the heated skin of your waist, smirking as he feels the tingles shoot down your spine, “you like that, don’t you? Being my good girl?”

You whined, small but definite and nodded, your cheek brushing against his stubble as you did so. He pulled you closer to him, hooking your thigh over his hip and pressing your clothed cunt to his thigh. Unable to help yourself, you chased the pressure against your clit, hiding your face in the sanctity of Gabriel’s neck.

“C’mon, use your words like a good girl,” he encouraged, gripping your hip to halt your movements until you responded. With a sudden lack of stimulation, you couldn’t help the petulant cry flying past your lips, echoing throughout the room and likely waking the brothers in the adjacent rooms, “whining isn’t good girl behaviour, is it baby?”

“I’m sorry, m’sorry, I’m a good girl- I promise,” you babble, desperate in your attempts to wriggle out of his vice grip and press yourself against him in search of pleasure. He releases his grip, allowing you to roll your body closer to his, searching for the feeling of his once denim but now soft cotton clad thigh against your core.

“There you go, well done!” And it might have been condescending, but you didn’t notice with the way his hot breath dusted over your hypersensitive skin, “take this off, honey. Wanna see your pretty tits,”

Unable to voice even the simplest of words for a response, you raise your arms, let him pull your oversized tee over your head, leaving you in nothing but your stretchy bike shorts and thin lace panties. He helped you along, tensed his thigh with each grind of your hips to give you even more friction. You closed your eyes to fight off the embarrassment filling your body, focusing on the delicious spark of his warmth against you.

“You’re so pretty, my pretty pretty baby,” he brought a hand up, thumbed over your newly exposed nipples, stimulating them into hardened buds in the brisk air of your bedroom, “oh, just look how responsive you are for me, baby,”

He twists on the bud, pulls on it in time to the languid strokes of you against his smooth muscle. You’re sure that your panting must annoy him, stuttered yet harsh breaths hitting the underside of his impressive jawline; but he makes no move to shuffle away from the offense.

“Gabe- I can’t-“ you’re struggling, straining for something more because there’s simultaneously so much yet not enough and there’s a fire burning in the pit of your belly but you need something to stoke the flames, “please, please,”

“You can do it, baby,” he croons, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word, “c’mon, you’re my best girl. I know you can do it all by yourself,”

He’s wrong and you’re sure of it, but his soft encouragement gives you the will to rut against him with more force, arch into his hands with greater fervor. The fabric of your underwear catches your clit with every desperate drag of your hips, spreading your wetness all over the inside of your thighs. Slick permeates through your layers, scribbling a messy painting of arousal over the grey joggers he adornes.

“Look how pretty you are,” he relinquishes his grip on your hip, slides the palm of his hand up the expanse of your abdomen and over your breasts, landing at your neck where he plants his fingers at the base of your skull. His thumb rests on the junction between your jaw and ear, pulling so you face him properly; your pleasure-gaunt eyes boring into his own, “my good girl, getting off all by herself,”

You parrot the words back to him, mind clouded from the torturous thrumming of your oversensitive button as it grinds against your counterpart. The pressure builds in your stomach, bubbling just under the precipice of release before Gabriel begins to shake his leg. Ever so gently, it heightens the stimulation to the point where you have to grab fistfuls of his shirt in order to silence yourself.

“Go on, princess. Show me all those pretty noises,” he jostles you even further, grinning as your cohesive strokes turn to shaky humps against his smooth muscle, “gimmie a moan an’ I’ll let you cum,”

You comply, loosening your jaw and allowing a wanton moan to flow past your trembling lips. He pulls you in for a kiss; sweet but messy and your saliva practically drenches each other’s faces. Offhandedly, you notice this is the first time he’s kissed you - but you push the thought to the back of your mind because he’s licking at your teeth and squeezing at your tit and tensing his thigh under your cunt and it’s all too much so you cry out into the kiss and let your high wash over you.

You shake in his grasp now, closing your eyes against the overwhelming throes of your orgasm and finding a comforting solace in the way Gabriel’s thumb strokes across the underside of your jaw.

“Good girl,” the words swim across your mind, aware of their presence in the air but not fully absorbing them until he makes eye contact with you, “my good, good girl,”

Taglist - @jexnrey @samiam0907 @jessmooneya @tiredmf @baddiewivdafattie @art3mas @bella-738 @aphrodites-flowers @lovemitchrry @alexloveskili @downbadforvecna @dcwrites1 @masterofmunsonspuppets @youreyesaretherealtruthtellers @m-rae23 @rubesred @bingewatchingmylifegoby @visionsgoodgirl @loudwombatmugkid @garfieldsladybird @rubes2323 @maddy-potter @dannyramirezwife @trixcate @depressedjoey @sunnysolsstuf @clover723 @anamariel2301 @kozumewhore @britlord

[antimonyandthyme]

Destination

1k, Sebastian Vettel/Mark Webber

“Tell me something, tell me.” Seb’s tongue is looser after the few beers they’ve downed. Mark’s gathered their empty cans and gone to town on them with his pocketknife. A misshapen patchwork of figurines appeared, and they’ve strung them together with twine such that they looked like one of those antique windchimes. Seb wants to compliment Mark on his newly gained artistic skills. Mostly, he wants Mark to cut himself on the loose tin, so he’ll have an excuse to suck Mark’s fingers into his mouth. “Have you been waiting for this day? Be honest.”

Mark gives him a look that Seb can’t parse. Exasperation, maybe? “You mean for you to decide to retire?”

“Sure,” Seb says, encouraging. This day can mean anything. It can mean Seb letting go of a sport that has had a vice-grip on his life for as long as he can remember. It can mean Seb sitting with the idea like an itch buried deep in his veins before booking a plane ticket. It can mean Seb showing up at Mark’s doorstep with a vague memory of what Mark’s favourite beer is.

“I’m no longer in my hot-headed thirties, you know.” Mark’s flushed, but that could be from the beer. “I don’t wish you any misfortune.”

“Hah. So you admit you used to.”

Mark’s eye roll is fond, at least. “Everybody knew that. And in any case, I didn’t mean that.” He pauses, uncharacteristically anxious. “That retirement is a misfortune. You think you can’t separate yourself from racing, but you’re more than that. You, with your bread and your bees and your affinity for defying expectations.” It’s a compliment, or as much of a compliment Mark’s willing to give to him. Certainly, the alcohol’s helping, but Mark’s voice rolls velvet soft, convincing and inviting in equal measures.

“Alright,” Seb says. This answer he can live with.

Mark clears his throat. “Want another round? It’s not everyday you get to hang up your gloves.”

Seb shades his grin wry. “You think I just came by the revelation today? I had to go through several internal crisis-ses.” He shakes his head, searching for the right pronunciation. “Crises-ses?”

“Crises,” Mark tells him.

“Crises,” Seb nods. “I had to go through several of those. I had to shave. I had to search through whatsapp messages to find your address. I had to figure out how to get to Oceania.” He enunciates the word with flourish, hoping Mark would understand the pains he had undertaken with the flight. Twenty hours is hard on the back, first class or no. “I had to go to the store. I had to remember that you’re partial to beer that tastes like watery piss. I’ve made the decision for a month now.”

“It’s not my fault the Internet's a foreign concept to you,” Mark says, but he looks, for some reason, actually annoyed at that.

It takes a moment for the why to click. “Oh my god,” Seb says, delighted. “You thought you were my first stop. You like that idea, don’t you?”

“Well I wasn’t,” Mark says, sullen. He flicks one of the unstrung tin figurines off the coffee table. They watch it tumble to the ground with morbid interest. Something flickers in Seb’s brain, a metaphor of some kind. He’s a little too drunk. Something about leftovers? “So it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re the first stop that mattered,” Seb blurts out before he can lose his nerve. The only stop that wasn’t a means to an end. An actual destination. “So stop sulking.”

“I’m not,” Mark says, but he looks palpably smug now, a cocky slant to his lips that wasn’t there before. Seb wants to bite that off his face. Gently, gently. They don’t do violent anymore. “Not everything revolves around you, Sebi.”

