#and our first loves are rarely the ones we carry the rest of our lives | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alavestineneas · 9 months ago

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i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, daddy and sister issues, bald men chapter 1 - chapter 2 word count: 6,5K

author's note: hi beautiful people! this chapter may be classified as a prologue (yes, I am aware of its size, sorry, lol), but it is still integral to the story. we love evil people, especially evil bald people, in this house, so have fun and don't forget to wash your hands before reading! also, if you see things that are not canon, just know that me and the books are two parallel lines and we do not cross. feel free to point out grammar mistakes, though - english is not my first. love you!

Kaitain, 10176 AG

The violent streaks of light fight with the heavy cloth of drapes to find their way into the small, stifling chambers. The time was slowly crawling towards noon in the heavy summer heat, and the woman lying on the heavily decorated sheets was battling to get a breath in. Whether because of the annoying star, or the poisoning waiting, the patterns of sweat stained her tired face with esculent ornaments. Her lips, formed into a thin line, gleamed with small spots of dried crimson.

''Where is the messenger?'' The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the dancing light filtering through the window. ''The girl is strong; I can't hold her for much longer.''

The black figure on the chair in the corner slightly shifted at words. She was veiled, despite the heat—like a black hole, she seemed to suck the little air left. ''Forbearance,'' her raspy voice cuts through the room. ''The child makes you impatient. Control yourself.''

''I've waited, and waited long enough,'' the woman snapped, her frustration evident in her trembling hands. ''A few more minutes and all that is left of her will be a corpse.''

''Be quiet, Echidna. The child will live. If not, she was never meant to be part of our world in the first place.''

The woman clenched her jaw in a wave of pain and nodded. The girl ought to see the light of this planet today. Deep in her thoughts, she almost missed the rushed steps behind the door.

One of the Emperor's guards burst into the room, his eyes almost frantic. ''Lady Anirul has graced the Imperium with a daughter.''

Echidna smiled in relief, but her expression quickly changed as a beast-like cry pierced the air. The child was coming, with little care for the damage it caused to her aching womb. She tore the tissue down to the individual cells, gnawing her way with fists and elbows, moving the bones aside with brute force. Soon, her own cries were answered by much louder ones, as the head of the girl showed itself, covered in a thick layer of almost black blood. Just for a moment, the woman wished it would not steal another breath from the room, but she sharply composed herself. With a final push, the child left her body forever, leaving it a raw wound.

The small creature shrieked when the black figure approached, and slender, wrinkled arms took it from the warmth of rufous-red liquid. Echidna watched as the figure carried the girl away, resting her hurting body against the soaked pillows. She fulfilled her duty; she granted Bene Gesserit the daughter they wanted. She is bleeding under a beautiful sun; she is holding the ghost of her child in her arms—the real one was never hers anyway. Echidna knows the Emperor will not come. From now on, it is just her and her never-passing pain. Thus, Kaitain, home to the Corrino dynasty, was warmed by the light of a new sun—Princess Irulan, an heiress to the Imperium—and chilled by the shadow of her sister, born a few minutes later.

The calmness of the gardens was disturbed only by the soft strokes of brushes against a thick canvas. YN sighed, her eyes still fixed on the tree nearby, its young branches swaying with the wind. Her body ached from stillness, the tension in her neck from holding her head slightly bowed spreading down to her small back. They posed for a portrait of what seemed like an eternity to a child, and was almost it to an adult who dared to inquire; the painter, while satisfied with the draft, looked at the group of young girls almost in fear—no normal child of that age would be unmoving for three hours. And yet, they were.

YN felt one of her sisters shift even through the thick fabric of her silver dress. Small Chalice turned, her cheeks red from the heat or tiredness, her lips forming a pout—the child was tired, sleepingly rubbing her eyes. YN thought for a moment, debating if the punishment would be worth it, or if her sisters could wait just a little bit more until the man with colours would end the session for today. She noticed how Irulan's face was starting to droop, her eyes fluttering closed and opening just a second later. Their youngest, Wensicia, was already asleep in Irulan's arms; her golden hair spread across her and YN's laps as a beautiful cover, shining under the faint sun.

''I am tired, Master Chen. We should end the painting for today,'' YN finally spoke; her voice was almost a whisper. She did not know whether it was not to awaken her sister or out of fear of the Emperor's anger; it did not matter. The man nodded and left, taking his canvases with him, leaving only a few drafts behind. Then, the sisters were left alone in the garden.

''Thank you,'' Irulan said softly, placing her head on YN's shoulder.

YN only nodded. Her eyes found the paper not so far away, her gaze studying the strokes of the pencil with interest. Wensicia, a beautiful girl of two, was smiling brightly, holding an olive branch in her chubby hands, her small feet peeking under the hem of her white dress. Small Chalice was at the opposite end of her, her curly hair surrounding her head like a halo as she leaned forward, holding a small dove inside her palms. Then, sitting at the bench, surrounded by lush greenery and bushes, they. Irulan and the Other.

YN was placed just a step away from her older sister, her head turned away from the gaze of the viewer. The delicate folds of her silver dress carefully cascaded down, creating an air of mist around them. Her hands were empty; she did not know if the artist hadn't decided with each object to grace her with, or left them hollow intently. She looked like a shadow—a ghost, maybe; her eyes were escaping the viewer as if hiding a secret.

Irulan was different. She was a sun-kissed creature, her head facing straight ahead. Her eyes, as if inviting for a challenge, were made from duty, steel. With a burning star on her regal forehead, crowning the streaks of golden hair, Irulan was water and air, dulcet and ever-bending; her figure held the place and her pose was distinct and commanding.

YN looked at the girl beside her, who was now quiet nearby. Irualn was wise, the wisest of the sisters; her eyes were all-seeing, her heart all-knowing. She was created in the shape of a mother since they could walk, and the small ones bathed in her light, drinking her till the last drop —like flowers following the warm embrace of the sun. The only one who could not enjoy the love was her, the Other. The other sister, the other half. For they have been too close in age, too similar to let each other pretend the burden was not a heavy one to bear.

When Irulan was natural in her all-caring shape, YN had to claw her way to the only role left—the father. An unbent tree, a silent soldier—she was not born to fit as one, but wishing for a different order of things was almost blasphemy. That's how it always was with them—out of two, one was the protector, the other - the protected. "Husband," Irulan humorously called her often. She smiled, and, for a moment, the wave of resentment in YN's soul calmed. She never called her wife in return: Irulan was too whole to be one, too proud to be moulded into. She stood alone, on a higher pedestal than all of them, closest to the Emperor, whom the Other was to call father, and closest to the Truth. No, Irulan was God.

God does not know how to love someone who is not his servant, because there is no one who would refuse to serve him; it is the only way. God guides, despite all one's protests. God gives, and God takes. God demands; Irulan demands—silent obedience without a need to explain or answer. That, she takes from their father. So, the Other takes a blade into her hand without compassion for her dead wishes and learns to wield it in God's name. She is the one little ones turn to when the world is too wicked for their fragile souls when the creatures under their beds lose all of their human form and turn violent. She takes their sins and bears the punishments, for they are not deserving of such cruelty. YN thinks not of her own guilt—what difference would one scourage make to one who counts in centuries? And when the sun shone, and God smiled, the Other almost forgot of the bruises she carried.

The first time he saw her, it was not supposed to happen at all. Feyd-Rautha just closed the door to Maester's chambers with such force that it shook against lean walls; the grumble echoed in the long corridors of Giedi Prime's fortness. The ache in his body was muted, but still present; the torn flesh inside his heart howled and clawed, slicing the ribcage in half. He would've screamed, or perhaps beat his hands bloody against the concrete until the dull pain turned into something as sharp as his knife's blade. Maybe he would've drowned himself in a small water bowl by his nightstand and done anything to escape the shame and humiliation that consumed him from within. But instead, Feyd-Rautha stood still, his jaw clenched tight and his breathing shallow. One day, it will pass. One day, he will see the world choke on its own spit.

That's when he noticed a small, shadow-like figure at the end of the hallway staring at him. A girl, not older than him, was in a dress so foreign to him that it hurt his eyes. The daughter of the Emperor, he guessed. One of many—only then would the golden stitching on her sleeve would make sense.

''What are you doing here?'' he barked, caring little for the common courtesy. Of course, she was a guest almost as prized as her father, but she was in his territory and dared to look at him for long enough without averting her eyes. Long enough to notice the bruising on his pale skin and a swelness surrounding his lips. Long enough to hear him cry.

''I was walking with my mother, but then I turned into the wrong hall,'' she shrugged. ''Will you be kind enough to show me the way out? Or should I find it myself?"

Feyd-Rautha ignored her question. What a weird creature she was—with cascades of hair and eyes that seemed to see too much. ''It is dangerous to walk these halls without guard, Princess.'' It is dangerous to be here, alone with him and the weapon strapped to his hip, but he did not add it.

''There is no use of guards if the one who wishes to kill you is their master.'' The girl took a step forward, pointing to the weapon at his side. "I am not afraid."

Feyd-Rautha laughed. It came out more as howling than human sounds, the abrupt nature of it ringing with high notes, tip-toeing down to hysterical; it sounded creaky, like his throat was not made for such sounds; yet here he was, laughing. ''Come,'' he gestured to her, his hand moving quickly, like ordering a slave around. ''I will show you why you should be.''

So, they walked. Inside the grandiose chambers and small rooms, filled with ancient artefacts or the newest technology Harkonnens came up with; inside the green lavish garden inside the dim castle and the training grounds, Feyd-Rautha showed every place that was built to display the greatness of his house and bestone fear inside both guests and people inhibiting it. He wanted to see the horror in the girl's eyes, to make her eyes water and her frame flee. Instead, he listened to her steady breathing just a step behind him, her curious questioning satisfying another need he did not know his heart possessed: reverence.

He was the youngest member of the ruling line, the smallest stone in the castle of power his uncle had built. His title meant nothing within these walls; he was too small in comparison to the Baron and his authority. Feyd-Rautha was feared, despite only being nine; he was the shadow in the corner that grew longer as the sun set, the whispered name that sent shivers down spines. But here, in the hallway he led the girl into, he turned out to be something else.

''Stunning,'' the girl whispered beside him.

Weapons. The walls, from the floor to the high ceilings, were covered in ritual and fighting blades. The pride of house Harkonnen, the tree of their dynasty, black, silver, golden, and steel knives, swords, and daggers gleamed in the dim light. Feyd-Rautha smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Welcome to our burial ground."

They stopped near every one, his voice briefly covering the story of each blade and his owner; barons that came before him; fighters and rules that defined their legacy. Some still have blood on them—the highest honour; some look almost virgin. The small signs underneath them tell the names of people who wielded these weapons, their stories forever immortalised in the cold metal. ''Each Harkonnen ruler is crafted a blade of his own, the one he is to honour in battle.''

The girl nodded, her fingers tracing the shape of the last blade carefully. Her palms danced around the sharp edge, taking in the ancient symbols she had no chance of knowing. ''Will you have to kill Baron Vladimir in order to have one, like he did with his father before?''

Feyd-Rautha paused. Of course, he has thought about it before. The idea he repeated like a mantra in his head for all of his short life, the belief that spread burning flames down his spine. The words left his mouth for the first time but felt almost natural against his cracked lips. ''I dream of the day I have the chance to.''

The pair of foreign eyes that stared back at him held a glint of intrigue that quickly changed with a flash of acknowledgement. Feyd-Rautha held the gaze; not a single thing about it was hard. Still, he was the first to turn away; the burning sensation of being seen made him want to tear his flesh apart. ''Let me escort you to your rooms, Princess. The walls grow colder as the evening approaches.''

The weather on the planet leaves too few guards out of their breath, Irulan notes. The striking sun burns through the rounded windows of man-built walls, the frankly depressing landscape of huge boxes constructed with little intent for anything else but utilitarianism. She must not fear, while those lands will also be under her power with time, but the dreadful atmosphere of the lonely planet makes her skin break out in hives.

She believes the people here are more terrifying. White, hairless creatures with eyes as dark as the sun above them speak with just nods and courseys, paying little to no attention to the world around them, save for the concrete floors. ''Tell them to set themselves on fire, and they will,'' Irulan recalls Baron Vladimir telling her father over the banquet. She believed it to be a simple boast at first, but now, after a few days in the strange world, the words make greater sense.

Perhaps, the harsh weather made people here hardened. Perhaps, such cruelty is necessary for survival. What terrorised her more was her sister—the one who now silently reads nearby, her long dress carelessly spread on the floor. Irulan would never allow her dress to wrinkle before the concluding dinner, but she is not Irulan. Despite them being demisisters, they shared fewer similarities than one could guess. Two lambs, as many in court would call them—the white and black ones. They knew one another better than anything else; where one went, the other followed. Where Irulan failed, her sister succeeded. What was allowed for her sister, was fobility towards Irulan. No one was embedded in their small circle; no one could get close enough to understand the bond they shared—together, they were whole.

Yet as they grew older, the bond seemed to thin. The path to the mind of her sister was more often closed to her now, her thoughts veiled by the silence rooted deep into her veins. Irulan knows they are just growing up, trying to find their path in the unknown. But she is scared; what would be of her without her sister? What use would the river have without fish to fill it?

''I shall go,'' her sister says, closing the book. ''The dinner starts soon, and I wanted to return the book before it.''

''Is it the one Na-Baron recommended?'' Irulan voices. Truth be told, she would never touch anything that Baron or his family possessed, even more recommended, but her sister seemed to enjoy the ancient text.

''It is. Rather interesting are the traditions of these people. Did you know their slaves have no tongues?''

Irulan feels sick to her stomach; the thought of having slaves brings the small bits of her recent meal to her very present tongue. ''Can I come with you?'' she asks, instead of answering. Irulan does not want to leave the faint safety of her rooms, but even more, she does not want to be left alone. She feels vulnerable—she is not of power here, despite being the embodiment of it in all of the other corners of the Imperium.

''You know I walk without guards.''

Irulan knows. While she is not able as much as bathe without the presence of someone with fighting knowledge, the rules do not seem to apply to her younger sister; she can move freely, as she wishes. Was it because she carried a thin blade with her and knew how to use it, or because of the lack of care from their father? Irulan was not sure. What she was sure of, was that no woman of twelve should leave her sister alone in the halls of Harkonnens' fort.

''It is just to the reading room and back, is it not?''

''Yes,'' her sister nods. ''I'll take you,'' it means.

So, they walk. Fortunately, the guards usually waiting outside are nowhere to be found, and they manage to slip away unnoticed. Irulan holds the hand of her sister tightly, with each noise from the outside digging her nails deeper into her soft palm. Her sister says nothing; she steps calmly into the labyrinth of corridors, navigating them without much evident trouble. Soon, they find themselves in front of a huge black door, incarnated with words Irulan hold no knowledge of.

Inside, the chamber is massive; it forms a beautiful, round circle with ceilings so high that the air in it is always chilly. Rows of books and manuscripts fill the shelves out of oxidant, contrasting starkly with the white wall. The black circle table of cold stone is filled with replicas and ancient artefacts, each emitting a soft glow.

Who knew the small, desert planet held such treasures inside? Irulan forgets about her sister entirely—the texts call to her, golden lettering shining under the light. Irulan follows the names on the covers: legends, myths, histories, and art overviews. Some even contained gardening and soil research; Baron likely held those for a good laugh.