The nickname is a shock to the system, almost Pavlovian, the way it pulls him backward in time when Mark used to croon it like a curse. Seb’s only a man, and he came here for a reason. There’s nothing left but to go for it. Mark hasn’t cut his fingers, but Seb takes his wrist anyway, and brings them into his mouth.

Mark exhales, a small whoosh that dislodges the anxiety rattling about Seb’s chest. Seb laves at his fingers as if they were candy. They don’t taste like much, but his tongue relishes the feel anyway. Seb imagines hanging that stupid windchime up in the balcony. He imagines sitting across from Mark with a blanket across his lap like what old people do, and kissing Mark’s fingers to the sound of tin figures clattering above them. He presses his lips to Mark’s knuckles, pulls away to give them both some respite.

They’re breathing heavily. It’s a relief he’s not alone in this. This being—?

“I’m not at my most coordinated,” Mark warns, but there’s such genuine warmth in his tone that it almost makes everything worth it. Everything from 2009 up to now. Everything, including all that he had lost, and all that he will now regain.

“Coordinated enough to get it up, surely?”

“Jesus,” Mark mutters. “You never change.”

“You love me for it.”

“Sure,” Mark says.

Seb stalls. He wasn’t expecting to win that one so easily. Of all the battles they’ve fought, Mark chooses this one to lay his armour down without a fight. It’s only fair he does the same.

“I’m kinda scared. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do.”

“When do we ever?”

“You’re not exactly inspiring any confidence at the moment.”

“You don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to be anything else. You’ve got your bread. Your bees.”

“My affinity for defying expectations.”

“You’ve got that,” Mark’s smiling now. “And you’ve got me. How’s that for confidence?”

Seb’s heart stutters, overcome with affection to the point of physical pain. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. Is he drunk, or caught in a dream? Seb says it again, to solidify what was always a stray hope into reality. “I’ve got you.”

Mark reaches over and scrubs his knuckles against Seb’s cheek. “Then you have everything you need.”

[iguessigotta]

ahaa omg hi im shy to send this in but i HAVE TO bc ur drabbles give me so much life thank u ajsdkfnmgnf !!! may i request more of puppy/dog dark? (if not, damien himself ahsdnfdm) feel free to ignore and all, i just wanted to say that ur drabbles have my brain in a vice grip AHAA

anon you have no idea how happy i am to hear that you like my stuff!!! i've been opening tumblr all day just to reread this ask with a dumb smile on my face <3 wait omg puppy Damien dkafjioe;aj i'll do more dog Dark at some point in the future, i just had to get this out RIGHT AWAY

in my original dog Dark post, I compared Dark to a Rottweiler (or any big scary-looking but sweet-with-his-person type of dog, really) but Damien......tbh he's basically a golden retriever

like, if you need anything, he is on it. need a snack? whatever you'd like, he'll go get it. wore the wrong shoes while the two of you were out and now your feet are killing you? wait right there, he'll be back asap with a different pair, or just straight up offer his if y'all wear the same size. sore back? he'll happily give you a massage. his hands are a little clumsy, but he's trying, and you and your aching back are grateful

mild separation anxiety. neither of you are sure when it started, but at this point, this poor sweet man is glued to you whenever he can be. relaxing on the couch, sitting on the porch watching a storm, curled up with a book, running errands, etc. he just gets nervous sometimes when he can't see or hear you

in a similar vein, unless he's busy Damien's likely to be following you around, offering help with anything and everything you're doing. he doesn't even realize he's doing it most of the time. he just wants to help you and be close to you. which he does. he follows real close to you. poor guy's been knocked over the head so many times because you just didn't know he was there

some part of him is almost always touching you. be it his thigh against yours, his hand on your lower back, his arm looped through yours. even if it's as small as him simply holding onto the corner of your shirt while you're out walking around, he's doing it.

v e r y cuddly. he likes to be in contact with you, so if y'all are on the couch or in bed or curled up in front of the fireplace on a pile of blankets on the floor, you're getting cuddled. he'll lean his head on your shoulder at first, but after a while you notice.....this man is practically in your lap. time to just lay his head down on your thighs and play with his hair

Damien is more than happy to pull you into his lap as well. he'll drag you as close as he can before wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into your neck. if he had a tail it'd be going crazy right now. are you too comfy to move, but you're taking up the whole couch? he'll just squeeze right on in there, pulling your feet into his lap so he can idly run his fingers up and down your legs while he reads or talks to you. he feels like he's at his happiest in moments like these, when the world is quiet and it feels like you two are the only people on the planet

[ravenclaw-daydreams]

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐦 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐞

Warnings: smut, adult content, vaginal sex, creampie, oral (f and m receiving)

Summary: You ask Joe what he's been doing while he's been out for the past few nights, and you don't say it, but he knows what you're insinuating. You end up having him sleep on the couch, but in the morning, you wake up to a lovely surprise.

Masterlist

A/n: Needed something to satiate my joe cole yearning so here's some smut or whateva

It had been the third night in a row. The third night in a row where you sat in the exact same chair, trying to finish the exact same book, waiting for your fiancé to get home.

He had been busy the past few nights, that you could understand. But a triple offence of staying out past 3 in the morning didn't sit right with you. You even talked about it with your sister, and you already knew what she was insinuating.

But you continued to give him the benefit of the doubt. You trusted him with everything in you. You had to. You loved him so much, and you trusted that he would always feel the same, regardless of how long he decided to stay out.

But the thought still lingered. It ate at you like a termite to wood. The sudden opening of the front door snapped you out of your intrusive thoughts, your eyes flicking up off the words on the page you weren't even reading.

Joe came around the corner and muttered a small 'fuck' when he saw you sitting in your chair, the lamp next to you illuminating the worry on your face. You gently closed the book after marking the page and set it on the table next to you.

"I think you already know what I'm going to ask you, Joe," you were the first to break the ice, Joe taking his coat off and setting it on the arm of the couch, exposing his maroon cable-knit sweater.

"I just got caught up with my mates, darlin'," he tried to explain, his arms now crossed in defense.

"People don't come back from the pub at three in the morning looking almost completely sober," you were now crossing your own arms, not wanting to jump to conclusions this quickly.

"You know how they can get, I just want to make sure they get home alright."

"And I get that, Joe, I do. But this is the third night in a row you've been out so late," you pointed out, making the man across from you sigh.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I just get carried away sometimes."

You then approached him, letting out a sigh in defeat, now wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his shirt. That's when you tensed.

Before he could properly hug you back, you were pulling away, your brows furrowed, a look of betrayal flashing across your face.

"What is that?" you asked, tears welling up in your eyes in spite of yourself, "That perfume isn't mine, Joe, and I know it isn't your cologne, Joe, what is that?"

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused, "Darlin, I have no idea what you're talking about," a look of realization plastered itself on his features, "What are you getting at?" his eyes narrowed.

"Well think about it, Joe! You spend 3 nights taking your sweet time getting home and when you do get home, you smell like someone else!"

"You really don't think I would do that to you...?" he looked hurt, but you looked worse.

"I don't want to. I really, really don't want to, Joe, trust me, but... god I just," you took a second to wipe your tears, "I think it would be best if you slept on the couch tonight, yeah?"

Joe stayed silent as he nodded his head. And with that, he left your line of sight, off to fetch blankets and pillows. That's when you slipped away up the stairs and into the bedroom.

That's when the dam broke and you began to sob, tears you tried so hard to keep in finally being released, your form hunched over as you sat on the edge of the bed, still messy and unmade from your... activities earlier the past morning.

You ended up just changing into panties and one of Joe's band t-shirts, curling up under the covers, dreading the talk that you and your fiance were most likely going to be having when you woke up.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　　　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

The first thing you felt was warmth. A heat stirring in your core as you tried to brush it off as nothing more than a little morning arousal. But it wasn't until you felt the hand that wrapped around your thigh that your eyes started to force themselves open.

Once you opened your eyes, the sunlight that streamed through the curtains was the first thing that you saw. But then, you felt it fully, and you turned your head, met with the sight of Joe with his head buried between your legs, devouring you know that he knew that you were awake.