Irulan travels deeper and deeper until the voice of her sister addressing the only library keeper almost disappears, consumed by tall bookcases. The section she finds herself in is solely dedicated to martial arts; where, if not here, would the hundreds of books on such a topic be stored? Some of them are used; the spines are slightly older; others look brand new.

Irulan is brought to her senses only when she notices a black figure moving in the corner of her vision. She puts the book back and Listens. Just like the Sisters taught her, her inner ear picks up the faint voice of her sister, and the moving of two sandaled feet—the slave handling the books. She feels something else, too. A presence familiar enough to recognise but not enough to name.

''We have to go,'' she says, grabbing her sister by the shoulder and pressing. ''We will be late,'' she explains to the slave. Not that it would question the whims of the princess.

''Why?'' her sister turns to her, confused. ''I was looking at some other books. Weren't you also?''

''Please,'' Irulan whispers. ''We spent enough time here as it is.''

Just as her sister was about to answer, the atmosphere shifted. The air, sitting in its calmness, heavied. The silent before slave turned on its feet, its eyes burning holes in Irulan's body. It lurches towards them, opening its obsidian mouth to show the blackened void inside—indeed, it possesses no tongue.

Irulan freezes. The void seems to suck her in, the sharp mouth growing wider as its owner approaches her body. The fear paralyses her, planting her otherwise quick feet deep into the ground. Now, her training as Bene Gesserit should awaken—she should oppose, or at the very least dodge, the attack. But the black mouth continues to draw her in, clouding her thoughts with terror.

The body beside her shifts; her sister is quick. With one strong thrust, she pushes Irulan aside. '' Hide ,'' the voice within her head commands, and Irulan has no force to object to the technique. She crawls under the heavy stone, frantically looking for something—anything—to protect herself with.

Despite the long skirts, her sister moves like Adam's wine; she bends and turns, and strikes the man far taller than her, but he seems determined on the idea of killing her. Her sister grunts under the heavy hits; one sits in her abdomen, and another lands on her knees. The slave's nails leave a trace on her skin, rough enough to pierce the young dermis.

Eventually, her sister grows tired; the slave pushes her to the ground, pressing his slender body on top and closing its white, almost translucent hands on her throat. Irulan clasps the found sharp cutting instrument to her chest, desperately trying to calm the wave of fear forming there. ''I must not fear. Fear is a mind killer,'' she whispers again and again.

She watches as her sister's hand slips under her clothes and emerges an illicit, slender blade—it shines under the light just as lettering did on the books a minute ago. To Irulan, it feels like a year's hundred. ''No!'' she wants to shout as her sister raises the steel and preys it into the eye of the slave, but the words are unable to leave her throat. Like a waterfall, crimson covers her sister's face, staining her light grey dress in hot circles.

The slave falls on his back, his hands leaving their place on her sister's neck.

''Enough, please! Sister, stop!'' Irulan cries, crawling out of her hiding spot but daring not to get closer.

Her sister doesn't hear; she lurches towards the man in a slick puddle and takes his life quickly, cutting his throat in one swift motion. The blood from his arteria leaves the body in pulsations; they spatter everywhere, some drops going as far as touching the shelves.

The silence settles in the chamber once again; only the sound of weakly flowing blood disturbs the stillness. Her sister does not shed a tear; she meticulously cleans the blade with the slave's white cloth and slips it back into the folds of her gown.

''What have you done?'' Irulan whispers. Her hands tremble; the sight before her crawls into the deepest corners of her mind and tears everything there down. How can one kill so easily? How can one be so cold and calculating, as if it were nothing more than a daily chore? How could that one be her sister, the one she shared a life with?

''I protected.'' Her sister's voice is hoarse, but firm. There is no remorse in her tone, only weariness. ''What have you done?'' She turns to face her. Her hair, carefully braided by servants for dinner, is undone; the wet strands of it grip her face like a vice, framing the unseeing eyes.

Like that, she looks like a woman mad. Irulan backs into the safety of the doors, feeling her fear turn into something much greater. ''Do not come near me,'' she commands. Just as the heavy doors close behind her, she sets off running.

YN waits until the footsteps of her sister are no longer heard, and only then does she come out of the reading room. She pays the body on the ground little attention; no one would bet an eye on the death of a useless creature like that. It did not intend to kill; rather, someone made it do it. Who, in their right mind, would try to harm the heir of the Emperor? How would they know that Irulan would follow her there?

Irulan. The one who watched as the Other almost gave her life for hers, the one who had the nerve to be repulsed by the blood on her hands—the blood she spilt protecting her. What do you do when you are not allowed to be angry at God? Why does God shame one for the will she herself inflicted on one to bestone? YN would ask the sun, but it hid behind the walls of the fort. She would ask, but no one would answer.

So, she does what she is meant to do—finds her way into the large dining hall, where everyone, of course, is starting to gather. The Emperor would be dissatisfied to find her not there on time; she has no time to fix her appearance. In light of the slight possibility of shaming their House with her muddled hairstyle or suffering yet another punishment for being even late, she chooses the first option.

The guards let her in without saying a word. YNr watches as the shield slides open, revealing a full hall. Rows and rows of tables, filled with foods one would imagine never would have made their way to the Giedi Prime, and laughter not so usual for a harsh realm.

''Princess...'' the servant starts, announcing her arrival, but she shushes him with a slight wave of her palm. She does not notice the crimson liquid staining it.

The Other makes her way to her seat calmly, careless of the way people around her stumble and twist their faces in shock. The only eyes that watch her without fear at the Emperor's table are those of Lady Echidna. Her face betrays no emotion at all—hidden by her veiled black cloth, it only slightly moves when the YN passes her seat.

She holds the angry gaze of the Emperor calmly. He will demand an answer, of course if Irulan has not whispered the truth into his aged ears already. Her sister probably would do no such thing; in that, she would admit to disobeying the orders bestowed upon her. YN is puzzled at the attention directed towards her humble figure—the first thing a Bene Gessarite in training learns is not to be repulsed by the anatomy of her body. Why be grossed out by the liquid coursing through her veins—the liquid she carries all her life? Why be scared of death, when it is always at your doorstep? In the sway of her thoughts, the Other also seems not to perceive the pair of icy blue eyes glued to her figure as she finds her seat and takes her place.

"The boy follows you around like a dog." The mother's tone stands not in judgment but rather simply states the truth.

Lady Echidna is not veiled now; her heavy hair is still tightly braided out of her face. Just a small black ribbon highlights her status as one of the Emperor's senior concubines, a position most would bear with honour. To her, it was yet another stain on her earthly body—the body she could not call her to possess. The black sun of Giedi Prime is finally long behind them; nothing but a few light orbs floating around illuminate the chamber, yet her intense gaze seems to pierce right through the girl that sits across her.

"I know, mother. His steps are heavy; his thoughts are even heavier; they follow me much more often."

The woman's fingers stop working on an intricate needlework for a moment, before continuing as it was. "You are to call me Sister, girl," she speaks, her voice low.

YN drags her teeth across her tongue, feeling the anger flow through the veins in her body. She wishes to be far away from this small chamber, to run and never face the woman's eyes again. "The girl has a name, Sister. Or do you fear to voice it?"

Lady Echidna places the cloth on the table beside her gracefully, as if paying no attention to the words spoken. But YN can sense can feel the resentment that burns inside her mother's stomach, spreading its molecules to her throat. "A name holds meaning; for a person to have a name, one must first be of character and substance. You are none."

YN bit the soft flesh inside her mouth; it tasted bitter. It was better if her mother shouted, if she hit her if she did anything to prove YN is still here in her eyes, that she was not just a void the woman spoke her riddles into. Maybe then the pain inside her would have a meaning, would have a reason better than just childish hurt. "Did I not have a beating heart when I left your womb, Sister? Did you not hear it loud and clear? What kind of proof is needed more of me?"

"My daughter died that day, screaming. You took her place. So do not bother me with your foolish talks anymore, for we both know they just waste the air we breathe. Am I heard?"

She was. The tears dried on YN's face before having the chance to spill, and she turned to her studies. Once more, a feeling of ever-lasting cold surrounded her shoulders. The never-leaving vision in her mind appeared once again—her mother's quick steps as she walked away in another corridor of Giedi Prime's fort, her head straight ahead as YN pleaded not to leave her alone, her legs glued to the command spoken. It was a blessing that the boy found her earlier than his uncle.

Time has passed since the first time YN's eyes saw the black sun of the foreign planet so far from hers. The Other trained, restlessly, in the tongues of ancient warriors and the most prominent whisperers, slowly earning the right to bear Knowledge in her crown-empty head. She had much yet to learn, but the prospect did not frighten her; with every passing day, she felt power building in her hands and soul. Patience, the greatest virtue of all. She was alone now, without her half of a sister; alone, in her solitude, the heavy bearings seemed not as heavy—she had no one to enlighten about her battles. Still, God was on her mind; YN felt her presence near, her watchful eyes guiding her. Like the tight, dampened cloth on her bruised knuckles, her sister was stuck to her open wound of a soul.

Irulan has grown. Her complexion changed; she no longer looked like a bright-faced girl who left her sister alone in Harkonnen's library; the plump cheeks were gone, and so was fear. At the Other stared a sole statue of power she bloomed into. Silver collars, light blue waves of fabric—the cut is, as always, straight. The Other eyed her up and down, taking in each detail of the painting-like sight. Irulan did the same—a slight disgust at the Other's simple tunic and pants, creased from the sparring. Irulan did not need to be broken in order to be a Sister in the Bene Gesserit; they wanted her Corrino first, and a servant second. The Other, however, held no such value—a child carried not by the lawful wife, a second, a spare. So, there would be no bone in her body left untouched by the lessons, no string in her soul unharmed by the knowledge. They crushed her cartilage in grey sand and forced her to swallow the bitter truths of their ways. Yet, God remains undisturbed—stoic. Eternal.

''Will you not eat again?'' Irulan musses, putting another piece of dish in her mouth.

The Other would take it as a cruel joke from anyone else, but not from God. She shakes her head instead. ''I am forbidden.''

Irulan hums. It was not the first time YN would be disciplined this way; the cycle of punishment and forgiveness was all too familiar to her. The room is silent; there is no one but the two of them. She could offer to eat, and no one would know she did, but Irulan won't offer. The Other does not expect her to; pity is not something a sister can possess.

''How are your lessons going? A fresh knowledge, perhaps?''

YN nods. If she opens her mouth now, her voice will betray her. She could cry all she wanted in the presence of a sister, but it is not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old to behave this way in front of God. The Other is reminded of that with an absence of bruises on Irulan's skin; her hands were never cut by the sharp blades, and her mouth was never starved. ''Why was I summoned from training?'' She asked, directing her eyes to the figure in front of her.

''I am here as a messenger from the Emperor.''

YN's eyes narrowed. ''And what does our dear Emperor desire to tell me now?'' She wishes not to hear anything he has to say; the Other is perfectly content here, amongst her Sisters. Here, she is of cost.

''Recently, Baron Vladimir turned to our House for guidance. He and na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen felt misled by the House Artreidis, and their promise of a bride that did not come. Our father has graciously offered to negotiate the conflict and pay the needed price for the Baron's cooperation.''

''Of course, he did. With all of our might, we are still afraid of the savages that made Arrakis their home. With what advice, may I ask, did the Emperor provide the Baron?''

Irulan's lips turn into a straight line, with the small wrinkle on her forehead appearing. Something that she carried with her through childhood. Something that still reminded of home. ''With the proposal of a woman of our House to na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.''

''A gift? Irulan, I am so sorry.''

Sure, the bridge between them was long forgotten, growing with tall grass and wildflowers, but the weight of their shared history still lingered in the air. Irulan was still her sister, no matter how many times the Other tried to tell herself otherwise. And no woman sane would consider giving her sister to the inhumane brutes that were Harkonnens—the people even Bene Gessarit wished to observe from afar; the people so ruthless mothers told stories about them to their small offspring in an attempt to instil fear and obedience.

Irulan does not answer. She hides her gaze, her eyes following the wooden panels of the quarters.

''What is it, sister? Speak .''

''The offer Emperor found the most fitting would be of your hand, not mine.''

The Other exhales. As if a heavy stone were put on her chest, she fights to bring much-needed oxygen to her bloodstream. She almost feels the erythrocytes scatter from her face into her neck, hidden by the cloth, and gather there in an attempt to regrow their might. Her throat twists and closes, its muscles compressing until not even an ounce of air can get in. All of her organs, from heart to stomach, made their presence known; one by one, they tensed and burned, forcing the otherwise relaxed hands to grip them.

It was supposed to be Irulan. The first one to marry is the oldest sister; the title high enough to satisfy the ambitious Harkonnes would be hers, no less. Yet, here she stands, not even looking at the one taking her place as she sentences her to an ultimate death. No matter how much power the Corrino name held, on Giedi Prime, she would consider herself fortunate enough if she were to meet her end quickly.

''Why, Irulan? Have I not been a loyal servant to you all those years? Have I not followed every order without question? ''

Irulan is unmoved in her position. ''We can not risk the Harkonnen blood getting on the throne, you know it.''

''You mean we can not risk you? We are not eight anymore, dear Irulan; you can speak truthfully now. Do you really think the Emperor will treasure you more if you say nothing now? We are no sons, Irulan; we are sisters, you and I. Please, spare me this fate.''

''Yes,'' the girl lifts her eyes, taking a step closer. ''We are no sons; you knew that one day we would marry for the peace of the Imperium. Why do you shout now?''

''Married, yes, but not murdered for the sake of the fucking old man who could not hold his promise. They are monsters, Irulan, spilling innocent blood for the fun of it. I beg of you, sister, show me the mercy I know you are capable of.''

''You are worried about blood? What could one more splash of blood mean to you? You have been no sister for a long time; I order you, as an heir of the Emperor and as the messenger of his will here, to comply. Do not make it harder than it has to be.''

The Other smiled—she would not grant the pleasure of tears. ''Very well, then. Someone needs to go first. I'll go; I'll be first, at least here. Tell the Emperor that I will comply with any of his wishes, whether it be to throw me to the sharks or to feed me to the sandworms. As a confirmation of my undying loyalty, you may show him this:''

She slaps her. She slaps her not like a warrior, not like the trained assassin she was raised to be; she slaps her like a sister, bitterly, harshly. For the first time in her short life, YN raises a hand on something she deems holy—the God's shocked face brings a sense of satisfaction to the Other's veins, even if the same blood courses through them. She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving the forsaken room behind. Leaving God behind.

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queenofwands89 · 5 months ago

Note

hi! may i request a jake seresin fic where reader is very girly, she very rarely is seen in an outfit that isn't put together, she loves makeup and skin care and all that. so anyways, she and jake haven't been together for very long and they are meant to go on a date but jake calls her and tells her that he had a really tough day and he's tired and isn't feeling the greatest overall. so she decides to go to his place and makes his comfort meal for him and they cuddle and watch a movie before she takes him in the bathroom and pampers him with some self care please?? maybe he puts a bath bomb in his tub and gives him a face mask and eye masks while ge soaks and stuff??

First thank you sm for sending this to me, mwah 💜

Comfort in Chaos

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

Warnings: Tired, fatigued Jake. Jake suggests the reader to join him in the bath. fluff.