Your noises that were once gasps and heavy breaths were now multiplied into moans and whimpers as your fingers went down, gripping his locks as he continued to lick and suck everything he could reach with his mouth, his nose bumping up against your clit.

"Fuck, Joe," you whimpered out, your eyes rolling back as your body felt as if it were going to explode. The coil in your stomach was tightening without letting up, and Joe knew you were close.

To push you over the edge, you felt two of his fingers find their way inside your tight cunt, already wet from his current licking, and you moaned out loudly at the sensation of his fingers opening you up.

"Cum for me," his words were muffled, but the vibrations from his baritone voice sealed your fate, tipping you over the edge as your body tensed up and you whined out, your eyes clenched shut as you felt waves of pleasure crash violently over you.

He helped you ride out your high as your sleepy brain tried to focus itself. You finally were down to earth enough to look down at him, a lazy smile crossing your lips.

"Good morning, love," he started, before making his way up your body and kissing your lips gently, the taste of yourself on his tongue.

"Morning," you lazily smiled.

"You know, about last night,"

"I'm stopping you right there," you started, "Let's just... have our morning, then talk about this later."

Joe smirked and nodded, watching as you shifted yourself downwards, you and him finally realizing how hard he really was after eating you out.

His tip was bright pink and flushed, throbbing as precum leaked from it. You gently wrapped your hand around it. He let out a shuddered breath as he felt you grasp it, swallowing when one of your hands cupped his balls.

Suddenly, he gasped, your lips going around the tip, some tension released as he felt your soft skin against him. Your lips started to slip up and down his shaft, his lips parting as his eyebrows furrowed. His hands found their way to your scalp as you continued your movements.

Abruptly, you pushed yourself all the way down, taking him all the way in, relaxing your throat the best you could as you felt him stretch it out.

"Fuck, love, your mouth is so- fuck" he gasped when you pulled yourself back up, tears welled up in your eyes from trying to suppress your gag reflex.

Your hand continued to stroke him as you did your best to catch your breath, but Joe suddenly stopped you.

"Stop, stop," he panted, "Don't want to cum yet. Want to cum inside you, is that alright?" he asked politely.

Seeing as you were on the pill and he knew that as well, you smiled and nodded, moving swiftly up his frame as you were now face to face.

"Beautiful," he muttered as he raised his hand to caress your cheek as you began to hover yourself over his shaft.

You positioned yourself then slowly descended down, both of you gasping at the sensation of his cock seemingly splitting you open. You couldn't contain your moans as your eyes closed in ecstasy, trying your hardest to adjust yourself.

You struggled with your composure as you continued to bottom yourself out, hushed gasps and whimpers leaving your lips as you felt your tight heat completely cover his hard shaft.

At last, your body finally got used to the familiar feeling of him inside you, causing you to begin smooth and slow movements across his pelvis, making him groan out at the sensation of your heat dragging across his cock.

Up and down you went, doing your best to keep with a rhythm, Joe's groans of bliss driving you to go faster, harder.

Soon enough, you were disregarding the man underneath you, now using him to pleasure yourself as you lost yourself in your own ecstasy. You bounced on him with no motive other than to make yourself cum.

"Come on, love, use that cock," he gasped, "Use that cock to make yourself cum, come on."

His words of encouragement went straight to your core as you felt yourself get closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure. You couldn't help but keen for more, looking like an angel on top of him, sweat sparkling on your chest, your breathless expression enough to make Joe cum right then and there.

Finally, you felt the coil inside you crack like a whip, waves of heat and euphoria crashing over your body, making you tense and shake as you let go, your cunt clenching around your partner's cock like a vice, starting a chain reaction, the feeling of him cumming inside you while you orgasmed almost enough to make you build up again.

You panted as you dismounted him, slipping away to his side on your back, your chest rising and falling with each breath. He helped ground you, wrapping his arms around your blissed-out form, whispering sweet nothings of praise into your ear, telling how amazing you did and how lucky he was to call you his.

"Fuck," you managed to get out through labored breaths, your body still buzzing from your orgasm.

"Fuck is right, love," he smirked, letting his hand mindlessly drift up and down the bare skin of your arms.

After a prolonged silence, you finally spoke, "I trust you."

He looked down at you, grateful that you truly did trust him, trusting that he wouldn't ever do anything like what you thought.

"I love you," he muttered, now holding your face in his hands.

"I love you too."

[lavynrose]

"stop staring at me to distract me."

"oh, i'm not staring at you to distract you."

Pairing/s: Marius Von Hagen X Reader

Genre: College AU

Warnings: none

Notes: alrightyyy let me drop this before sleeping, i need to practice writing without getting too into it that it becomes a longfic🤒 enemies to lovers got me in a vice grip sjsksk. prompt from this list

as for the requests, i'll answer them soon! reblogs are appreciated <3

They say that the library is the best place to do brain gymnastics, and get the best out of your mind's concentration because of the silence and the quaint ambience it gives off.

So why.

Why does your braincells feel like evaporating right now?

The library that was once filled with peaceful silence just 30 minutes ago is now a rippling crash of waves in your eardrums as the presence across from you on the table keeps pesking your precious study time.

You're not sure what's causing the aggravating pounding in your head anymore: the 5 page essay that you need to turn over in less than an hour, or the absolute menace to your finals project in the flesh that is Marius Von Hagen.

Even the sharp librarian couldn't seem to tell that he was being a bother.

Of course they won't notice. The little devil isn't being loud after all, he's pestering you in his own way.

"Stop staring at me, idiot," you chewed a little too harshly on your pen, the anger boiling inside you directed at the poor object.

"Don't. Wanna." He flashed you a coy smile, "you look so pretty all focused like that I can't help but stare." He cooed with a kissy face.

You grimaced internally.

Oh, you could throw a book at him right now.

You know better than that of course.

Marius is a competition to you, and you to him. Of course the first thing that's gonna come to your mind when he's being like this is that he wants you to fail.

Ever since the start of your college life you were doomed to fight at the top ranks against the one and only, the heir and the king, Marius. You would always wrestle each other using intelligence and now that the semester is coming to an end, the result of your hardwork is going to be revealed soon.

That's why you absolutely can't let this happen!

"Don't make me repeat myself," You inhaled a deep breath in an attempt to not snap in the very place you swore was the epitome of peace and quiet.

You pointed at him, "Stop staring at me to distract me!" You half screamed, half whispered, your eyes darting to glance on the librarian.

"Oh," he smirked, and before you could move, he leaned to you from across the table, he placed his hands to tip on your chin. You sat there, unmoving.

"I'm not staring at you to distract you, sweetheart." His amethyst eyes bore onto yours, strange softness filling them.

You were taken aback by his sudden shift of tone from teasing to tenderness, you swatted his hand away.

You weren't going to give in to his charms just like that, "Don't give me that," you snarled.

"Do you see this essay?" you turned your laptop around to give him a better view of the paragraphs that mentally tortured you these past few hours.

"I'm sure you've already done this, and I'm sure you know that this is worth 30% of our grades this semester so please," you massaged your temples as hard as you could, "stop trying to fail me, Marius. I can't believe you're resorting to this sort of tactic." You slammed your head to the table.

Before you could rant and rant about how this essay could literally be the verdict for your future, you heard Marius snicker.

"High grades aren't what you need right now," he winked at you, "you need sleep, babe."

You convinced yourself that the heat rushing to your cheeks right now isn't caused by whatever he just called you, but rather, caused by anger, "What? I had enough sleep," you cleared your throat, "thank you."

Lies. You barely got any wink of sleep this week because of the various events you needed to organize and participate in, as one of the university's top students.

He looked at you blankly, "Then, pray-tell, I want you to recall when's the deadline of this project."

Your brain buzzed as your sleeped deprived brain desperately search for answers, "In an hour?" you weren't so sure right now, your eyes looking anywhere but him.

His eyes gazed over you with concern, unbeknowst to you.

"The deadline's next week." He declared as he showed you the professor's memo that you misunderstood, "My, my, you should take better care of yourself." he shook his head.

You on the other hand, gaped and spluttered incoherent words, mentally slapping yourself for mixing the dates up.

For once, you admitted he was right. You needed sleep.

He grinned, "Like I said, I'm not trying to distract - or as you put it," he rolled his eyes, "fail you or whatever."

He sent you a smile so full of what seemed like fondness, "You're the best college rival I could ever ask for. You test my limits, you know? Bring the best in me."

You widened your eyes as you process his words. Is he for real? You narrowed your eyes, he doesn't look like he's lying, the usual teasing tone is completely gone.

He suddenly looked so enchanting, basked in the library's soft light.

"I won't let you fail if I can help it. I would even help you," He stood up, and he stretched his right hand to reach out to you, "Please take a rest, you deserve it for your hard work." you saw the warmest smile you've ever seen him show you, and you don't know what to feel about it.

"You.." You started, wanting to ask him why he was staring so shamelessly at you, but drowsiness took over your brain now that you know you have no deadlines to worry about at the moment.

Instead, you took his warm hand, clasping it in yours, "Let's take you home." He announced, eyes filled with delight and you find yourself wanting those eyes to stare at you again.

do not repost © lavynrose 08/19/21

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Waking Comfort (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence (in a flashback), implied/referenced trauma (unspecified) Warnings: N/A Summary: Unable to sleep on a cold day, Bela Dimitrescu tries to find comfort in her favorite servant... only to end up being the one doing the comforting. Notes: This is super self indulgent, because my dreams have been murdering me recently. Reader is a selective mute/partially nonverbal, implied neurodivergent (unspecified), gender neutral but written with a non-binary person in mind, with non-specific past trauma. Basically this is somewhat of a self-insert fic but I've smudged some lines to make it more relatable for other people.

----------------

In the early hours of the day, when the sun had yet to reach its peak, a cold quiet fell over Castle Dimitrescu. Most inhabitants were of a nocturnal persuasion, and lay sleeping soundly at this hour. Those few that thrived in the sun moved softly, with caution, daring not to awaken their masters. Oh, if only they knew that one Lady of the house was awake, prowling the corridors with marked intent. What a chill it would send down their spines- what lovely fear would permeate the household.

Ah, but that was not what Bela Dimitrescu desired, at least not for now. No, what she needed was something she would never admit out loud. It was a “base” need, one that all humans felt, and so she feared that it was beneath her. There was only one person that she could trust for this: A servant, experienced in all matters needed of them, level-headed, compassionate… and, most importantly, selectively mute.

Over the past year, Bela had found herself growing closer to you, much to her own surprise. The two of you had started to bond through reading, after you had helped her reorganize a mess in the library (left by none other than Lady Daniela). Since then, you had proven to be a valuable ally, always finding creative solutions to the family’s problems. From jury-rigging a set of climbing gear for repairs, to proof-reading all formal letters, there was hardly any part of Bela’s life that you hadn’t assisted with. All while only ever saying two or three sentences- short ones, at that.

Neither of you would ever forget the first (and only) time you spoke out loud. A would-be hunter had infiltrated the estate, through a damaged skylight (which you later repaired), intending to prove his worth by killing the nobility inside. By the time Bela arrived, after being notified by a terrified maiden, she found the situation had already been aptly handled. There you had stood, clutching an ornate, bloodied cane like a club. In front of you had been the unconscious hunter.

“You could have been hurt!” Bela had snapped, unable to stop herself, glad that her sisters hadn’t arrived yet. Then you had glanced at the man, then her, then back to the man. Something uncharacteristically dark had danced in your eyes.

“He said he was going to save me… from you. Called me defenseless,” you had snarled, poking the man with your cane as you did. “Rude.” Before Bela even had a chance to react, her sisters had appeared, disappointed to find the fight already over. They had fought over who would get to kill the hunter, and somewhere in that chaos you had slipped away without another word.

That day had replayed itself in Bela’s mind hundreds of times in her mind. Though she would not readily admit it, that had been the day that her casual affection for you had started to turn into something more serious. These days she didn’t even know how to describe your relationship- after all, you had never told her how you felt. But you had held her, closely, fingers running through her hair while she fought off memories from someone else’s life. Held her in your arms, as she held you, staving off the cold like it was all you had ever known.

This was what she wanted. Your touch, your comfort. All that stood in her way was a familiar question: Where were you? Master of your environment, schedule constantly in flux, you were rarely where anyone expected you to be, especially when you were prone to taking on whatever tasks others hadn’t had time to finish. So Bela searches, quickly, around places the day-shift tends to gather. She’s careful not to be seen, even though she knows the maidens aren’t likely to gossip where her family might hear. In the end she catches a hint of your scent near the servants’ quarters, and curses herself for not checking there sooner.

Your room is one of the only single-occupancy rooms in this wing. Only senior staff were allowed within these places, most of them rotating out as they “lost their usefulness”. The fact that you had slept in the same bed every night for six months was a testament to your skill. It’s the kind of thought that brings Bela some semblance of warmth in her chest. Still, the thought alone is not enough, so she slowly eases your door open.

Her ears strain against the silence, listening for the pattern of your breathing, or the telltale murmurs that would announce your awakening. Instead, the first things she hears are little gasps, then the shifting of fabric. Dreams of some sort have you turning and tossing, lungs getting hungry in their pursuit of air. It’s not immediately clear whether or not you are enjoying the dream. Were these good gasps, like those that Daniela often cooed about when she praised her maiden? Or were these the same kind that sometimes haunted Bela herself?...

A whimper cuts through the air, and suddenly Bela loses all patience. Practically running, she crosses the room in an instant, concern etched into her brow. One hand cautiously reaches for your blanket, pulling it back enough for her to slide in next to you. It’s a risk, one that could make you wake up with a panic, but it’s one she’s willing to take. After all, she had asked you about this sort of thing before. Though you couldn’t form full sentences, you had experience “miming” things, and Bela was quite clever with her “yes or no” questions.

When she carefully wraps an arm around your waist, she does so with confidence. Beneath her touch you stiffen, back going as tense as possible, but you stop shaking. A few more gasps leave you, and Bela wonders whether or not she should wake you up. Less than a minute later the decision is made for her. All the sudden your gasping turns to a sharp exclamation, body jerking hard, eyes snapping open. Tension coils through your muscles, driving your already overstimulated brain overboard.

Before Bela can even try to comfort you, you sit up, quickly turning so your legs dangle off the edge of the bed. Muffled sobs pass your lips as you hold your face in your hands. Memories struggle against each other behind your eyes, blocking out every other sensation. Your jaw is clenched, hard, and you struggle to breathe between shakes. A hand touches your back, but quickly moves when you flinch in response. It takes a minute for you to even process who else is with you. Once you do, some of the tension bleeds from your body.

“If you’d rather be alone right now, I understand,” Bela says, quietly, as soon as she thinks you’ll be able to understand her. For a moment you can’t bring yourself to respond, and you can feel her side of the mattress shifting, like she’s getting ready to leave. Panic springs up in your chest again, so you quickly reach a hand out in her direction. Thankfully she knows what to expect at this point, easily finding your hand in the dark, gently taking it within her own. “One squeeze for yes, two for no?”

You squeeze, once.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Bela asks, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice. It makes you pause, considering, even though you’re still overwhelmed by your sensory inputs. In the end you squeeze her hand twice. “No worries, my dear. Don’t be tempted to push yourself just for my sake.” Somehow she always knew how to read you like an open book. Even with the… difficulty of communicating with you. Not that she had ever complained, or even thought about it. Knowing you, and caring for you, made any effort feel as easy as breathing.

A few minutes pass without another word being said. Sometimes Bela gives your hand a little squeeze, just to check in, and you always return it. Soon enough your brain starts to relax, loosening its vice-like grip on your motor controls. Once again you can ease the tension in your muscles. Then you find yourself rubbing your thumb against Bela’s hand, moving in soft circular motions, head turning so you can smile at her. Even if it’s too dark for you to see much, you know that her eyes see you just fine.