Notes: I hope you all are taking care of yourselves. Self-care is crucial. So please, unclench your jaw, relax your shoulders, and breathe, okay? Stay hydrated. Sending you love.

You’d just finished adjusting the last strand of your meticulously styled hair when your phone buzzed on the dresser. You took a moment to appreciate your reflection—your outfit perfectly coordinated, your makeup impeccably applied, each part of your ensemble a testament to your love of fashion and beauty. A smile spread across your face as Jake’s name lit up the screen. Your heartbeat quickened with excitement; your date nights were the highlight of your week.

“Hey, handsome,” you answered cheerfully.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jake's voice sounded rough, wearied by the day. “Listen, I don't think I'm up for our date tonight. I’m not feeling well, and it’s been a tough day.”

Your brow furrowed with concern. You knew how taxing his job could be, and today seemed like one of those days. While you relished every chance to dress up and indulge in your self-care rituals, you cared even more about Jake’s well-being.

“Jake, you don’t have to push yourself,” you said softly. “I know you're not feeling well. How about we reschedule?”

Jake's voice wavered with regret. “But I don’t want to disappoint you. I know you always put in so much effort, and I hate that I—”

“Shh, none of that,” you interrupted gently. “Your health is more important. We can always have another date night. Just rest up, okay?”

Jake tried to protest, but your determination was unwavering. “No arguments, mister. We'll reschedule for when you’re feeling better.”

“Okay,” Jake finally relented, his voice filled with a mix of relief and regret. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” you replied softly, hanging up. You smiled to yourself, knowing that even though tonight’s plans had changed, taking care of each other was what really mattered.

Your mind couldn't stop thinking about Jake long after you ended the call. Instead of just rescheduling, you decided there was a better way to spend the evening. Gathering a few essentials—ingredients to make his favorite comfort meal and your favorite self-care items—you set out for Jake's place.

When you arrived, you used the spare key he had given you. The apartment was unusually quiet, its stillness contrasting with your typical lively date nights. You found Jake lying on the couch, a blanket half-draped over him.

"Hey, sweetheart," you said softly, kissing his forehead gently. He tried to sit up, his surprise mingling with relief and gratitude.

"You didn’t have to come all the way here," Jake murmured, his voice still carrying that tired edge.

"I wanted to," you replied, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Now, you just relax. I’m going to make your favorite."

In the kitchen, you got to work on preparing his comfort meal, seasoning, chopping, and stirring with practiced ease. The aroma soon filled the apartment, and you noticed Jake’s face softening as he breathed it in. Before long, you brought a steaming plate to him.

"Here you go, just like you like it," you said, taking a seat beside him and watching as he took the first bite.

“This is perfect,” Jake said between mouthfuls, a look of relief washing over him. “Thank you.”

After he finished eating, you suggested, “How about we cuddle and watch a movie?”

Jake’s eyes lit up a bit at the offer. “I’d love that.”

You picked a lighthearted film and pulled him close. The familiar warmth of his body against yours was comforting. While the movie played in the background, the soft moments of shared comfort held your attention.

Once the credits rolled, you decided it was time for some self-care. "Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you." You led Jake into the bathroom, where you started filling the tub with warm water, adding a soothing bath bomb for good measure.

"What are you up to?" Jake asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Just a little pampering," you replied with a wink. "Trust me."

You coaxed Jake into the tub, where the effervescent bath bomb filled the room with a calming scent. As he soaked, you applied a gentle face mask and placed cooling eye masks over his tired eyes.

Sitting back, you commented, “You know, I’ve always admired your skin. It’s so smooth, and you have barely any pores. I’m seriously jealous.”

Jake chuckled, lifting one side of the eye mask to peek at you. “What can I say? I’m just naturally flawless,” he said with a playful, cocky grin.

Rolling your eyes, you smirked. “Sure, Mr. Flawless. You’ve got it all figured out.”

Jake sighed contentedly, leaning back in the tub as the warm water soothed his tired muscles. You sat beside the tub, your hand finding his and squeezing gently. You shared quiet laughter and sweet whispers, savoring the rare, tranquil moment.

After a while, Jake looked at you with an affectionate gaze. "You always know how to make my bad days better, Y/N," he murmured. "I don't know how you do it, but just your presence alone brightens up my darkest moments. Your kindness, your patience—it’s like you have this magic touch that makes all my worries fade away. Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve someone as wonderful as you."

Your heart swelled with affection, and you tightened your grip on his hand. “Oh, Jake, you do deserve it—just as much as I do, if not more. You bring so much joy into my life. We're both lucky to have each other, and that's what makes this work.”

Jake stared into your eyes, nodding softly. “You’re right. We really do complete each other, don’t we?”

You smiled, feeling the warmth in your chest bloom. "Absolutely," you replied, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

He leaned back, the tension in his body visibly easing. "You feel a bit better?" you asked softly, brushing a few wet strands of hair from his forehead.

"Infinitely better," Jake replied, gratitude shining in his eyes. "And I have to admit, I feel ridiculously pampered—and very loved."

“As you should,” you said, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “This is what love is about—taking care of each other.”

Jake's tired eyes sparkled with newfound mischief. "You know, there is still some room left in this bath if you want to join me."

You laughed, swatting his arm lightly. "Is that so? Well, in that case, maybe I will."

Jake leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a flirtatious murmur. "You mean it? Well, don't leave me waiting."

"Sure," you said with a cheeky grin, standing up to grab a towel. "Just don't hog all the bubbles."

As you slipped into the warm water beside him, both of you couldn't help but smile, knowing that this intimate, spontaneous moment was just as special as any planned date.

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court-jobi · 2 months ago

Text

Tired Eyes

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Todoroki x reader (UAteacher!reader x Pro-Hero Shoto)

Rating: T+ (smol insinuated spice between lovers)

Words: 2k

Warnings: GN!reader, Behold the FLUFF, est. relationship, stress relief, Shoto is a good partner, just comfort hours, yall, tender kissing, *light suggestive pining* Shouto is a petname king

Summary:

An overworked hero and his under-rested lover are both due for a vacation. You are certainly dreaming of such a time where you can get away, and pose the idea one night when the dreams become just a bit too real and appealing to all your senses to ignore.

A/N: Ok, I super love writing Shoto now. Y'all's love of my first fic convinced me... more love for our half-and-half beau awaits~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Night sky. No clouds in sight. There is only a sky of deepest blue, a sea of deepest green, and sparkling gems of reflected starlight in between. Music rises from the sandy beach band beneath you, but out of sight from the serenity of this island paradise.

There’s light, despite the lateness of the hour. Streams from the moon above you: so brightly that it casts shadows through those teetering, cascading palms over the entire balcony.

Just slightly too cold, this wind. A perfect midnight breeze, but you’re hardly chilly. There’s a perfect set of arms holding you around the waist– paired by a warm cheek pressed against your right side: his left.

You don’t get views like this living in such a thriving city. Those skylines hold their own beauty, but it’s hardly a candle to this unspoiled beach. Distant rolls of waves crashing at low tide act as the perfect background noise. Your better half is humming the familiar song that’s playing downstairs there by your ear; a relaxed state emanating from him that you rarely see–

Todoroki slips into your study, on the hunt for where his darling lover could be. Catching you catnapping at your desk, he runs a hand through your hair to test how deeply you sleep.

‘What’s gotten into you, huh? You never dance!’

‘We’re on island time, aren’t we? What’s the saying.. ‘there’s a first time for everything’.’

‘Breaking news: Japan’s number four hero, SHOTO, dancing his life away with the love of his life’- that’ll make headlines! I gotta make a call-’

‘They’ll never believe you…’

‘Where’s my phone- I gotta get proof-OOPHM!’

‘Stop talking. Come dance~’

A cool hand swipes a finger up your neck, another test.

Kisses outline your cheek in a curve, coupled by dreamy, airy hums. Lips that sear with their ‘want’ of you, laden with heat and obsessed with covering you in their wake. Making you weak for someone who proves his strength with utter softness– and his power with gentleness.

The man atop you -who worships you- has held your hand for years, but your heart for much longer. Friendship turned to something dearer once you both tested the waters together, which led to seeking out new shores in whatever spare time you could afford– time away being a precious treasure. You’re set on committing these kisses to memory, making the most of this respite that resets his busy mind and serious outlook.

He’s making sure you let go of every ounce of worry, now that he’s feeling better. Making you sing his praises without a care for who might hear over the billow and sway of hala trees.

Making you his.

‘M’love… My love….’

‘-My love?”

You stir suddenly and wake like nothing’s happened. That work email draft still sits idle on your browser and as you turn, the discovery that your boyfriend’s returned from the streets of Esuha comes to life as well.

You breeze past your bleary-eyed stare at the man who was just carrying you to bed, distracting you with his mouth, looking fondly up at you unbound by responsibility…- you were sure it was real, just moments ago..

“Oh Sho– sorry about that, I was just um– heh.."

A teasing eye studies your masking. "Long day?"

A curriculum planning session with Aizawa and Cementoss you’d thought was wrapped up yesterday continued in the main office today. Both heroes had flanked your desk with recommendations for your third year students, as well as the intern assignments for the first years. There also lay plenty of midterm e-filing on the administrative end you’ve been putting off, in favor of helping each of the department heads with their assignments so as to not stop their momentum.

Yet where has that left you? Stretched too thinly, as usual.

Not only has the Principal wagged a cautious tail at you for this level of stacked taskload, but in your carrying it home, you’ve received disapproving looks from your life partner as well.

Luckily, Todoroki appears more docile than normal– likely the result of his own weariness coming into play and softening his reaction to finding you this way yet again.

Long day yesterday. Long day today, and a long day most likely to face you tomorrow.

"Yeah.. they do tend that way now.”

"You haven't touched your tea, it's cold." He eyes the way the cup beside you doesn’t steam anymore, with a raised brow. All you can do is rub your eyes and stretch for a little added cuteness.

"I like cold tea- just add a little lemon and some ice~"

While charming, it sadly does little to sway your Pro-Hero.

"You're working too late again, sweetheart. We talked about this."

"Look, it was my bad forgetting the deadline. I got carried away with other stuff,” you explain your shortcomings, “But I don't want to be more stressed out later; I just… thought I could tackle it now?..."

“You ‘tackle’ too much during the day. Surely something can be left for tomorrow?”

“There is plenty for tomorrow– but there’s still some tonight.”

Without much expression, Todoroki sinks from his authoritative stance. A blur of mussed red and white hair knelt beside you to allegedly listen… only to swivel your chair for you, and hold his hands out to you.

You reached out, knowing you needed one of his award-winning hugs. Anything to settle the jolt of waking from such a pleasant dream.

…only Todoroki doesn’t offer you such a solace. Instead he pulls you up the rest of the way, and tosses you up over the shoulder and carries you by your pinned thighs. Paying no mind to your exclamations along the way to the bedroom, you can’t even look back at him from this angle he carries you in .

"Sh-Shoto! C'mon, I can do this! I just need another hour or two - like two-and-a-half, tops."

He set you down on your feet by the bed, though you plop down onto the edge under his intensive -yet loving- stare. Todoroki lightly bridges over you, a hand atop each thigh to keep close to you.

"After… you take a shower, change out of these clothes, and eat something, then we can discuss your work schedule. But I won't let you run yourself into the ground."

He cupped your face and tenderly ran both hands down your hair and back to cup your entire face. His hands finding their comfortable home on your cheeks, you melt at the soothing touch of Todoroki’s thumbs brushing tender skin that’s graced by your shut lashes- where some semi-dark puffiness lies from interrupted rest.

"You have tired eyes, love.” your sweetheart whispers to you, “You're not listening to your body. Let's take care of it."

It’s the same argument you’ve coached him through sometimes. Though as a Pro-Hero, he’s taken the hint of self-care that you selectively ignore when it’s turned to you.

You sighed, but opened up to a well-meaning gaze; Shoto really was the most beautiful human you’d ever seen.

"Okay, honey. You win."

He smiled- wrenching your heart again, “I'll warm up our dinner."

“What do we even have?” you fight for the memory of what’s in the fridge.

“Don’t worry about that,” Todoroki settles you with a kiss on your forehead, “I’ve taken care of all of it.”

You hop in and out of the shower in record time and dress down in a curated set of pajamas, courtesy of Todoroki himself. Prepped and pre-heated in the towel warmer right beside the shower door, the gesture was just one of the many expressions of his love for you.

He timed his reentry perfectly, changed into lounge clothes as well and armed with a small tray complete with an assortment of some of your favorite poppables you can make a meal out of: crisp veggies, some rice balls, a touch of fruit for sweetness– all expertly topped with a green onion finish.

It’s a taste of something you’d maybe find on vacation. Even the way Todoroki plates this late-night snack meant to share… you’re spoiled by the presentation, without any special occasion sparking it at all. He makes ordinary Tuesdays feel like more. Sunday evening scaries aren’t something to dread anymore. Small moments in the daily -that hearken to the indulgent moments you work hard for- make the biggest difference in your weekly grind.

“You’re not off the patrol rotation around Golden Week, are you?” you ask wistfully, armed with a lightly sauced onigiri.

Todoroki stills from putting away some clothes; midthought, in puzzling fashion.

“Actually, I think so,” he gives a soft little smirk that’s more sleepy than pleased. “Iida and I worked out that he wanted some family time off the week after, so I offered to team up our agencies for that month to ensure smooth coverage while we’re both gone. The school is closed too, right?”

It’s perfect timing, you think. How you want to make your dreams a reality…

“We are. Got me thinking…”

Settling your finished tray aside to join you, Todoroki listens in.

“D’you think maybe if I get back in your good graces -not doing so much after-hours work-” you make a few bats of the eye to him, “...maybe we could get away for a bit? Take a little holiday?”

“A trip?” Todoroki asks.

You hum your request, hoping he’ll be open to it.

It’s hardly a fight; by the way his brows lift in amusement, it’s only obvious he’s never been asked about such a thing before, but loves the idea.

“Where did you have in mind, darling?”

Only the subject of your dreams: a beach hidden from the rest of the world, where cell reception is next to none (you pray) and where good food and good music are all you need to focus on while you spoil each other rotten with a selfish streak of alone time.

You shouldn’t feel so possessive of him -he’s a Pro-Hero who’s responsible for keeping this corner of the world safe… but you have to say, the idea of taking a break at his side has been seeping into your dreams long before tonight.

You can’t stay silent on it anymore.

“Somewhere there’s water.. And at least a six hour time difference. And a comfy bed.. N’ you.”

An amused huff leaves his nose again, transfixed on how soft your face looks at this moment.

“Big end of the bargain you’d have to hold up,” Todoroki teases, his voice worn by a day on duty and tenderized to sleepy perfection, “I know you can’t always escape it.. Can you promise no more after 9PM? Would that be fair?”

You accept the challenge, “That’s a good window. I could do that.”

Todoroki trails a warmed hand up your arm to ultimately cup your cheek.

“Promise no more lukewarm tea?”

“Is that so bad an offense to you?”

“Nearly unforgivable. Grounds for disowning, if you’re Nana Yaoyorozu.”

You giggle in your delirium, “Well, certainly can’t have that! No more, pinky promise.”

Leaning in, Todoroki seeks out a last condition,

“Promise I get my kisses in the doorway again?”

“Missed them tonight, huh?” you sigh guiltily.

Todoroki teased your partly open mouth, “Terribly.”

Nudging his nose, you beam at your sweetest reason to get up in the morning,

“I promise, my prince. Whatever you want. So please, can we?”

Matching the nuzzle and never one to refuse your wants or needs, Torodoki dives back in to kiss you,

“How can I say ‘no’ to my angel. Of course we can. A little break in paradise might just be what we need~”

You know no one works as hard as he does. Carrying the legacy of Endeavor is a hefty enough charge, forget that he’s set to forge his own path past what the reputation has already afforded him. Shoto has become a household name to many; though yours is where he is most content to come rest his head and heart.

With the dangling treat of a getaway with him on your horizon, you set the intention to finish your work after this aside for the morning, entirely. Shoto has already made his plea to hold you for the rest of the night, and you could never refuse his tender asks. When he treats you like royalty, how could you not in return?

With your shared kisses and brainstorming of vacation destinations now on the mind, you’re hardly focused on student affairs; you have dreams to fulfill.

#shoto todoroki #shouto todoroki #shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha shoto #mha todoroki #todoroki fluff #shoto fluff #shouto fluff

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froggy-demon · 10 months ago

Text

Hazbin Cast - On a First Date!

Alastor, Husk, Angel Dust, Charlie, Adam, Lucifer

Requests are open! If you enjoy my writing and want more please send me a request, I’d love to do some in between chapters!

Masterlist

Alastor

Would definitely not tell you it’s a date before hand

“You simply must try my favorite tea shop, join me tomorrow afternoon!”

Recommends his favorite tea once you get there, but compliments whatever you get

Pulls out your chair for you of course

Very confident

Obviously

Also he shadow walks you both there because he lowkey hates walking through hell when he doesn’t need to

Watches you intently as you take your first sip to make sure you do actually like it

Because he knows you wouldn’t complain if you didn’t

And he wanted this to be perfect

But he also just liked looking at you

And watching you

He would make the conversation all about what you like and what you’re up to and how your redemption is going

To hint about how interested in you he is

But he is legitimately interested in knowing all about you

Overall it goes very well

Alastor is an absolute gentleman of course

It is a rare exhibition of his more gentle side

But not too gentle

Not in public

Once you’ve both thoroughly enjoyed your tea he lets you walk back to the hotel together

Totally not so he can extend your time together or anything though

When you both arrive back at the hotel he gives you a bow and takes your hand in his, placing g a gentle kiss on your knuckles

“Thank you for your time, I look forward to our next date. Maybe you can select a restaurant you would like to try later this week?”

Only then do you realize this was a date

He did mean it as in a date date

Right?

Husk

Husk would be very casual asking you out

Not because he actually is calm

No no

He just wants you to think he is super calm and casual and collected

Honestly though he’s a little nervous

Even if he doesn’t show it

He had watched you gun down a handful of goons who were harassing a sinner you were trying to invite to the hotel

Wow did you look good pissed off

That was when it really hit him how much he liked you

Hell even admired you

So of course he wanted to take you out!

Husk would want to take you somewhere nice

Like the swanky Jazz restaurant he loves!

“Y’know if you want a night out of this dump, there’s this really good restaurant I like. They’ve got live jazz music every night! Don’t worry, it’ll be my treat.”

He winks at you after that with a dry, but secretly anxious, grin

He fixes his hair up extra nice for your date of course

Probably retires his bow tie at least three separate times before meeting you at your room door

With him he carries a single flower to give to you

All the way out the door he is giving you compliments

On your outfit

Your hair

Your shoes!

Everything

He doesn’t hold your hand in the walk there

No that’s too intimidating

But one of his wings stretches out behind you like a shield to the rest of hell

Once you get there he is very excited to tell you all about the jazz piece that is being played

You happily listen to him rattle off the history

But then his attention turns back to you

His expression is softer while he listen to you about how your day was

He loves listening to you

And on the way home he shyly takes your hand in his

He doesn’t let it go until you’re back at the hotel

Not quite ready to call it a night he pours you a drink

Your hushed giggles and conversations could be heard into the early hours at the hotel

Just enjoying each others company at the bar

“If you ever need anything, I mean it, I’m right here. How’s about next week I show you this record shop I like? I bet they even have the music you like to listen to!”

Angel Dust

He totally tells you it’s going to be a group thing

But he does not invite anyone else

“Ah I guess the gang got hung up back at the hotel, oh well! We can still have a good time just the two of us right tuts?”

He’d flash you the signature toothy smile and hook an arm around your shoulders

You’d go out to a bar, but one of his favorites

One where he doesn’t know so many people

But the bartender always keeps an eye out for trouble for him, so he felt good taking you here

He liked the way the dimmed lights made your eyes seem to glow

And how you laughed at all of his corny jokes

He always got more corny when he was a little nervous

Anytime someone else even dared to look your way he would eye them down

But mostly he was just happy you seemed happy and having a good time with him

His typical overly flirtatious jokes were fewer and further between than they normally might be

He was more anxious that he might actually need to follow through

Angel also didn’t want to give you the wrong idea

He really liked you

Sure you were good looking

Of course you were good looking

But he also liked the way you looked at him

And how you smiled when you were about to say something funny

How you’re sarcasm rivaled his

How a single soft touch from you made him feel grounded when he needed it

He held himself back from drinking to calm his nerves though

Angel wanted to be fully present with you

And he smiles softer as you told him all about the ins and outs of your day

The night slips away quickly as you both joke around for hours

Eventually he works up the courage to admit that he had been wanting to ask you out

“Well, I always have such a good time with you at the hotel, I thought it would be nice for us to have some time alone. Like on a date, if that’s okay with you?”

And of course it was okay

It was more than just ‘okay’

He lets you hold his hand when you reach for it

Trying to hide the little blush on his face when you do

As the night goes on he makes sure you don’t get over served and is happy to escort you home when it comes time

As he walks you up to your room he ruffles your hair and says:

“I’m glad I got to hang out with you tonight, just the two of us. I like spending time with you, maybe we can hang out more just the two of us? Go on an official date?”

Charlie

Charlie is somehow both overconfident and melting in anxiety at the thought of asking you out

She was very attracted to you of course

And she was prettyyyy sure that feeling was mutual

But so much could go wrong!

What if she tripped on her own feet walking over to you?

And then you laughed?

Well she could admit it would be kinda funny but who wants their crush to laugh at them?!

She would totally have a very school girl crush on you type vibe

Eventually she would plan it out through

With the help of her note cards and a poster board it was perfect!

“Sooo y/n, I was going to go to see this movie and then I was like ‘who goes to a movie alone?’ And then I remembered you saying last week you really wanted to go see this movie, so I bought us tickets would you want to come with me tonight?”

She’d battle her eyes with a huge smile and puppy dog eyes

Not that you needed the puppy dog look to say yes to her offer

You were as ecstatic as she was

The whole way there we would ask you questions about yourself

Your hobbies

Your interests

Your job

General afterlife

Admittedly she would excitedlyinterject her relating stories

Partially out of nervousness and excitement to have things in common

During the movie she would totally be guilty of leaning over and whispering to you to ask questions that where either painfully obvious or you had no possible way of knowing the answers to yet

“Who poisoned her?” “We don’t know yet”

But it was kinda cute

Honestly it was because a fair amount of her attention was actually on if you were enjoying the movie

And how cutely you laughed at the screen

And how the movie lighting seemed to cast a very pretty halo on your hair

During a particularly suspenseful scene she found herself holding onto your arm

She didn’t let go until the credits rolled

Afterwards you chittered about how good the movie was and your favorite parts

She liked the look in your eyes when you got excited about the subject

“This was so much fun, can we go on our next date soon? I bet there are a ton of fun things to do in hell!”

Charlie didn’t get out much, but she knew she would find something to do with you again soon

You would walk back to the hotel holding hands

When she walks you to your room she becomes more shy and gives you a tiny kiss on the cheek before telling you a bashful goodnight

Adam

Okay listen

Yes he is brash

But it’s kinda charming

The awe of meeting him isn’t lost on you either

He is so the opposite of how you would have imagined an Angel

Ever since you have accompanied Charlie to the meeting with him you couldn’t help from thinking about him

Even if he was the enemy

Especially if he was the enemy

And he noticed it at the meeting

The way your eyes glued onto him

He knew that look better than anyone else

So when he was setting up another meeting with hell he specifically told Lucifer that you were the only demon he would consider talking to

Alone

Lucifer tried to argue that’s literally not your job and no offense but like why?

But Adam wouldn’t budge

When Lucifer delivered that message to you, you tried to play it super cool

As if you hated the idea of seeing him again

But inside a piece of you was thrilled

So day of you might have picked out an especially attractive outfit, that’s not a crime!

When you arrived to the Heaven Embassy you were a little surprised to see he was appearing alone

You were more surprised as you looked around the room

Roses were scattered everywhere, the room was only lit by candlelight, a particularly lovely tablecloth was set out over the meeting table

Which Adam sat at the head of with a giant smirk on his face

Of course he was able to clock your feelings from a mile away

“Heya baby, thought you’d never join me!”

He’d motion to the set across from him and you’d nervously take your seat

The theatrics were flattering, or humiliating?, depending on how you looked at it, but a heavenly meeting is still very important so whatever the reasoning is for this must be important

“There is no fucking meeting.”

Oh??

“I just noticed you were hot and well, I’m hot too, and you were looking at me all ‘omg he’s so fucking hot!’ Last time so I figured I’d arrange a little something.”

Gobsmacked would be one word for how you felt in that moment, flattered another maybe more appropriate word

The heavenly figure snapped his fingers and a soft violin began to play in the background

“I’m not typically into the whole ‘talking’ shit, but you do seem maybe kinda cool and I never get to hang with sinners so I kinda wanna know..”

He asked you all about what day to day life was like in hell

Adam would work to keep his mind from just drifting to what you two could be doing right now

But honestly it was pretty fascinating to hear about what it actually is like down there

Sure he’s seen it evolve over the years, but it’s different to hear it from a primary source

He would definitely need to make sure nothing happens to you during the extermination in a couple of months

For a sinner you were remarkably interesting to him

The whole time you were still a bit amazed by the whole encounter

It was a little surreal

“Listen hot stuff next time we gotta do this in my domain, maybe then we can do a little more than just talk. This is surprisingly fun too though! See yah babe!”

With a wink his projection would be gone and you found yourself highly anticipating the next summons you’d get from the first man

Lucifer

You met through Charlie of course

You staying at her hotel and all

He had noticed how your eyes discreetly followed him during his visits to his daughter

At first he wasn’t sure if it was surveillance or attraction

So he came up with a theory

On his next visit before leaving he would make a point to thank you for your hospitality and keeping an eye on his daughter, not that she needed it

He’d take your hand and place a very respectful kiss on the top of it

The blush on your face was confirmation

So the next time he stopped by he had a plan

“Say, mind if I borrow your watchful friend? I could use those eyes to keep a lookout on me for a particular outting after I leave, not too long I promise!”

Of course you agreed, happily

But it was stressful being charged with keeping an eye on THE Lucifer of course

Honestly you had no idea why he had asked you to join him, all he did was stop by the house of some overlord and then go into a bookshop

While in the bookshop you might have paid just as much attention to the books as you did him though

Which was kinda impressive

He liked seeing your smile light up at the sight of a particular series, of which he made a mental note

The time after that he stopped by the hotel you opened the door and almost immediately turned to go get Charlie, but the angel stopped you

“Actually I was hoping to talk to you! Charlie doesn’t know I’m stopping by!”

He’d smile nervously as he pulled out a wrapped gift for you

The first book of the series you had been eyeing!

“I noticed, last time, you seemed rather excited about it back in the shop so I just figured I’d get it for you. As a thank you!”

You were very happy with your gift

And flattered that THE Lucifer even noticed such a detail

“If you’d like, maybe you could accompany me on another outing today? You see I saw a new cafe was opening over here in the Pride Ring and I thought wow y’know who might like to go to a new cafe? I bet y/n would, what a fun time that would be!”

He’d laugh at his own ramble and braced himself for your rejection which would never come

Of course you would love to go with him!

He puffed his chest a little at your affirmative and linked his arm with yours

“Excellent! On the way you can tell me what has you so interested in this book!”

The time passed quickly to get there

The king of hell listened with a big goofy smile as you described the series to him and all your favorite parts while you sipped on your drinks and nibbled your sandwiches

In his eyes, your excitement made you glow

He knew he would have to make a rubber duckie of the main character for you for next time

What a fascinating soul you were

At one point he was even bold enough to reach across and tuck a stray hair back into place

His finger tips lingered ever so slightly on your skin

It practically sent electricity through you

He even dared to hold your hand in the way back to the hotel

This time it was your turn to listen while he explained some of his latest ducks with fever

He was very handsome when he was talking about his gun little ducks

Lucifer wouldn’t dare try to kiss you I. The very first date, but he would place a gentle kiss on the top of your hand again

“Thank you for coming with me, I very much enjoyed our time together! I’d be a very happy man if you’d consider joining me again soon for a second date?”

He’d play it as cool as he could but truly he was giddy when you said yes!

You could totally tell

It was very charming

With one last bow and a wink he would be off back to his home and you would drift back to your room

Unable to hide the smile in your face

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #hazbin adam #hazbin angel dust #hazbin first date #hazbin hc #wrenposts #hazbin husk

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esmedelacroix · 1 year ago

Text

20 days til' Christmas

militaryhusband!ghost makes snow angels with your son ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

cw: angsty(sorry got a bit carried away)

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

It became a tradition for Simon to make snow angels with your son every Christmas Eve so Santa could know that everyone in the house was nice and not naughty.

"Come on mate, it's time to make our snow angels, gotta let the fat man know we've been good this year," Simon said as he helped your son Edward get his coat on.

You had a sensitivity to cold so you stayed inside. You watched the two of them from the windowsill in your living room. You watched as your husband held your son's hand throughout the whole walk to the backyard.

Watching Simon be so soft with his son was an endearing sight for you to see. He may be a military man, and one the most brutal people on the frontlines, but the fact that he can be gentle with his son, warmed your heart.

You could almost hear their laughter as if you were outside with them. As Simon lay in the snow, Edward followed. They began to flap their arms and legs like they were little birds. It was always cute to watch them do this every year. They got up and looked at their work and high-fived before running back into the house.

"Mama, we did it!" your son exclaimed running over to you, boots still on leaving a trail of water and dirt in his wake. Simon shook his head at Edwards's mess and took his stuff off before returning with a mop in hand.

You helped Edward take his snow gear off while Simon cleaned up the mess he had made before joining the two of you on the couch. "Alright little lad, you have got to remember to take your dirty boots off before you walk into the house after playing in the snow," Simon sighed as he got Edward on his lap and hit him with a tickle attack. You joined in the tickling until Edward started to tickle back.

You were all out of breath recovering from all the laughing you had been doing. "Okay, okay, I'll take my boots off next time," Edward breathed out.

"Thank you, young mister," you said, patting his head.

"Did you see our snow angels love? They're perfect this year," Simon asked, nudging Edward's arm.

"Yeah they're so cute, Edward's looks like an ant next to yours," you giggled.

"Yeah papa is huge, and he has big muscles, I want to be just like him," Edward geeked.

Simon looked down at his son, the only emotion playing on his face was love.

"Dad is pretty awesome isn't he?" you asked, running your fingers through Edward's hair.