“Feeling any better?” She asks, donning a smile of her own. One squeeze. “Is there anything more I can do to help?” A pause, then one squeeze. Now that your limbs don’t feel as staticky, there’s only one thing on your mind: Cuddling. You’re moving before you know it, briefly letting go of Bela’s hand so you can get closer to her, pressing your face into her neck and giving her a soft kiss. Then you’re falling against the bed, on your side, looking up at your partner with a grin. It doesn’t take her long to get the message, shifting back onto her side so she can hold you for real this time. One of your hands goes to rest on her back, to serve as your translator for the rest of the night. “I love you,” Bela says, without even thinking.

She freezes up afterwards, realizing that this is the first time she’s ever said the words out loud to you. For a moment she’s scared, a feeling alien to her, but she refuses to back down. It pays off a few seconds later, incredibly so, when you return the words the best way you can: One squeeze.

[luv-eddiediaz]

Oh god. No. Not here. Not now. Not with these people. Eddie can't breathe, but he can't let them know he can't breathe. He loosens his tie just a little bit - the one Ana went back for after Eddie was discharged from the hospital.  His nervous laughter is really a way to suck some oxygen back into his lungs, and when a heavy hand touches his elbow, and the smile on its owner’s face distorts. He's going to pass out if he doesn't move, doesn't flee from this spiraling, spinning disaster.

"Could you, uh, could you excuse me?" He asks and plasters on his best charming smile, hoping his voice isn't as high and squeaky as he thinks it is. 

He catches Ana's eye from across the room as he moves through what feels like a sea of strangers. She's worried, but Eddie doesn't stop to explain anything and continues his way to the bathroom, where he locks himself inside and lets himself fall apart the way his body was begging to. 

His fingers curl tight the porcelain of the sink, and he tries, tries to slow his breathing. Finally, he tells himself to stop it in the mirror, even smacks himself across the cheek, but nothing changes. 

There's a soft knock on the door, and Ana's gentle voice comes through the cracks, "Eddie? Are you okay?"

"Fine," he grits out.

"Are you having another attack?"

"I said I'm fine!" his anger and frustration echo too loud against the tile of the bathroom. , get a grip, Diaz. "Can you just get Chris some cake? I'll be right out." 

Ana's fading footsteps are the only answer he gets, and Eddie focuses back on himself. He tries to remember what the pamphlet from the hospital said, or rather, what Buck said it says the night he found it buried on Eddie's counter and read it to him, but his brain is just a white-hot sear of nothing. Eddie pulls out his phone and dials Buck - no time to look for his name in the phone book. He doesn't answer, and Eddie nearly throws the phone into the sink.

"Damn!"

But it's Sunday, and Buck said something about Taylor coming over on Sunday, so, of course, he isn't answering. Eddie thinks for a second, in desperation, he'll call Bobby, but then his phone vibrates, and he sees Buck's smile fill the screen. He rubs his thumb over it before swiping to answer. 

"Buck?" He answers.

"Hey, you called?" Buck asks on the other end of the line, slightly fuzzy, but Eddie can hear the smile in his voice, and the vice around his heart loosens just a little bit.

"Buck?" He asks again as if he can't process anything else. 

"Uh, yea. Are you okay?" 

"No. Panic attack."

"But aren't you at that christening?"

"Yes."

"Shit."

"Buck, help.” He hates how desperate he must sound, but Buck’s already seen him at his most desperate, trying to hold onto his life and knowing, instinctively, that Buck would help him. He would save him.

Buck always saves him. 

" What have you tried?" Buck asks.

"Not much. Nothing. I just, I called you.”

"That’s good. Where are you?"

"Bathroom."

"You need to focus on something besides the panic. So, find me four things you see, Eddie. Try to be specific."

"Okay,” Eddie looks around the bathroom. He sees a million times too many things, and it takes him a second to focus in on something, “Uh, a pink shower curtain,” like your pink sweater that you say is salmon, but Buck, it’s pink. “white rugs,” dazzling white like your teeth when you smile, and that patch of skin that sometimes peeks through under your waistband. “a bristly hairbrush,” god, you’re hair is always so perfect, “and, and curtains on the window. They’re sheer; pink too,” just like that sweater.

"Good,” Buck soothes, “now, three things you can smell."

"Umm, vanilla soap,” sometimes you smell like vanilla, and sugar - like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day, “cinnamon toothpaste,” like in your bathroom, crumpled up in the corner, “my cologne,” you bought me this bottle for Christmas.

"That’s good, Eddie. Two things you can hear." 

"I hear people - outside the door."

"Not them,” Buck tells him, “Two other things. Ignore that sound."

"I hear - I hear crickets outside the open window, and I hear...you. Your voice in my ear, your breath,” I always hear you, even when I don’t want to.

"One thing you can touch," Buck says quietly, and Eddie takes a shaking breath, presses his hand over his chest.

"My heartbeat."

"Is it slower than before?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you think you're okay?"

“Yea. I um, I’m probably just going to go home, sleep it off.”

“Good idea.”

“Thank you, Buck.”

“Of course.” 

Eddie hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket. He isn’t panicking anymore, but he doesn’t feel great. He splashes his face with water and tries to smooth down all the places he’s rumpled before he opens the bathroom door and finds Ana on the other side, Christopher sitting next to her on the floor with a plate of cake in his lap.

“Are you okay?” she asks, putting a hand to his cheek, and it burns where there was just cold air against the drying water.

Eddie nods, “I’m okay. But I think I’m probably gonna go. In case it happens again.”

“Let me get my purse.”

“No, you stay. It’s your family. Just tell them I got sick.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yea,” he leans down and kisses her cheek before helping Chris up. 

Neither says much to the other in the car, but Eddie chuckles when Chris rips his suit jacket off the moment the door is closed. He sees the silhouette on the front steps against the fading sun before he gets the truck parked and shakes his head at the realization it’s Buck. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks when Buck jogs up to him.

"I didn't want you to be alone when you got home,” Buck answers quietly and then turns his attention to Christopher once the back door is open, and he’s climbing out, “Hey, buddy, did you have a good time? You look pretty handsome in that suit."

Chris rolls his eyes, "that's what everyone kept telling me. But then they said I would have looked better if I cut my hair.

“Well, you know what? I like this long, floppy look,” Buck ruffles his hand through Chris’s hair. It had definitely gotten long, and maybe a little out of control, but he didn’t want to cut it, and Eddie only remembered being dragged to the barbershop every five weeks to have his hair clipped, no matter how much he begged to keep it just a little bit longer. 

Chris smiles, “thanks, Buck.”

“Do you think you could give me a minute with your dad?” Buck asks when they all get inside the house. Eddie flips on the lamp by the door, and Christopher nods and leaves for his room, closing the door behind him.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie says, walking further into the house, turning on lights as he goes. 

“Okay, but do you wanna talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“Was it too many people?” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “I’m half Mexican, Buck; I grew up going to huge parties, family and friends always over on the weekend. That wasn’t it.”

“What was it, then?”

“Why does it matter?” he doesn’t mean to sound as exasperated as he does, but sometimes Buck just brings it out of him. 

“Because if you can figure out what’s triggering you, you can figure out how to control the panic better.”

“I don’t panic.”

“You didn’t, but now you are. So let’s try and figure out why.”

Eddie sighs, “can I have a beer while we do it, at least?”

“If I get one too.”

They go into the kitchen, and Eddie takes two beers from the fridge and cracks one open before handing it to Buck. He watches him take a long, slow sip. Eddie’s hands start to shake around the glass, and he forces himself to look away, down at the shine of his shoes to keep whatever is trying to rise pushed down.

“Was there like some kind of a loud noise?” Buck asks. 

“No. It isn’t - loud noises have never bothered me.”

“Things have changed a little bit, though.”

“I don’t think they have anything to do with being shot. I know no one wants to believe me, but I’m fine about that.”

“Maybe no one wants to believe you because you were shot. That doesn’t happen to most people even once, and it’s happened to you twice.”

“I know, but I swear to you, I’m okay. I don’t think that’ what this about.”

“If you say so. Let’s recount the night then. What happened right before it started?”

“Ana’s great aunt, she - she said I was perfect for Ana -  a good addition to their family.”