"Yeah, he protects the country and he protects us," Edward boasted.

You looked up at Simon smiling at him ear to ear. Simon then kissed Edward on his temple. "I'm glad you think so highly of you old man," he replied.

The two of you cuddled up on the couch together with Edward in between the two of you bathing and marinating in the pure feeling of domestic bliss.

. . .

The next morning you woke up feeling a strange coldness creeping up on you. That's when you realized he was gone. Not gone like not in bed gone like he wasn't home. You prayed that he had just gone to the supermarket to get something.

You prayed that when you walked down the stairs you wouldn't see a letter from him and the government saying that he had been called back. You had seen it happen to friends and family, but luckily it had never happened to you.

The first place you thought to check was Edward's room. It wasn't a rare occurrence for Simon to be in there playing with him, watching him rest, or sleeping in there with him after he came to your room and told the two of you that he had a nightmare.

When you entered the room Edward was sound asleep, and Simon was nowhere in sight. Maybe I'm just overreacting. You thought to yourself as you closed his door quietly.

You went down to the kitchen, there was no one there either. Maybe he just went to the supermarket. You thought to yourself as you walked over to the living room. You sat down on the couch letting out a long sigh before feeling something under you. You felt paper under you.

You raised your bum slowly from the cushion of the couch and retrieved a piece of paper. It was a letter. You immediately put it down refusing to believe what it meant. Your hands and legs began to shake rapidly and tears stung your eyes. You shook your head frantically as the tears began to drip onto your lap.

You felt like there was a bolder sitting on your chest. You gripped the throw blanket sitting on the couch until your knuckles felt like they were going to shatter.

You took a deep breath and picked up the letter. You unfolded it to see Simon's fourth-grade-level handwriting. You chuckled to yourself thinking of the times you would always tease him about it. The letter read:

My love, my life, my whole world,

I couldn't bring myself to wake the two of you up. You just looked so peaceful. They called me at 4:00 in the morning, but you're too much of a heavy sleeper and you didn't hear it. I don't have a lot of time to write this letter to you but I love you. I hate that I have to leave you and our little one. Things are really rough on the frontlines. I was supposed to be off for six more months but there is a huge emergency. As you know sweetheart, my job isn't easy. I'm practically greeted with death every day. I know I'm not very good with words but if death does decide to take my hand, I'll hold you with my other. I love you more than anything. I'm going to miss you two so much. Don't forget to tell my boy I love him, and I will be back in no time. Say I love you every day. And Christ baby, stay warm, please. I know how easily you get sick when you're cold. I know you hate it when I'm not around, and you always wish I was home and that there were no wars or conflicts in the world so I could always be by your side but I can't. I hate that I can't change that. I love you, baby. Visit me in my dreams and I'll visit you in yours. I love you endlessly, I'll be home with you soon.

. . .

It was a heartbreaking Christmas for both you and Edward. You wrote him every single day and he would write back when he had the time. You and Edward sent him care packages and even celebrated his birthday and filmed it for him to watch when he came back.

This became a habit for the two of you. You filmed Edward's school concerts, his birthday, his first soccer game, his wrestling matches, and so many more core memories.

The year went by like lightning and it was Christmas Eve once again. "Ma, I'm going to go make the snow angel for Santa Claus!" Edward exclaimed.

You watched him waddle out onto the snow tripping over constantly because he didn't have his dad's hand to hold. He plopped himself down on the snow and began to flap his arms and legs around. He got up and admired his work before quickly waddling back inside. As always he ran straight to you forgetting to take his dirty boots off before joining you at the living room windowsill. "My snow angel looks great!" Edward exclaimed.

"Yep, Santa's definitely going to bring us gifts now," you reassured as you helped Edward get his snow gear off.

It felt incomplete looking out at the snow angel not seeing a giant one next to your son's smaller one. It didn't help that you didn't receive a letter from Simon in December at all.

Months after Christmas Simon still wasn't home. It had been a little over a year since he had left and you missed him every single day. You hadn't received a letter from him since November and you weren't too worried because it was normal but you couldn't shake this feeling that something was wrong.

Those worries were confirmed when you heard a knock on your door the next day. You opened the door to see Captain Price, a man who worked closely with Simon. In his hand lay a folded British flag with Simon's dog tag that he wore all the time. "We regret to report to you that your husband Simon Riley has been reported missing in action, only his dog tag could be found in his trail," Price started.

You couldn't even stand to listen to the rest of what he had to say. You fell to your knees with your face in your hands and began to wail. Your son quickly came to your side placing a hand on your shoulder. "What's the matter, mum? Are these guys being mean?" he asked innocently. All you could bring yourself to do was hug him tight.

That night you explained the situation to your son in the least frightening way possible. To your surprise, he received the information much better than you did. "Daddy is missing in action, he's not killed in action. That means he's still alive and he is coming home soon. We have nothing to worry about Mum," Edward reassured as he hugged you.

"You're right, love, your Daddy's so strong," you said as rubbed his back.

He was saying wise things but you knew Edward was just as scared for Simon as you were.

You received updates from their search for Simon. They say that there is a chance that they may be able to find him but not to get your hopes up.

. . .

Months passed by like they were just hours. As soon as you knew it it was Christmas Eve once again. It had been two years without Simon. You woke up and Edward had already gone outside to make his snow angel. The back door swung open and Edward ran in, boots not off making a huge mess of the ground as always.

You smiled to yourself thinking about how Simon would've hit him with a tickle attack for forgetting to take his boots off again. You gave him a big hug. "Your snow angel looks beautiful Eddie," you said, patting his head.

"Thanks, Mum," he said as he started to scarf down the breakfast you made while he was outside. The two of you watched Christmas movies all afternoon. You got up to get more popcorn and to wash your hands. As you lathered your hands you saw something strange in the window. You ran to the living room windowsill to get a better look. Next to Edward's snow angel was an even bigger one. Like the one that Simon used to make with him.

You were convinced that you were going crazy but you didn't care you had to get a better look. without thinking you ran straight outside with only your pajamas on. You saw it right in front of you, you put your hand out and touched the indent in the snow. "Hon' what'd I tell ya' about going outside without a coat on?" you heard a deep raspy voice say behind you.

You immediately looked behind you to see Simon there leaning against the door. You hadn't even seen him when you ran outside. You sprinted to him and immediately hugged him tight. "Come let's get you inside," he said as he dragged you indoors.

"Simon! What, how- when?" you stuttered. Your thoughts were running wild, you couldn't even get a proper sentence out.

"Surprise Mum!" Edward said, joining in on the hug.

"You knew??" you questioned shocked.

"Papa got here this morning when I went outside. He was there, but he said that he wanted to surprise you," Edward explained.

You playfully hit Simon's chest. "You boys are going to be the death of me," you scolded, pinching Edward's cheek.

"I missed you too love," Simon said as he planted a kiss on your temple.

"Feels great to be home," you said. You may have been in your house but home was always in Simon's arms.

This Christmas was one of the best because you watched the film you made for Simon documenting your lives without him. Santa saw two snow angels and brought extra gifts this year. And finally, you took a week off of work because you had gotten a cold from the two seconds you spent outside and you had your boys taking care of you.

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taglist:

@aripet22

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lvverleavr · 4 months ago

Text

Mutually Exclusive | Entry One

Entry One: Memories Relived

༘ Jake x f oc (Annalise)

༘2.7k words

༘warnings: language, illusions to sex

A/N: This is a first chapter to test the waters on if I should carry out a full fic of this so I'd love any feedback 🤍

Summary: In an ongoing letter to Annalise, Jake tells the perspective of his early adult life— living out his dream with his brothers and her seemingly always by his side. But when the band gets signed to a record label based out of Nashville, Anna struggles with the ability to pack up and leave. With a complicated dynamic by the day his flight leaves, Jake outlines his struggles and worries from the day he left Anna. All things that flood back the moment she shows up out of nowhere three years later.

Entry One:

I vividly remember the first time I met you, you’re barely your own person at fourteen but you were already so– you. Josh had joined the theater club and he couldn’t shut up about you. He went on and on for hours about how you jumped on stage, singing when you were told to sing and even crying with real tears on command. It didn’t take long for me to be captivated by you as well– usually I found the best reason to be out of the house when Josh had the theater group over for practices but once you began to tag along, my social life seemed to free up.

These run ins seemed to be more frequent– you quit the theater club after your first year but you never stopped coming around. Your mother rarely left her bed much past getting a glass of water and your father worked himself to death by the time you were sixteen. Our house quickly became yours too and I never minded, you stayed up even later than me and you spoke in your sleep– I could hear it through the walls when the guest bedroom slowly became entirely yours to decorate, filling it with posters of Jeff Buckley and Stevie Nicks until nearly every inch of the wallpaper had disappeared. My younger brother began to tease me for how much time I spent with you– claiming it was some hopeless crush I had, chasing after a girl who had no idea I was infatuated with her, it made me wonder at times if he saw something that even I didn’t see. Even with the comments they never seemed to phase me, never seemed to shutter the bond that you and I had created. I was really locked in on the band once we hit our senior year, convincing Josh to dedicate a few days a week to the garage and even picking Sam and his best friend Danny up early from school some Fridays for gigs without our mom knowing. You always took our pictures, claiming if we were gonna be a good band we needed some half decent shots. My father lent you his old camera and you became our very own band photographer. Still to this day we’ll all agree that you were just finding a way to feel included on nights we had gigs. By the time we graduated I couldn’t imagine having anyone else behind the stage with us.

We even went to the same school after graduation, you stayed on campus to live out some 2000’s college girl movie dream but I stayed back home and drove to campus each morning. College bars paid us $200 a night for playing from eleven until three am and we took as many as we could get. I promised my parents I’d stay in school while we played, giving me some form of plan b I never intended on using but it was either that or she’d stop letting us take Sam into bars for our shows. Small dive bars at two am quickly turned into real gigs all around town, soon we felt like a real band with a direction being paved for us. Those memories have always been accompanied by the last semester I ever enrolled in.

•••

We moved you back into your dorm, the ice still covered the walkway as we carried the rest of your boxes inside the old building– smelling of damp carpeting and old heat units. You always needed more than you packed and it drove Josh insane every year.

“You have a kitchen, why do you need a second fridge for your bedroom–” He mumbles, trudging up towards the flight of stairs.

“I don’t know my roommate, I don’t want her stealing my drinks while I’m sleeping,” You shrug, swiftly cutting past him and down a small hallway, Josh turning to look at me as I meet him with a matching shrug.

He glances down, watching you tap an elevator button with your elbow which causes him to shake his head, “could’ve told me there was a fucking elevator for our first four trips up to your room,” He mumbles under his breath, looking over his shoulder as I pass, offering a gently pat on his arm before sliding past.

“I thought you knew!” You say defensively as I watch a small smirk spread on your lips. “There’s a big sign when you first walk in that even says it.”

Josh opened his mouth for a rebuttal, quickly clamping it shut with another shake of his head and tapping the third floor button. I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, Josh’s gaze shooting to me immediately “What are you laughing at Jake?” He snaps, “All you’re carrying is a comforter, you wanna switch?”

I shrug, dropping the comforter by his feet before holding out my arms, grabbing the small fridge from his arms. “You’re a real complainer nowadays,” I say out to him as the elevator doors open, making my way down the hall first to see your apartment door open, “I thought you said you closed this,” I call back to Josh, the two of you trailing behind me.

“I did!” He calls out, “Maybe it's the wind.”

“No wind!” A voice called from inside the door, I took the first few steps in, noticing a set of boxes sat on the couch right inside the door. A short girl rounded from the small kitchenette, she held a grocery bag in her hand and her tight brown curls were pulled back by an old faded bandana. “Are you… my roommate?” She asks skeptically, smiling as I meet her with a quick denial.

“No sorry I’m– um– just helping with the move–” I explain, watching you round the corner.

“I’m your roommate,” You smile, extending your hand out from underneath the box. “I’m Annalise but you can call me Anna.”

The girl smiles, shaking your hand before shaking mine and Josh’s, “Juliet–” She replies, “and you are?” She asks, her gaze lingering on me a beat longer than anyone else.

The eye contact caused my cheeks to heat up slightly as if on their own, “Right. I’m Jake-” I introduce myself, her fingers slowly grazing my palm as she pulls away from the shake.

“Lovely to meet you…” She smiles, turning her attention back to you, “Especially you, Anna– I took the liberty of loading my stuff into the smaller room, had a feeling you already set up in the bigger one.”

I could feel your eyes on me as her touches seemed to linger on my skin, you rolled your eyes at me slightly before finally turning your attention back to what she was saying. “I’ll just be setting up all my stuff just let me know if you need me,�� You smiled to her, Josh and I following closely behind you. “Do not even think about it.” You said to me the moment the door closed. I could barely put down the things in my hand before feeling your scowl on me.

“What are you talking about-” I ask, Josh giggling as he sat up on your bed, taking the liberty to rip open a few boxes while you stayed focused on me.

“I saw her looking at you. Do not under any circumstances try to fuck my new roommate.” Your gaze narrowed, pulling a box from my hands and taking it into your own.

“Who said I wanted to!” I ask defensively. You weren't wrong, she intrigued me to say the least but was it really that bad of a thing?

“Because I know you. Don’t do it” You warn, “I have to live with her for the rest of the year. I do not need to put up with hearing about you like that for the next five months.”

“She kind of looks like you a little” Josh chimes in as he picks through the box of snacks he very thoughtfully chose to open first.

“Ew no c’mon don’t say that” I groan, shaking my head. He was right, her hair was the exact same color, her eyes shone the same shade of green and even her smile had a slight crook to it like yours did.

“No Josh you’re absolutely right and you know what Jacob I hope it ruins it for you” You bite, tossing your comforter from the floor and onto the bed beside Josh.

“Whatever okay” I roll my eyes, watching as you open up another box “I'm not that terrible to hear about, don't act like i'm horrible.”

•

Those next few weeks I crashed on your couch between classes, even spending nights there after late Sunday gigs. It was better than driving back and forth to the house and Juliet never seemed to mind. One club had a standing gig with us on the first Sunday of the month, we played the last set of the night and we even started getting a regular crowd to show up and see us. It was small but had a real backstage, it felt like the real deal to us. “I’m not even here stop looking at me,” You giggled, waving Josh off as he kept glancing into the camera lens. “Jake you're next-”

Your voice was faint, my focus on the conversation I was having with Juliet as she tagged along for the night. Her hair was down, draped over her shoulders and it framed the heart shaped neckline of her top. I wish I could say I barely noticed how low cut it was but that would be a lie and she knew it. “No, I never really get the chance to go out to shows. I'm really excited to see you out there.” She smiles, leaning against the beam running floor to ceiling beside one of the curtains.

“The real show is from the front, you should make your way out to the floor to see.” I smile, feeling her fingers brushing my arm. She didn’t even hide that she was flirting with me and at one point I stopped caring and started flirting back.

“Jake-” You repeat, pulling me from my conversation as I look over.

“My turn?” I ask, still feeling Juliet’s eyes wandering across the features of my face as you nod. “Don’t move, hm?” I smile at her, offering a small wink before walking over to you. “Alright where do you want me?”

“Just go fix your hair in the mirror, I need more candid stuff” You say, your tone flattening from what I heard you using with Josh.

“You don't have to get all weird,” I mumble, taking my fingers to gently rake them through my hair. “It's harmless flirting,” You don't reply, the click of your camera is all I can hear, so I keep talking, “Even if something happens you don't have to know about it-”

“Stop talking your messing up the shot,” You finally say, and all I can do is sigh in response. “You can do whatever you want, I just don't need to hear about you two if it happens.” You continue after a few moments of silence, “it's gross.”

I can't help but chuckle, rolling my eyes “You're so dramatic.” Finally turning to look at you, “Like I didn’t have to hear about that god awful sociology TA you had ‘sexual tension’ with all last year.”

You grab a pillow from the small chair in the room, throwing it at me as I start to laugh. “We did, he wanted me and that's why I passed with a 97 on my exam. You're just gonna take the only friend I made here and fuck her.”

I roll my eyes, “You can be friends with her and I can fuck her, they’re not mutually exclusive.”

•

I spent that night on the couch, Juliet leaving for her own bedroom not long before you went to bed as well. I shifted on the couch, finally settling in before needing to shift again. It must've been near two am by the time I felt sleep crowding my vision, jolting back awake to the quiet sound of a door knob twisting open. The soft light from Juliet’s bedroom filled the space just inside the living room, enough for my eyes to adjust to her outline, she glanced at me, offering me a small smile as she noticed I was awake. “Did I wake you up?” She whispers softly, I shake my head in response, “Oh good-” Her eyes linger on me for a moment before making her way past me to the kitchen. I couldn't help but watch as she passed, the warm light outlined her silhouette, her shorts barely covered to her thighs and her shirt lifted up her stomach slightly as she reached into the cabinet for a glass.

“It’s very rude to stare,” I hear her whisper, my cheeks warming slightly as I realize she noticed my lingering stares.

“Oh um I’m-” I start, noticing a smile on her lips as she looks at me.

“I don't mind,” She replies, filling the glass halfway with water before leaning against the counter. Her fingers gripped the edge of it as she brought the glass to her lips. I sat up further, seeing her rested against the counter as she looked at me from over the back of the couch. “Anna didn't seem too happy that you were flirting with me tonight.” She says after a few moments of silence. “You two have something going on?”

I can't help but laugh, quickly clearing my throat to cover it up “Sorry no… no nothing,” I correct her, shaking my head, “She just doesn't wanna hear if something happens… The girls she’s friends with and the girls I date aren't allowed to mix apparently.”

She nods, setting her glass on the counter before stepping towards me. “It doesn't matter though if she doesn't know they mix,” she smiles, “right?” She was standing at the arm of the couch by now and I couldn't seem to pull my eyes away from her, all I could muster up was a small nod. “I’m just saying I’m not one to kiss and tell…”

I sat up the rest of the way, allowing her to sit in front of me on the couch. “You're not one to be subtle are you?” I finally ask, watching as she rests her elbow on the back of the couch, shaking her head as she rests it on her palm.

“I’m not… But then again you're not very subtle yourself” She smiles, watching my eyes trail to your bedroom door. “She's not gonna wake up… We both know that.” She says softly, my attention turning back to her as I feel her fingers graze my knee. Everything in those next moments felt like a blur, a sped up memory and before I could think her lips were on mine. My hand cupped her jaw as her lips pressed to mine, parting slightly as her tongue slid past my lips and dipped into my mouth. My thumb circled her jaw softly as my other hand dropped to her hip, my teeth gently tugging at her bottom lip which pulled a quiet moan from her. My mind swirled as I continued to kiss her, my lips were sore but I craved to taste her even more.

“We should stop” She whispers against my lips, I nod and kiss her harder and she gently tugs at my hair. “Or you can come in my bedroom-” Her words fell from her lips in nearly a whimper, I nodded eagerly, barely able to stand and follow her to her room before I kissed her again.

The night with her came in flashes, the sheer impulsivity of the decision stayed in my mind in bits and pieces but the most I could remember was waking up the next morning. She laid beside me, the blanket covering her bare chest as the sun just barely lit up parts of the room. I knew I wasn't supposed to be in there but I barely remembered even falling asleep beside her. I slid on my shorts quietly, slipping out of her room in an attempt to make my way back to the couch before you left your room, but stopping dead in my tracks as you stood in the kitchen.

“Anna-” I whisper. I don't know why the sight of you had me frozen in place, like I was caught in some terrible act. You glanced up at me, looking me over for only a moment before picking up your mug and walking into your bedroom without another word.

#jake kiszka #greta van fic #greta van fleet #jake kiszka fic #jake kiskza x reader #mutually exclusive

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 1 year ago

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Breakfast in Margate (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: A grumpy Papa Solomons (yes, that is a warning) and a whole lot of tooth-rotting domestic fluff

Summary:

Mornings aren’t always easy. For example, it’s terribly difficult to not be caught making breakfast for your fiancé, a workaholic who always takes the task upon himself.

However, what makes it harder today is the fact he loathes food made with recipes found online. Fortunately for you, though, Alfie isn’t the only one who’s good at playing games when he wants to push his own agenda.

Especially those that concern a sweet reward.

Author’s note: I've kept Alfie's adherence to his Jewish heritage quite loose. Nevertheless, I hope that the aspects I did incorporate in this work have been done so properly. If not, let me know and please don't hesitate to educate me (in a polite and respectful manner) because I love learning about different cultures and religions.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @zablife @wandawiccan60 @dreamlandcreations @liliac-dreamer @buttercupsandboys @vir-tual @rose-like-the-phoenix @hoodeddreams13 @mollybegger-blog @solomons-finest-rum @hecatemoon87 @babaohhhriley

TH Masterlist

Mornings like this are rare, these quiet moments unbroken by the usual ruckus in the kitchen. Now, it’s solely my bare feet on the wooden floor and the waves crashing onto the shore. No clanging of metal, no muttered curses in Yiddish or Russian, nor the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

In the living room, Cyril lays in front of the hearth. The first rays of sunshine fall over him like a warm natural blanket, highlighting the ginger undertone in his fur. One of the many features he shares with his owner.

As soon as I pass by, he lifts his head, tilts it in wonder, and lets out a low bark. After all, it’s Alfie who’s more often than not the first one to wander around the house at the crack of dawn. That is, if he’s slept at all. However, recently he’s started properly adhering to the Shabbat. Although, as much as he allows himself to because if Alfie Solomons is one thing, it’s mighty stubborn. Moreover, he’s an incurable workaholic. As hard as he works at The Old Rum House Bakery to let the business flourish and maintain his position as the fearsome Mad Baker of Camden, just as much effort does he put into our relationship. In fact, it’s not only towards Cyril and I his attention goes, but also to the house.

Our home.

Alfie has become a lot more domestic since we started dating, shortly after meeting one another on a train to London. Disregarding his tendency to walk around naked, he cooks and cleans, assuring me time and again I don’t have to help. When we go out for our weekly grocery trip, no matter how tired he is, he carries the bags to the car so that I don’t have to. Neither do I have to put away what we got, more often than not shipped off to the luxurious red sofa in the living room with a cup of coffee or tea to pair with whatever he’s baked at night.

Nevertheless, regardless of the otherwise very loose relationship with his heritage, Ollie and I are glad he’s at least taking a day off in the week to rest up. The bakery has recently started taking its toll thanks to an influx in customers, which means extra stock as well as staff is needed. In turn, this means more part-timers to train and more admin work. In other words, everyone has to pick up the pace to meet the current demand. Such is the power of marketing, especially on social media. Alfie is loath to admit it, but Ollie and I can tell he’s secretly grateful we managed to convince him to let us handle the bakery’s socials.

We don’t get cinnamon buns on Monday anymore, though.

I stop in my tracks, turn to Cyril, and put a finger to my lips. “I know, love, but Papa is still sleeping. It’s finally Mama’s turn to make breakfast again.”

Seldom do I get the chance to experiment in the kitchen, let alone try a recipe I’ve found online. Or worse, via Youtube or Instagram. Now, that’s usually enough to make Alfie bristle. Nevertheless, mention the word ‘viral’ and a scowl will twist his lips.

Sometimes I wonder whether or not Alfie and Cyril are the same person because he lowers his head onto his paws and lets out a deep sigh that sounds like sarcastic resignation.

Thanks for the faith, buddy.

“It’s gonna be okay. No fire in the pan this time, I promise. How about we go stretch our legs after brekkie, hm? That sound good?”

Cyril huffs in agreement and closes his eyes, back to enjoying his luxurious pillow.

We bought it for him when we went antique shop hopping in London last week. Although, perhaps it’s better to say I bought it after convincing my grumpy companion we should occasionally pamper our adopted four-legged child and I couldn’t fix his old pillow anymore. Of course I could, but I was more than done with constantly needing to fix the seams and re-stuff the thing.

Borough Market has become a regular stop on our weekly grocery trip, mostly because I used the splendidly efficient strategy of batting my lashes and pouting. Artisan goods and fresh produce can be luxuries, something to only occasionally splurge on. After all, why spend a fortune when there is a cheaper alternative that’s just as good?

Nonetheless, Alfie developed a taste for supporting local businesses soon after our first visit. To some he has proposed contracts, offering them a position as a supplier to his bakery. Granted their goods are kosher, of course.

Yesterday, we got some wonderful fresh bright yellow bananas, eggs from a local farm, and oat flour from a mill a little ways away from London. Alfie thought little of it when I plonked them triumphantly in our grocery bag, having occupied himself with the fresh stock one of the florists was setting out. I glance at the colourful bouquet of wildflowers on the table and for a moment I’m back to him holding out to me, face full of the warm tenderness that stands in stark contrast to the stern and unpredictable persona he portrays when I’m not there.

Right then and there, he wasn’t The Mad Baker of Camden, the fearsome King who rules the borough.

He was a sweet and caring gentleman.

Simply Alfie Solomons.

Nevertheless, in spite of these small moments of tenderness, he can still be awfully grumpy.

Especially if he hasn’t had his coffee.

“Mornin’, dove.” Two big warm hands glide over my hips towards my lower stomach. Those very same palms pull me flush against a naked chest grown soft with neglected muscle, slightly clammy with the remainder of last night’s late summer heat. Alfie presses his lips to the side of my neck and hums, tightening the embrace as he does so. The sonorous trill in his voice sends a shiver down my spine and rekindles a familiar heat. Nonetheless, the way he leans on me betrays he isn’t entirely awake yet. The slight slur in his words serve to confirm the lingering drowsiness, sounding like they’ve been pulled out of bed only moments before too. “That shirt looks good on you.”

“I’m glad you think so because you’re not getting it back any time soon.” I briefly stop mixing the batter to scratch his beard. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch as a content sigh escapes him. “You slept in.”

“Still woke up to an empty spot, though. If you want me to sleep more, yeah, which you know I find a terrible waste of time, I’ll need my wife to ‘old.”

I pat his hands to placate him. The thin gold band inlaid with a modest diamond around my ring finger matches his. I had thought Alfie would pick something elaborate for himself, but instead he chose a simple thick gold ring and got it engraved. It says: Ani l’dodi, v’dodi li; I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. “Don’t get hasty. We aren’t married yet.”

“Let’s just go to the courthouse today.’’ He slips his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt I stole from him, letting them rest on my stomach after a brief caress. It’s a gesture he often makes nowadays. ‘‘Sign the paper, right, and be done with it so the desk eaters are ‘appy. We can always celebrate it later. Throw a party as big as the whole of bloody Camden, like a proper coronation ceremony to celebrate our union.”

“Tempting as it is, I’ll have to refuse. Besides, it's Shabbat today and you need to take a break. I promise I can wait a little while longer to officially become Mrs Solomons.”

“You ‘ave been from the start, Y/N. I don’t need a ring to call you my wife. ‘Sides, you well know ‘ow I am. Which reminds me, breakfast is my job, innit?” A wary tone creeps into his voice as he leans away to check what’s in the mixing bowl. “Is that edible?”

“It will be,” I say, continuing to mix the ingredients until they’re well combined.

“I’m not eatin’ that goo. Looks fucking awful, that stuff.”

“It’s healthy goo! Uses the bananas, eggs, and flour we got yesterday.”

Nose scrunched, Alfie peers at me. “Oh, so yesterday was all a little scam to get me to eat whatever this is?”

“You aren’t the only one who can lie. Although, it’s not really a lie, is it? More like a half-truth.’’ I shrug. ‘‘I simply never told you my plan. Would ruin the surprise.”

“Which is?”

“Baked oats that taste like cake. They just haven’t been baked yet.”

“Where’d you get the recipe?”

“YouTube…”

He groans, wide awake now that the conversation has taken a turn towards a point of absolute irritation. “Fucking ‘ell, dove, ‘ow many times ‘aven’t I told you not every recipe on social media-’’

“Don’t judge before you’ve tried it.” I put the spatula down, turn around in his embrace and steal a kiss off of his lips. “Said so yourself, didn’t you?”

“Don’t use my words against me.”

“Oh, I will. If only to keep things fair. Have a little faith in me. It’ll be fine.”

I hope.

A warning finger raised and pointed at me, he leans in until our faces are mere inches apart. “Fine. But I’m gonna make us coffee, right, so we’ll at least ‘ave something to get us fucking started.”

I can’t suppress a chuckle at the grumpy gesture. “Sure.”

The threat turns into tenderness when he cups my cheek. His palm has grown rough with the hours spent at the bakery, proof of his hard work. Tenderly, he presses his lips to mine. “Ikh hab dir lib.”

“I know.” To show I accept his usual indirect apology for his bad mood and avoid coming across as being cross with me, I run my fingers along his jaw. “I love you too.”

Resting his forehead against mine, he nudges my nose with his. “Mhm.”

“Why don’t you take Cyril for a brief walk, eh? The oats have to bake for twenty-five minutes anyway.”

“We can take ‘im on a walk later together. I’ll go set the table.”

“First put on a pair of knickers.”

“No.”

“You know the rules, Alfie. No buns on the chairs during summer.”

“I ain’t sweating.”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’re the one who isn’t.”

I cock an eyebrow, fighting the smug smirk threatening to break out. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, “first we’ll ‘ave coffee, right, ‘cause otherwise neither of us functions. Now, ‘ow about after we’ve started the day proper I’ll fuck you like last night, hm?”

Until I black out.

The prospect of it mixes with memories of last night. Sea blue eyes, usually so steady and full of hidden temperaments, barely able to refrain from going cross-eyed. The fight with the stutter in his hips, gradually growing closer to the edge of pleasure but also exhaustion. Big hands reminiscent of wolf paws gripping the headboard for support while I was already lost in a satisfied delirium. The absent-minded glance to the bruises on my thighs adds to the steadily growing heat between my legs, perversely longing for more.

For him.

Nevertheless, the haze clears in an instant with a single sharp thought. I take a step back, crossing my arms as I search his expression for confirmation. However, as usually is the case, Alfie keeps his true motifs to himself. And this time, behind a mask he tends to put on when he wants something from me in particular. “So you can make breakfast. That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you?”

“No,” he purrs, stealing a kiss as soon as he has bridged the distance between us, “not at all, dove. I just want my wife. I wanna make love to you.” We softly start to sway, slowly making our way out of the kitchen. “Let me make love to you.”

We come to a halt on the threshold. “Later. After you put on a pair of knickers and we’ve eaten.”