Buck takes another swig from the bottle; his eyebrows are knitted in thought. If Chim or Hen were there, they’d make a joke about him not straining himself, and they’d only be kidding, but Eddie knows Buck has a lot of thoughts, a lot of good, deep ones, that maybe Eddie is the only one to have ever heard, “And didn’t you say the first time was after the salesman referred to Ana as Chris’s mom?”

“Yea,” Eddie says quietly.

“Do you think maybe you’re just having a hard time with how serious your relationship is getting?”

“It’s not getting that serious.”

“Eddie, she introduced you to like all her family, you went to an important family event, her great-aunt thinks your excellent husband material.”

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, and he coughs, trying to force it out, but it sits there like a bubble trying to choke him, and the kitchen starts to spin, turquoise spiraling into stainless steel, spiraling into Buck. 

“Stop, stop saying things like that,” he sputters out.

“You’re starting to panic again, aren’t you?” Buck asks.

“When the hell did it get so serious? I was just - I don’t know what I was doing. I liked her, but I didn’t mean-”

Eddie backs against the counter next to the sink, he tries to loosen his tie, but he can’t make his fingers work. Then Buck crosses the space between them and replaces Eddie’s hand with his own, pulling down on the knot and unbuttoning Eddie’s collar. “Breathe; breathe,” he whispers to him and puts his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, and he’s so close Eddie has no choice but to look at him. He feels his hand in Buck’s, slowly pressing against the other man’s chest.

“Breathe with it,” Buck says of his heartbeat, and Eddie closes his eyes. It takes a few moments, but soon his breath is in sync with Buck’s heartbeat, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt this kind of calm before.

“Okay?” Buck asks. 

“No, but yes.”

“I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be honest - not for me, but for yourself.”

“O-okay.”

“Do you want Ana to be in your future? Your far future?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but it’s a question he’s asked himself before and was just too afraid to say out loud,  “but -”

“But what? Chris likes her?”

“Yes!” Eddie shouts.

“Maybe he does, maybe he even loves her a little, but he loves you more, and he wants you to be happy, and he knows you aren’t happy, and he probably knows it’s because of her.”

“He does?”

“Yes,” Buck takes Eddie’s hand away from his heart, but he doesn’t let go of it,  “your heart knows it too, and it’s screaming at you, Eddie, but you aren’t listening.”

“I wanted to be ready, to move on from Shannon, not just after she died, but long before that too.”

“I know.”

“Am I never going to be ready?” He can feel the wet of his eyes as he blinks up at Buck, vulnerable once again in front of him.

“I think you are, but not with Ana, and that’s okay. I mean, she’s the first person you seriously dated besides your wife, Eds. So it’s okay that she isn’t the right fit, and it’s okay if it takes you a little while longer to find who is.”

“Is Taylor your right fit?” Eddie blurts out, and it makes Buck let go of his hand.

“Whoah, we’re talking about you here.”

“Is she? It’s been four months, and you’re still together; she’s still actually here.”

“Yea, she hasn’t run away from me yet, and ya know, we have a good time.”

“She makes you happy?”

“Y-yea. I mean, am I ready to ask her to marry me? No, but I gave her a drawer last week.”

“A drawer?”

“Yea. She’s only got a few things in it; honestly, she lives more in the news van than anything.”

“You gave Taylor a drawer. In your loft?”

“Am I mumbling or something? A drawer, yes. In my loft.”

“That’s uh - that’s cool.” But, damnit, Eddie can’t do this for the third time. He doesn’t have the strength left. He grips the dishtowel hanging from the knife drawer just to ground himself to something.

“You okay?”

“Yep, yep.”

“You’re looking a little panicky. Maybe it’s not just Ana. Maybe you’ve just got a real fear of commitment thing going on. Even if it’s mine.”

“Shit,” his chest hurts this time, and his whole body is hot, but he’s shivering.

“Put your hand back on my heart.”

“No, no! God, that’s going to make this worse.”

“What? Why? It worked last time.”

“Exactly. And in the bathroom, it was you, so much you,” Eddie’s knees are weak now. He isn’t sure how much longer he can stay upright, and suddenly everything, fucking everything, smells like Buck.

“Eddie, you’re not making any sense.”

“I need you to go. Can you go, please?”

“I’m not going to leave you like this.”

And, of course, Eddie knows Buck won’t leave him. Buck will do just about anything Eddie asks, but he won’t do this. He won’t leave Eddie when Eddie needs him so badly. 

“Buck, please, you’re making things worse.”

“How am I making things worse?”

“Because you’re the only one who can make them better!”

“Eddie, Eddie.” Buck wraps Eddie up in his arms before he can fall to the floor, probably hitting his head on the way down. The instant calm he feels with Buck’s body pressed hard against his, his soft breath hitting the curve of Eddie’s neck terrifies him. It isn’t a new fear, but it’s one he’s been feeling so much more lately, one he can’t seem to ignore. He’s so tired from his body trying to run away from everything; his bones ache, his chest is sore. Finally, he closes his eyes and gives in to the fear, stops trying to fight or flee, and just lets Buck hold onto him. His fingers rake through Eddie’s sweat-slicked hair as Eddie’s breathing starts to slow.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Buck whispers into Eddie’s throbbing temple.

“It’s not okay at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” he rushes out in one broken breath, “it isn’t just that Ana feels wrong; it’s that you feel right. You’ve always felt right.”

Buck is quiet for what feels like a hundred moments before he finally seems to have something to say.

“Huh,” he breathes out from the back of his throat.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know. You could say that I’m insane, that you love Taylor, that you’re not into men, not into me.”

“I could say any of that, but then I’d be lying to you.”

“What?”

“Look, Eddie, I-I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I feel something. Something more than I’ve ever felt with anyone, and I kinda keep thinking it’s going to go away, but it never goes away.”

“Huh.”

Buck laughs and gently sits Eddie up, tangled across Buck’s long legs, still safe in his arms, “are you okay?” he asks.

“I think I am.”

“Good.”

Buck presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose, and Eddie smiles before he tilts his chin, so Buck’s lips fall against his. It’s a slow, quiet kiss that lasts only a few seconds before they both pull away. 

Eddie is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, so he lets them slip closed, lets Buck hold him closer in the middle of the kitchen floor until he falls asleep. 

[honeyapplepi]

The Fall of L’Manberg pt.2

warnings: swearing, angst, violence, betrayal,

Dream SMP realistic au

a/n: this is based off recent plot streams so if you haven’t been keeping up with the streams for the past week spoiler warning. This was supposed to be the last part but i guess my brain is just too big (/j) and now there’s gonna be a part three.

italics = flashbacks

(PLATONIC) Dream SMP x gn!reader

masterlist | part one | part three

“"You’re majesty of Manberg" no. "Great ruler of Manberg" no. "Lord of Manberg" maybe,” you said softly speaking to yourself in your mirror. You were trying to come up with names to have the people call you when you inevitably took over Manberg.

“Y/N what are you doing?,” you heard Quackity saying. Turning around you noticed him at your bedroom doorway.

“Oh, nothing. Just making sure I look good. The festival is today after all,” you smiled at him as you walked closer him.

“Are you sure that’s all,” Quackity asked as you stood next to him in the doorway. You smiled at him before answering.

“Of course. Quackity, you’re my best friend I would never lie to you,” you said. You smiled brightly before wrapping your arm around his shoulder.

“You know what, Quackity. I feel like today’s gonna be a good day,” you said smiling at him before leading him through the hallway.

You stood looking in your broken mirror. You had your arrows ready along with potions. You even had your sword ready just in case you needed it. You grabbed some steak and left your home.

Once you reached snow, you began looking for Technoblade’s home. It didn’t take long to find it since the land was mostly flat. It was a nice home, but there was an atrocious building next to it. You walked up the stairs and knocked on his door figuring to have the decency him and Dream hadn’t expressed the night before.

Technoblade opened the door revealing him and Phil ready for battle. You entered Technoblade’s house looking around. Your eyes stopped on phil.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Y/N,” you said introducing yourself.

“Phil,” The man responded. Soon enough Dream entered meaning it was time to travel to L’Manberg. The four of you exited Technoblade and Phil’s home and began towards the nether portal.

Once you were in the nether, the four of you began down the cobblestone path that led to the thin line of blocks leading to L’Manberg’s portal.

“Quick come closer i’ll splash us with Invisibility,” Technoblade ordered splashing the four of you with invisibility. Once you were through the portal you stopped looking around.

So much had changed. L’Manberg was way bigger than before. There were more buildings, more people. Looking in front of you you saw the community house which was now destroyed. Gripping your bow you followed Technoblade, Dream, and Phil towards the community house and down into the sewers.

You still had twenty minutes before 3. Once Technoblade got his dogs you, Phil, and Technoblade would distract everyone while Dream got the TNT ready. Once the dogs were ready and splashed with potions the three of you met in the middle of L’Manberg. Technoblade stood in the grass while Phill stood on a building. You were on top of hiding on top of another building.

“We’re here! Where are you?,” Technoblade yelled looking around. No one seemed to be there. That was until Tommy appeared.

“What are you doing here? It’s not 3 yet?!,” Tommy said started to worry. “Tubbo!,” Tommy called out.

“Tommy! The chests! They’re empty!,” Tubbo yelled running towards Tommy.

“What?!,” Tommy yelled. “Someone emptied them!,” Tubbo said.

Soon enough Technoblade got tired of waiting and began attacking Tubbo and Tommy. You quickly shot an arrow towards Tommy hitting him in the chest knocking him back.

“Y/N,” you heard Quackity say from behind you. This scenario feeling very familiar. Turning around you looked at your former best friend.

“Quackity,” you said quietly.

“You told Schlatt about Tubbo and you also convinced him to banish Niki!,” Quackity said behind you. You looked in the corner of your mirror seeing your best friend.

“What?,” you asked turning around to face him.

“And this morning, "Great Ruler of Manberg" you wanna take over Schlatt’s position,” Quackity said stepping into your bedroom.

“Quackity- no i would never!,” you said defending yourself.

“I trusted you, Y/N,” Quackity said before turning and leaving your room. You stood in shock and mix of sadness and angry. You were angry that your plan had been spoiled, but you were sad you had hurt your best friend.

Feeling overwhelmed in your emotions you picked up the nearest thing, a book, and threw it across the room hitting your mirror and breaking it.

“What are you doing here?,” Quackity said looking at you. You looked back at him.

“I’m destroying the place that betrayed me!,” you said gripping the bow in your hand, but no readying it.

“That betrayed you? You betrayed us!,” Quackity yelled.

“Come on, Quackity. You stood by and let them try and execute me! You were my family and you betrayed me! We could have ruled together, Quackity!,” You said trying hide all your emotion that was crumbling in at once.

Quackity had been your closest friend when you were little, but one day he moved away. Then you saw him again after Schlatt convinced you to run as his vice president. All during the election and even throughout your vice presidency Quackity was your closest friend.

You were there for him when he was having trouble with Schlatt and he was there when you needed him. And now having to destroy the place he called home, even if you hated it so much, hurt.

“You didn’t want to just rule L’Manberg, you wanted to own it! And even if i did stand by you it would never be as equals! Schlatt was just as bad as you, but at least he could admit it!” Quackity yelled out.

You gasped quietly at his words. It hurt you so much to hurt him, but you had to. He betrayed you, and now it was time for your revenge. Grabbing your bow you pulled an arrow out your bag and shot it towards Quackity hitting his left leg. Quackity toppled back as you readied another arrow and shot it in his right leg successfully causing him to fall back completely.

Grabbing your sword you swung it just stopping it as it pointed towards Quackity’s neck. You stared into his eyes not moving the sword any farther or closer to him. You frowned looking at his watering eyes. Not in a way of fear, but in a way of betrayal. Moving the sword back you began to speak.

“I-I’m so-,” you started to say when TNT began to fall from the sky. The ground beneath you began to fall causing you to fall back. Your back hit the ground under your feet. The ground soon followed after your action and fell breaking off the rest of the land.

You felt yourself fall through the air. You finally got a good look at what was happening around you. Withers had spawned and half the ground was blown up. You didn’t regret helping in the destruction of L’Manberg, but you were starting to regret causing the effect that would come after.

[capsironunderoos]

Hoth Chocolate

DINCEMBER - December 4 - Hot Chocolate

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Reader

CHAPTER 14 SPOILERS! S2:E6 SPOILERS PAST THIS POINT!

Summary: After the events on Tython, a tired Mandalorian finds himself back on Nevarro.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: SPOILERS! Also a very, very sad Din.

Author’s Note: Wow... So a lot happened in that last episode, and the only way I knew how to cope was to write. Thankfully Dincember exists, and I was able to do just that! This is very sad and has some angst in it, but some fluff too. It’s the fulfillment of the “Hot Chocolate” prompt for @dindjarindiaries​ Dincember, which makes this post just a tad bit late. Also, I learned that hot chocolate in Star Wars can be referred to as hot chocolate AND Hoth chocolate, and I literally love Hoth so much so that little bit of Star Wars knowledge will stick with me to my grave. Anyways! I hope you enjoy!

Here’s the previous prompt: 

DINCEMBER - December 2 - December (Ariana Grande Version)

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“Cara- Cara said I could find you here.” 

You’re jumping up from your seat at the sudden break of silence. The book you were reading drops to the floor, and the sound of the hardback spine landing echoes around the room.

The shadow standing just inside your doorway is one you have not seen in a long time, one you had accepted you’d possibly never see again. 

You’re still standing in silence, trying to decide what he’s doing here, and how he got in, and how you didn’t even notice. 

“Din?” You whisper, almost unbelieving.  

Your brain tries to talk itself into believing this isn’t happening, that you’re dreaming, and in a few moments you’ll wake up, alone and nostalgic for days when the other side of your bed wasn’t cold. 

The visor of his helmet is still focused on the ground, and you notice almost immediately that he doesn’t have the child with him. 

You find yourself wringing your hands together, a nervous habit you’d picked up too many rotations ago to remember, and one that could only be calmed with the touch of the man who was suddenly standing before you. 

A child screaming in a fit of laughter outside your door as they run by catches you both off-guard. 

You jump at the sudden rupture of the silence around you, and Din spins quickly to look behind him. 

Something has happened, you can see it in the way his shoulders rise at the sound of the child laughing, and then fall once they have passed. 

You walk over to where he stands, still looking into the alleyway where the entrance to your house rests. 

You never take your eyes off of him as you hit the button that triggers your door to slide closed. 

The soft whoosh of it closing let’s Din know that it is now just you and him, that no one will ever know what takes place in this room besides you, and him. 

He’s missed that feeling, and you have too, though neither of you will admit it, not right now. 

Not when there are obviously too many other things to talk about. 

You stand facing his side now, noting that he has yet to look away from the closed door. 

“Din?” You try again, and a deep sigh falls from his lips, crackling into static through the modulator of his helmet. 

“Something has happened, hasn’t it?” 

You question and he still looks forward, as if acknowledging being here with you will also force him to acknowledge whatever he has been through. 

“Where is,” you’re unsure if you should finish the question you so desperately want to ask. 

You stop mid-sentence and clear your throat as your hands find each other again and repeat their motions from earlier in a desperate attempt to try and ground you. 

You want to know what has happened, you want so very much to know where the child is, and if he is okay. 

You want to know if Din is okay, and why he is here now, after so long. 

“What happened, Din?” You whisper, barely audible, and for a moment you’re unsure if he’s heard you or not. 

There is a beat of silence before his shoulders slump, and the visor of his helmet tilts so far down that his chin is almost resting against his chest. 

Your hands ache so badly to reach out to him, to touch any part of him you can in order to reassure him that everything is okay, even though it so clearly is not. 

“I,” he starts, and your chest tightens. 

Are you ready to let him back in just like that? 

Are you ready to hear the tragedies he’s endured since he left you, since you asked him to take you with him and he disappeared before you’d even had the chance? 

Din seems to be weighing the answers to those questions as well, but you can hear his steady breathing through the modulator and you notice him turning slightly towards you. 

His chin stays tucked into his chest as he continues. 

“I lost the kid. He’s… gone.” Din whispers so quietly that his modulator almost misses it, as you do you. 