He blinks, the cheeky smile grown stiff. I can feel his muscles tense, unconsciously causing him to grip me a bit tighter than before. “But-’’

“Knickers, Alfie.”

“One round.”

“Alfred Solomons Jr, knickers. Right now.”

The use of his full name provokes a menacing snarl, the kind which is usually preserved for those who cross him. “Those oats better be fucking worth it, yeah, ‘cause otherwise you’re payin’ for lunch.”

I trace his cock, the skin hot and hardening beneath my fingertips with every sharp intake of breath. Perhaps this game won’t go on for as long as it usually does before he loses control. “Somehow I don’t think I will.”

He roughly grips my face, the thrill of every low-voiced word against my lips travelling throughout my body. “I ought to do somethin’ ‘bout that attitude of yours. Big fucks small, Y/N, always.”

Game over.

Except for the one card I have left to play.

“I know,” I wrap my hand around him, barely able to grip him properly, “but first some knickers. Please, Papa?”

“Clever bird, ain’t ya?” He growls into the kiss when I lightly squeeze him and let go. “Maybe I should carry out my own personal form of stigmata later. Add to those pretty bruises.”

Like snow in the spring sun, his attitude melts and changes. Alfie gently nudges my cheek and makes for the bedroom. A few moments later, he returns and starts setting the table while I pour the batter in the ramekins and plop them in the oven.

Despite the promise to make coffee, I reach for the cupboard to grab a mug. After all, old habits die hard.

Nevertheless, I find myself cut off by a hand that gently lowers mine, away from the handle.

“I said I’ll make us coffee,” Alfie grumbles. “Let Papa Solomons do ‘is job, yeah. Go sit in the livin’ room. I’ll be there shortly.”

I nod at the baking aftermath in the sink. “I got some washing up to do.”

“Nah, that can wait. Coffee and, ‘opefully, food first.” He places his hands on my shoulders and kindly coerces me out of the kitchen. “Go on.”

I let him guide me, feigning defiance by pouting. Yet, the act quickly falls apart with a lighthearted giggle. I suppose I still have a lot to learn from him concerning the art of masks. “Alright.”

Soon after he joins me on the porch, where I’ve settled down with Cyril to enjoy the salt air. The beach across the street is still empty, devoid of the plethora of towels. The breeze is silent, not yet filled with the chatter of tourists and locals alike.

These hours are ours.

This is our Margate.

“'Ere you go, love.” Alfie hands me a steaming mug of cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, the milk soft and foamy, before he sits down next to me. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as I take a sip. “Nice, innit?”

“Mhm.”

Thus we sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the view and each other’s company. Cyril has started to doze off, although he tries in vain to keep his eyes open. One glance to the side tells of Alfie fighting the same battle. Occasionally he pulls a face or lifts his hand to stifle a yawn. It’s strangely funny to watch him continue to take a sip afterwards, a small gesture of hope. Surely he should be readily awake before his cup is empty.

Because sleeping isn’t an option.

He’s tired of the nightmares.

The faint sound of the oven going off disturbs the domestic bliss.

Alfie groans as struggles to get up, glad to have my arm to use as support while he pulls himself to his feet. I say nothing, knowing full well how his sciatica influences his mood.

And it’s already rotten enough in the morning.

As Alfie washes his hands, I get the baked oats out of the oven and place them on the plates. Meanwhile, Alfie warms up a few slices of babka and the challah bread we made together yesterday. “Just so we ‘ave somethin’.”

He sits down while I wash my hands. From the corner of my eye, I see him poke the oats with his fork. “It’s kosher?”

“It is,” I say, drying my hands before I sit down across from him. “Shall I go first?”

“Very funny.” He scoops a bit of the oats onto his fork and puts it in his mouth. His brows knit together, contemplating the taste.

“And? Do you like it?”

Remaining silent and gaze fixed on the ramekin, he pokes his oats again.

I swallow hard, my excitement crushed under the stones of dread. A nagging voice in the back of my head feeds into the fear of his judgement. Funny how one connects their self worth to food. Then again, it was that which started our relationship. A cup of coffee, a slice of babka, and a slice of plant-based carrot cake. Back then, though, my stomach didn’t quiver this badly nor did my ribs feel like they were caged in a very tight-strung corset. “You don’t.”

“Dove,” he begins, but doesn’t continue.

Not until after he’s had another bite. “It’s good.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or simply trying to appease me.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are?”

“I am,’’ he says, raising his voice ever so slightly in spite of the effort to keep it even. Alfie finally meets my gaze and I can tell he’s being sincere regardless of the way he accusingly waves his fork at me. ‘‘But I still don’t like 'ow you got this off of the internet. ‘Ow many times ‘aven’t I told you, hm? You should know better by now.”

I chuckle as I at last taste the baked oats myself. They’re chocolatey with a subtle banana undertone, which is warmed by the cinnamon. “I gotta find new recipes somehow.”

“There are cookbooks.”

“Too limited and they take up too much space.” While nibbling on a piece of challah bread, I take a sip of coffee. “Can I make this more often?”

“It does taste like cake,” he reluctantly admits, spooning up another bite. “Yes, you can.”

“Why do you make it sound like there’s a condition?”

“You can make these oats, yeah, if I get to serve you something sweet in return.”

Something not to be had in the kitchen.

‘‘Deal,’’ I lean in, biting my lip as I play my final card, ‘‘Papa.’’

Alfie clenches his fork upon hearing his favourite nickname, the title he is secretly proud of. A dark haze clouds his eyes, the gloss in them highlighted by the morning sun. The smirk on his lips has evened out, his jaw tightened with the effort to practise self-restraint.

Game over.

I won.

And the prize is something sweet with lots of cream.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader

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prettymfwrites · 28 days ago

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𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

Mom Ellie x mom Dina x pregnant reader

The family life of You, Dina, and Ellie plus the rest of our beloved people<3

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

The cozy little house in Jackson was full of warmth and life. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting soft golden hues on the wooden floors. JJ was sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, babbling as he tried to stack a tower of blocks. Ellie crouched beside him, helping stabilize his wobbly creation, while Dina leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the scene with a soft smile.

You sat on the couch with a hand resting over your growing belly, a rare moment of rest in the busy household. At five months pregnant, you were starting to feel the fatigue more acutely, and everyone around you seemed to notice.

“Hey,” Dina called from the kitchen, glancing at you over her shoulder. “You good? Need water or something?”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I’m fine, just enjoying the show.”

Ellie looked up from her spot on the floor, her green eyes flicking to you with concern. “You sure? You’ve been sitting a while. Maybe we should prop your feet up or something.”

You laughed softly. “I’m okay, Ellie. Really.”

But before you could convince her further, the front door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, followed by Jesse.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Joel said, lifting a basket filled with freshly baked bread and other treats Maria had sent over. “Maria thought y’all could use some extra hands today.”

“Extra hands are always welcome,” Dina said, stepping forward to grab the basket. “Especially with these two being overprotective mother hens.”

Joel chuckled as Jesse leaned down to ruffle JJ’s hair. “Overprotective’s not a bad thing,” Jesse said, throwing a wink in your direction. “Especially with this one baking up another troublemaker.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing. “You’re all acting like I can’t even move anymore.”

“You’re pregnant,” Ellie said firmly, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans. “You’re not supposed to be moving. Or lifting. Or doing anything remotely exhausting.”

“She’s not wrong,” Joel added, his tone teasing but warm. “Why do you think Maria’s been sending me over so much? Keepin’ you all in line.”

Maria’s timing was impeccable because not long after, she arrived with even more food and supplies. She gave you a pointed look as she set down a casserole dish. “And how are you feeling today?”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your hands up. “I’m fine. But apparently, I’m under house arrest.”

Maria laughed, patting your shoulder. “Good. That means they’re doing their job.”

---

Living with Ellie, Dina, and JJ felt like being part of a chaotic yet loving symphony. Ellie was the early riser, always the first to make coffee and check the perimeter. Dina, on the other hand, was the night owl, staying up late to tidy up or prep for the next day.

JJ was the glue that held everything together. His giggles filled the house, and he had both Ellie and Dina wrapped around his little fingers. Ellie was the patient teacher, showing him how to draw simple shapes or hold a small wooden guitar. Dina was the playful one, chasing him around the house and encouraging his endless curiosity.

You found your rhythm in their chaos, though everyone made sure you were never left to do too much.

“Hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Ellie said one afternoon when she caught you trying to carry a basket of laundry upstairs.

“Laundry?” you replied innocently.

“Not happening.” Ellie took the basket from you with a shake of her head. “You’re supposed to be resting. Dina, tell her!”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Dina called from the kitchen, though her amused tone betrayed her stance.

Maria often stopped by with little gifts or advice, her maternal instincts kicking in whenever she saw you. She and Joel worked well together, often taking JJ for walks so you could have a moment of peace.

---

One day, a minor scare threw everyone into overdrive. You’d been outside tending to the small garden when you tripped over an uneven patch of ground. It wasn’t serious—you caught yourself before falling—but the commotion had Dina rushing outside, followed closely by Ellie, Joel, and Jesse, who happened to be passing by.

“What happened?” Dina asked, her hands on your arms as she inspected you for injuries.

“Nothing! I just lost my footing,” you said, trying to downplay the situation.

“Lost your footing?” Ellie repeated, her brows furrowed. “You could’ve—”

“I didn’t, though,” you interrupted, giving her a reassuring smile.

Joel placed a steadying hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “She’s fine, kid. No need to hover.”

Ellie grumbled something under her breath but didn’t argue. Dina helped you back inside, muttering about how they were going to bubble-wrap you until the baby arrived.

---

Evenings were the best part of the day. The five of you (and Maria or Joel on occasion) would gather in the living room for quiet time. JJ would sit in your lap, occasionally patting your belly and asking questions about the “baby in there.”

Ellie would strum her guitar softly while Dina leaned against you, her head on your shoulder. Joel and Maria would exchange stories from their patrols, and Jesse would crack jokes that had everyone laughing.

Despite the dangers of the world outside, the little house felt like a sanctuary—a place where love and family came first.

Ellie would often whisper to you at night, her hand resting protectively on your stomach. “I’m gonna keep you safe,” she’d say softly, as if making a promise to you and the little one on the way.

Dina, half-asleep, would usually murmur her agreement, pulling you closer. “We all will.”

And as you lay between them, with JJ sleeping soundly in the next room and your growing family wrapped in warmth, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.

---

JJ IS LITERALLY THE CUTEST THING

I take requests!

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jamiejabbers · 3 months ago

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Quiet Strength

Pairings: Kelly twd x reader, Daryl x daughter!reader

(im sharing my Kelly obsession because i really like this one, i hope you guys do too!!)

I never thought I’d find peace in this world, let alone love. Growing up, love was something that hurt. I saw it in the way my uncle Merle treated people, especially when he’d had too much to drink, which was most of the time. Love meant shouting, breaking things, and bruises that needed to be hidden. And Dad—Daryl—he never said much about love at all. He was always too busy trying to survive, to protect me in his own way. I think he didn’t know how to be anything else, or maybe he didn’t think he deserved to be.

For a long time, I thought that was normal. That’s what love looked like. Until Kelly came along.

I remember the first time I really noticed her—really saw her. We were out scavenging for food with a small group. The sun was sinking, painting the sky in blood and gold, and she was laughing at something Jerry had said. Her laughter was like a breath of fresh air in a world where every breath was tinged with decay. I remember feeling something inside me loosen, like a knot untying, a tension I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding onto.

At first, I didn’t know what to make of Kelly. She was always so… soft, and that scared me. She had this quiet strength, this way of moving through the world that wasn’t about force or fear. She could be fierce when she had to, but she didn’t seem to carry that same kind of anger I did, the kind that felt like it would boil over at any moment.

It took me a while to understand that softness could be a strength, too.

We spent more time together, Kelly and me. At first, it was little things—sharing watches, looking out for each other on runs. She had this way of looking at me, her eyes dark and warm, like she could see the parts of me I tried to hide. At first, I didn’t like it. It made me feel exposed, vulnerable. I’d always been taught that vulnerability was dangerous.

But Kelly didn’t push. She never forced me to talk, never made me feel like I had to explain myself. Instead, she showed me, in the quiet moments between the chaos, that love didn’t have to hurt. She’d brush a strand of hair out of my face with a touch so gentle I’d almost flinch, expecting something else, something harsher. But it never came. She’d smile, and I’d feel that knot inside me loosen just a little bit more.

I think the first time I realized how much she’d changed me was when we were out on a run, just the two of us. A walker came out of nowhere, and without thinking, I went to take it down the way I’d always been taught—with anger, with force. But before I could even raise my knife, Kelly was there, her hand on my arm, steady and calm.

“You don’t always have to fight so hard,” she said, her voice soft but sure.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Fighting was all I knew, all I’d been taught. It was how I’d survived this long. But Kelly… she had this way of seeing the world that I didn’t understand yet. She didn’t see the dead around us as just threats to be destroyed. She saw them as reminders of the people we’d lost, of the world that used to be. And she fought, sure, but not with that same blind rage I had.

She taught me how to make traps, how to use the land around us to our advantage, how to find small joys even when everything felt like it was falling apart. She’d pull me aside to look at a flower growing in the middle of the road or point out the way the moonlight played on the water. She taught me that there were things worth living for, not just fighting against.

One night, after a particularly rough day, we sat by the fire, just the two of us. Dad was off on a run, and it was one of those rare moments when it felt like the world had gone quiet. I was lost in my own head, the memories of Merle, of the shouting and the fear, weighing heavy on my mind. Kelly leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder.

“Love doesn’t have to be violent,” she whispered, like she’d read my thoughts. “It doesn’t have to be something that hurts.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I’d never thought about love that way. For so long, I’d been taught that love was just another word for pain. But Kelly… she made me want to believe in something different. She made me want to believe that maybe, just maybe, love could be something beautiful. Something that didn’t hurt.

Slowly, I started to open up. I told her about Merle, about Dad, about the way I used to flinch when someone raised their voice. She listened, really listened, with a patience I wasn’t used to. She didn’t judge, didn’t try to fix me. She just held my hand, her thumb brushing softly against my skin, and let me be.

And in her presence, I found something I never thought I would: peace. Not the kind that comes from knowing you’re safe—because in this world, you never are—but the kind that comes from knowing you’re loved, deeply and sincerely, for exactly who you are.

Kelly taught me that love didn’t have to be violent. It could be gentle, like the touch of her hand on my back, or sincere, like the way she’d look at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. She showed me that love could be something that healed, not something that scarred.

And for that, I’ll always be grateful. In a world filled with death and loss, she showed me what it meant to truly live. To love. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I could breathe.

#wlw community #kelly #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd season 11 #daryl dixon x reader #twd imagine #twd daryl #x reader #imagines #short story #fanfic #wlw love #fypage #tumblr fyp #twd fanfiction #fluff #lovers

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blood-red-ocean · 1 year ago

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The Things We Do For Love (Part Two)

You can find Part One here! Rating: Not Rated Category: F/F Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Mother Miranda

Originally inspired by this post by @winterfireblond!

Summary: You and Alcina had lived an idyllic life until she found you unconscious in the Castle library. Fearing the worst, Alcina rushed you to Miranda's laboratory, and after some evaluation, you now had a life-changing decision to make.

Warnings: needles, blood, gore, non-graphic mention of vomiting, medical stuff.