The word “gone” ricochets around the room before crashing into your chest, and you feel the breath knocked from your lungs. 

Your legs grow weak, and you steady yourself against the wall to keep from falling down. 

“Din,” you murmur out softly, and he hears his name laced with both sorrow and comfort for the first time in his life. 

You notice how the utterance of his name seems to physically strike him, watching as he flinches at the sound of it. 

He clears his throat before shifting his weight and starting again. 

“Moff Gideon followed us to Tython. I- I left the kid, I left Grogu, alone, and scared for one,” he huffs loudly, and when he speaks again his voice is gravelly through the modulator, and you know that he is trying so hard to hold back, to stay strong. 

You just aren’t sure if he is trying to stay strong for you, or for himself.

“I left him for one second. That was- all it took was one second.” 

The defeat in his voice is something you have never heard from him, and it is something you never want to hear again. 

Your brain briefly latches onto the name the child has seemed to receive, and you wonder how Din came to know it. 

Before you can ask, you hear Din take a deep breath. 

He’s not finished. 

“They blew up the Crest,” he mumbles, and your eyebrows furrow. 

Surely you aren’t hearing him right. 

“They blew up- it took one second!” He yelps this time, his voice breaking and causing the modulator to crackle so loud it makes you flinch. 

“They blew up my home!” 

He yells now, visor raised as he looks straight at you, begging you to try and understand where he’s coming from, as if him leaving all those rotations ago didn’t completely uproot the home you had created for yourself. 

“That was my home. It was- I had so much of myself in that ship, so much of what makes me…” 

His voice has quieted down now, but he still stares at you. 

He can’t even finish his sentence as his hand reaches for something in one of the pouches on his belt. 

Your eyes slowly travel from the visor of his helmet to his hand, where he is grasping a small silver ball. 

You feel as if your heart will explode at the sight of it, immediately identifying it as part of the control panel of the Crest. 

“All that was left, I couldn’t, there wasn’t…” 

Hearing him struggle to speak has broken you into a million little pieces, and you feel your face growing wet from the tears you can do nothing to stop. You are frozen, and you are unsure what to do to offer even the smallest ounce of comfort to the man before you. 

Normally he is the one providing comfort, helping those in need and making sure everyone is safe. 

Now it is your turn to do the same for him, and you can do nothing. 

You are completely shut down, unresponsive, as if you are a droid whose each and every circuit has fried. 

Din’s shoulders begin to tremble ever so slightly, and before you can register what is happening he is dropping. 

The Mandalorian is on his knees now, his chin resting against his chest as he cries. 

The sound of his pain through the modulator is enough to snap you out of your stupor, and you are quick to follow him to the ground. 

“I lost everything, everything. In minutes. I have nothing.” 

He whispers, and the words are so strained, so full of hopelessness that you aren’t sure you even recognize the man before you. 

Hearing him believe so strongly that he has nothing left creates a strain on your heart akin to a vice grip, and the pain of it shoots through you, but you know you cannot argue with him now. 

Your role is to listen, to understand, to sympathize. 

You raise your hands to his helmet, and they hang in the air for a moment as you listen to his whimpers. 

Would he still allow you to see his face? 

You had made his clan of two into three at one point, but you wondered if he even remembered what that felt like. 

You had found sanctuary in each other, and in the way the both of you cared for the child, but it had seemed so long ago that you were unsure he even remembered a time when you were allowed to see him outside of the beskar. 

You begin to move your hands back to your lap, content with wringing them against each other, but you freeze when his hands shoot up to grab yours. 

His fingers are wrapped around your wrist, and holding them so tight that you are almost afraid he will leave unintentional bruises there. 

His chin still rests against his chest, and his shortened gasps for breath let you know that he is still crying. 

Din slowly begins to move your hands to his helmet, and he pauses for just a moment before bringing them to rest against the sides. 

The beskar is cold underneath your palms, and you instinctively curve your fingers under the helmet. 

His hands still grip your wrist, and with a final squeeze he lets go, his hands now falling limply into his lap. 

“Din,” you state his name in wonder, and he knows why. 

“Please,” he insists, begs, and it is all you need to hear. 

You lift the helmet slowly, sitting it beside you on the floor as you turn back to him. 

His hair has been cut, but you can still see the unruly mess of curls. 

His eyes are closed as tears continue to slip between his eyelids, making their way down his cheeks and pooling into the fabric around his neck. 

You inch ever so closer to him, gently taking his face into your hands. 

A tear begins to roll down his cheek, and when your thumb moves to swipe it away he breaks. 

A loud cry erupts from his chest, and the noise is so foreign to your ears that your brain can only register it as a feeling of unease and pain that spreads through your body like wildfire. 

Din suddenly falls the rest of the way, landing on his bottom with a loud thud, pulling your hands down with him, but you do not let them move from their spot against his skin. 

You have longed for one more chance to touch him, to hold him, and you would have asked for it in any way other than this, but this is all you have been afforded, and you will not take it for granted. 

You follow his actions, sitting on the floor in front of him, but he is quick to catch you and pull you into him. 

You straddle his lap, legs wrapped around him as he squeezes you into his chest. 

His nose finds the crook of your neck and your hands move to wrap around his head, your fingers lacing through his dark hair. 

You shake as he cries, both from his sorrow and yours. 

Tears fall freely as your mind tries to wrap around everything he has endured, and the way he so freely trusted you with his stories. 

You allow him to cry for what must be hours, neither of you moving or speaking. 

He whimpers as if in pain, and his struggle to catch a deep breath shakes you each time he gasps for air. 

You can feel his warm breath against your neck, and you can feel where he has soaked the collar of your shirt. 

Your heart aches for him, breaks for what he has witnessed, and longs to know the status of the child. 

After his breathing has begun to even out, and he has stopped shaking, you bring your hands back to his face, moving it to look at you. 

His eyes are bloodshot, and the skin around them is puffy from crying for so long. 

You can see that he is exhausted from the release of so many emotions, and you lovingly stroke his cheek. 

The smallest hint of a smile graces his lips and is gone as quickly as it came. 

“I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have left you.” 

You start to protest but he does not let you speak. 

“Gedet’ye, please, cyare, forgive me. I shouldn’t have left you here.” 

You have begun crying again, and he moves his hands to cradle your face and wipe away the tears. 

The both of you now sit in silence as you hold each others faces between the plans of your equally callused and bruised hands. 

“I will always, always, forgive you. You are my heart, my home.” 

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.” 

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.” 

I love you. 

At your confirmation of his words, he pulls your lips to his, and the both of you continue to cradle the other as you share the softest kiss. 

His lips are so familiar to you, as yours are to him, and it takes only a second for the pieces to begin to slowly connect once more. 

When you pull away, a bit breathless and somewhat surprised, you notice that sorrow is still settled in the deep brown of his eyes. 

“You know that I will do everything in my power to find the child, to return him safely to you. I know the attachment you feel to him, and how much he means to you.” 

Din nods at your words, and you notice that he has begun to tear up again. 

“I want you to tell me your plan to find him, because I know you, and I know that you were already thinking of one the moment he was lost.” 

At the word “lost,” Din’s chin dips again, but you quickly raise his eyes back up to yours. 

“And don’t you dare blame yourself for this Din Djarin. You knew the risks when you rescued him from the Client, you were aware of what could happen, and this tragedy has always been a possibility. The only difference is that now it is reality. Regardless, you are not at fault, and we will not abandon him.” 

Din is crying again, and you swipe away each tear as quickly as they fall. 

“Now, I want to hear that plan,” you prompt, and Din offers you a small smile. 

“You always did love immediate action,” he states, and hearing the slight tone of tease in his voice makes your heart swell with affection. 

You nod in agreement, and his smile grows. 

“I will make a deal with you, Mandalorian,” his hands have long fallen from your face to rest around your waist, but he uses them now to pull you closer to him. 

“Anything, cyare, anything.” 

“You tell me your plan, and I’ll make Hoth Chocolate.” 

He ponders your proposal for a moment, before a wide smile splits across his face. 

“How could I ever refuse Hoth Chocolate?”