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Several hours passed as Mirand conducted her various tests, but to you it felt like only a few moments. Between bouts of deep, uneasy unconsciousness, you would open your eyes and gaze at Alcina ton make sure she was still there, watching over you. For her part, she hadn’t budged from her place beside the examination table, alternating between holding your hands and stroking your hair as she fretted over your pallid complexion and light, quick breathing. From what she could hear, at least, your pulse had grown a little stronger. When she first noticed that it had, she nearly pulled you into her arms in relief, the IVs and thin tubes attached to you being the only thing to stop her. Miranda, on the other hand, was on the receiving end of Alcina’s warning glare as she drew your blood, checked your pupils and listened to your chest again.

When you finally did awaken enough to keep your eyes open, you were immediately greeted by the sight of Alcina in a chair she had pulled over from another table. Her eyes were closed and she had her hand to her forehead, unmoving You could tell by the steady rise and fall of her shoulders that she had fallen asleep beside you, and you managed a weak smile.

“Alci…” Your voice was rough and raspy, and you cleared your throat and tried again. “Alci?”

At the sound of your voice, her head immediately jerked up and, in one step, she closed the space between you two, She rested her hand on your cheek and smiled, adoration and worry mixing in her golden eyes.

“Hello, draga mea,” she whispered, gently stroking her thumb across your face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m- I’m okay, I think.” With a grunt, you pushed yourself to one elbow and looked around. “Where… Where are we?”

“My laboratory.” Miranda’s voice came from behind you, accompanied by the clinking of glass and the rustling of paper. “You—”

“You collapsed,” Alcina cut Miranda off, shooting her a glare. “In the library, my dear. I found you on the floor, the fire was unlit—”

Shit, you thought sullenly. Miranda must have told her everything.

“—What was going through your mind, love? What could possibly had provoked you to do such a thing as not start a fire in that place? Why…” Her voice cracked a little then, and she cleared her throat, attempting to keep her composure. “Why didn’t you tell me you were suffering?”

“I—” You looked up at her and then immediately away, the worry and hurt in her gaze sending a knife through your heart. “I didn’t want you to worry. You had already dealt with so much, been through so much, what with us being so geographically distant, and having to adjust to the implant, I just… I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Look at me.” You continued to avert your gaze. “Draga, please.”

It was so rare for you to hear Alcina plead that it shocked you into immediately looking at her, the hurt in her eyes replaced with affection, mixing with the worry. “My dear, I have your heart, as you have mine. Our hearts, they beat as one, do they not? And as such, I’m going to worry about you. It is my duty to, after all. To protect you, to worry about you…” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she pressed her forehead to yours. “To carry you across the Village when you do something so silly and ridiculous as to not tell me when you are unwell and to not light a fire to warm yourself by. You forget you are mortal, dragostea mea.”

She chuckled at this, and you joined her. You felt like you had been ripped apart and haphazardly sewn back together, but at least you were with her. From behind you, Miranda spoke up.

“Well—”

“Miranda.” Alcina shot her a glare and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Miranda sighed and stepped into your field of vision, clipboard in one hand and a small woven bag in the other.

“It was just as I had feared. Your prolonged time in the Village and the Castle has exposed you to the volatile state of the Lycans’ Cadou implants. It’s not quite a virus, not a bacteria…” She chewed the end of a pencil as she became lost in thought for a moment. “I suppose you could think of it as a very bad bout of food poisoning combined with a very bad case of the flu.”

You stomach sunk at her words. It was just as you had feared- you were much sicker than you had thought, or maybe hoped, and now you were going to regret foolishly attempting to hide the symptoms from Alcina. You glanced over at her as she rubbed your back, guilt flooding your chest. You looked away again as Miranda continued.

“As I told Alcina many hours ago, you will not get worse, and it will not be fatal. You will not, however, get better. This—” She held the bag in her hand aloft, “—Is a serum I devised that should help in the case of an emergency such as this. If you feel yourself growing weak and woozy, drinking or injecting some of this will help. However, there is a way to cure—“

“Miranda.” Alcina’s voice had a tone of warning in it.

“Alcina, just a very small, very mild implant—”

“We’ve heard enough.”: Alcina gathered you in her arms and held her hand out to Miranda for the bag of serum vials. “I am eternally grateful for your assistance with this matter, Miranda, but I have already told you where we stand on that. I will make sure she is very well taken care of, and if there are any complications, I will let you know.”

Miranda hesitated, but handed over the bag in the end, looking at you as if she wanted to say something. Her words repeated themselves in your head – you knew what kind of ‘implant’ she meant, of course, but if there was a way to make these symptoms vanish for good?

Alcina strode out of Miranda’s dwelling, shaking her shoulders to make her wings sprout and then leaping into the sky, soaring back towards the Castle. You held the bag in your arms as gingerly as she held you, feeling them clink together inside the woven fabric. You called out to her over the rushing wind, “I could’ve walked, you know.”

Alcina smiled a little to acknowledge that she had heard you, but her face was tight with worry. You longed to reach out and touch her cheek, make her look at you, tell her that it would be okay, but by the time you went to move your hand, she had landed just outside the doors of the Castle. She didn’t put you down until you were both inside and she placed you down, kneeling in front of you to bring herself to eye level with you.

“Draga, I…” She looked at you earnestly. “Please, do not perceive my not knowing of your condition as not loving you. I adore you as much as always. I only wish you had told me, then perhaps it wouldn’t have come to the point it had. But I swear to you, I will not let this happen again.” She held out her hand. “The serum, please.”

For the next several weeks, Alcina became even more doting on you as ever. She made sure to keep a watchful eye on you, very rarely letting you out of her sight. When Heisenberg and Moreau came to the Castle, she took you with her while she dealt with them. When she had to visit Miranda for consultations and checkups concerning her own implant, she left you under the watchful eyes of her daughters, who always made sure one of them was with you as often as possible – and when she would return home, she would immediately run her hands over you, checking up on you and making sure you were okay. If it were anybody else you would have found it intimidating – but, because it was her, it was pure perfection.

During the span of those few weeks, your condition had acted exactly as Miranda said it would. You did not get worse, but you also did not get better. On your worse days, Alcina would rush to administer the serum you had been given, as you lay on the floor, or sat against a wall, dizzy and exhausted from fighting to stay conscious. On your best days, you would often wake up in the middle of the night in a coughing fit that sent you running for the bathroom, coughing yourself into sheer nausea. Thankfully, Alcina was always there to hold your hair back, and then run to bring you some water.

It was on one of these nights where you found yourself trying to catch your breath, hands gripping the edge of the oversized bathroom sink until your knuckles were white. The sheer willpower it took you to stay upright was immense, and if you looked into the mirror, you saw that you looked like a ghost, you were so pale and clammy. It had been weeks of this, and as much as the serum had aided you greatly, your entire body and soul ached with the desire to have a solid night’s sleep, eight hours of uninterrupted rest in your beloved’s arms. As you heard the approaching footsteps of Alcina returning with your water, you made a decision that really should have been made a long time ago.

“Here, draga mea. This will help. Water and seru—”

“Alci,” You whispered. “I want the implant.”

CRASH.

#horror #resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #sapphic #resident evil village #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #mother miranda #fanfic #re fanfic #fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #re8 #re8 village #alcina/reader #alcina x reader #alcina x female reader

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imorphemi · 15 days ago

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Sky Blesties AU reference!

I am a real sucker for Sky AUs lol a bit more about these kids under the cut!

Phaerena:

Skids tend to fall only in a few locations: Isle, Homespace, and Aviary Village (I checked the opening cutscene to Sky and yes. they changed it again. yes it is no longer Isle. yes i am a little bit miffed about it) However, ever since the Shard Eruption events started, there have been instances where a skid fell during a Shard Eruption and was caught up in the blast, carrying them elsewhere. Some say that these skids are cursed to bring darkness wherever they go. Some even say that these skids are destined to become krillkids

But so far Phaerena is pretty chill! She lives with her mom in the Enchanted Ark and both of them are part of the Enchanters' Guild. They have a little light weasel named Roscoe <3

Saern:

Though on the surface she looks quite young, Saern is surprisingly well coordinated and skilled in flight. Additionally, she knows a lot about the Realms of Sky, and spent her first few journeys with the rest of the Blesties helping them find unacquired Winged Lights and Spirit Memories.

Saern has the tendency to launch herself into line of sight of Krill if someone is threatened by one to distract the Krill away from the threatened skid. 9 times out of 10 she dodges it. Thujone and Phaerena gets on her case in those rare 1 times she doesn't

She's usually willing to help any skid who needs guidance, it being her entire job once upon a time, but she's just kind of really pissy all the time currently lmao (if you lost all of your winged lights youve been collecting since the Season of Lightseekers you would be too)

Sonya:

She found out about the infection too late, and by that point the darkness was already eating into her wrist. The infection turns the surrounding area into grey stone before the plants start eating through it. Occasionally, a darkness bulb will start to bulge out, but its easily burnt away. She could probably also burn away the root infection on her arm, but she had a feeling that would result in her straight up burning her arm off.

She usually hides the infection under some arm wraps. Going to Eden didn't help matters. In fact, the Red Rain made it even worse. She suspects it might have influenced her spark as well as her body.

Thujone:

The Blesties de facto Shepherd because we love our holy thermonuclear missile camp counselor! Minus the thermonuclear part unfortunately tho lol While Saern technically has more experience, she also has terrible social skills and Thujone is much friendlier and outgoing.

Thujone often frequents Prairie, Forest, and the Aviary. They are commonly at the Hair Styling Palor giving skids little braids. Otherwise, they're in Sanctuary playing with the Mantas with Phaerena.

Thujone is part of the Wardens' Guild and is a Manta Whisperer. One of the medium-sized mantas (think the two around the waterfall in Sanctuary) is especially fond of Thujone. Her name is Waldchen <3

(The Wardens' Guild is dedicated to taking care of the light creatures across Sky. Many of the Guild are Whisperers, but some just really like creechurs hehe)

#my art #arts #poltea netherdeep #the blesties #sky children of the light #thatskygame #phaerena #saern mamandil #thujone #sonya #oc #little soldier girl #i need to making a freakinggg catchall tag for my girl #she contains multitudes /joking #she is also Full Of Rage in this au #i love these kids so much you have no idea #they are everything to me

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zzoomacroom · 3 months ago

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Rain Is Coming Down (Chapter 6)

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Dreamling, Retired Dream, Multi-chapter, Mpreg, Fluff, Smut, Angst

(Start from chapter 1 here)

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 6/12

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional tags: Retired Dream, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Trans Dream, Fluff, Smut, Angst

CONTENT WARNINGS for this chapter: brief panic attack/ptsd flashback, misogynistic and transphobic slurs, non-graphic violence, explicit sexual content

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Chapter 6: 26 Weeks - Part 2

The wooden bench creaks beneath him as Morpheus flops heavily into his seat at their table. The pub is lively this evening, but he would rather endure the noise and crowds than make the arduous trek back up the stairs at the moment.

“Save our seats and I’ll go and see what I can scrounge up from the kitchen, yeah? Back in a mo,” Hob says, giving Morpheus a quick peck on the cheek before slowly making his way across the packed room.

The former Dreamlord sits and watches the other patrons at the New Inn, some engaged in animated conversation while others appear more interested in the football game playing on the television above the bar. It is still a strange feeling, looking at these people and being unable to peer into their minds, being blind to their innermost fantasies. How irritating that he must now rely on facial expressions and abstruse human social cues in order to guess at what they might be thinking.

Perhaps it is poetic justice that in becoming human, Morpheus finds himself more disconnected from humanity than ever.

And yet, he has found it to be surprisingly… freeing. The realization that he is no longer burdened with carrying the hopes and fears of everyone in the room. It is lonely at times, yes, but it is a different sort of loneliness than what he felt during his imprisonment or, indeed, for the vast majority of his existence. He is never truly lonely now, he realizes. Now that he has Hob, now that he is—

“Murphy!” Suzanne exclaims, snapping him out of his reverie as she places a glass of ginger ale in front of him, as well as a pint of lager for Hob. “How are you, love? It’s been ages since you’ve been down! Everyone’s missed you.”

(Continue reading below or on ao3)

“No we haven’t,” says a familiar-looking bearded man at the next table. “Quiz nights are no fun with those two always winning.”

“Oh, hush, Keith,” Suzanne scoffs, pretending to swat at him with her notepad. “Not like you ever win either way; you thought the capital of Spain was Majorca, for pity’s sake.” She rolls her eyes as she turns back to Morpheus. “So, how’ve you been? You look fantastic. Robbie’s taking good care of you, I take it.”

“He is,” Morpheus replies, a smile spreading across his face. “I am well. Thank you, Suzanne.”

“I’m glad to hear it, love. I was starting to worry. What’ve you been doing up there, all cooped up? Getting lots of rest, I hope.”

Morpheus likes Suzanne. Like Hob, she is easy to talk to. He knows a little of her dreams, having first met her before his retirement. Mostly, she dreams of her family and hopes that they will always be safe and know that they are loved. Very rarely, she has nightmares—memories of things she endured, things no one should have to endure, but which ultimately led her to the greatest joys in her life. Morpheus can empathize.

“I have been painting. A mural, for the nursery. We also had a visit from my sister today,” he says.

“Oh, how nice! Didi, right? I remember her from the Christmas party. Has she got kids of her own?”

“No,” Morpheus replies, “but our niece and nephew refer to her as their ‘cool aunt.’”

“I’ll bet she is!” Suzanne laughs heartily. “I’m glad you have her. She seems like such a dear.”

“She is,” Morpheus agrees with an easy smile. “She has done… a great deal for me.”

“Wish I’d had someone like her when I was pregnant with Shannon,” Suzanne says. “I’m just glad I can be here for her now, and for you lads,” she adds, nodding towards Hob, who has just returned with a large, steaming platter of fish and chips. “Which reminds me, I’ve got another batch of Leo and Gracie’s old clothes and things for you.”

“I hope you know we insist on paying for those,” Hob remarks as he places the dish in the center of the table for the two of them to share.

“Please, you’d be doing me a favor just by getting them out of my flat,” Suzanne says with a wave of her notepad.

“Well then, at least let me go and pick them up,” Hob counters.

“Deal. But I still want to come up and see that mural!”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve got to see it! It’s stunning!” Hob grins at Morpheus as he sits down across from him, giving him a sly wink before popping a chip into his mouth. Morpheus grins back, knowing full well that Hob will slip some cash into Suzanne’s handbag when she’s not looking.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you boys about,” Suzanne continues, suddenly earnest. Morpheus and Hob exchange uneasy glances; Morpheus wonders if this will be another lecture on the virtues of modern obstetrics. “I’d like to throw you a baby shower.”

Morpheus gulps. Hob bites his lip as he tries to stifle a laugh. Morpheus kicks him under the table. Hob schools his features, giving Morpheus a look that he interprets to mean ‘I’ll try and talk her out of it.'

“That’s incredibly sweet of you, Suze, but don’t trouble yourself,” Hob insists. “Can’t imagine we’d need one, what with everything you’ve given us.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Suzanne says, undeterred. “It’ll only be a small do, and we can have it here. Just the staff and any friends you want to bring. Oh, and bring your sister! I’ll make that chocolate cake you like.”

Hob looks at Morpheus again, raising his eyebrows. ‘Come on, dove, you know we can’t say no,' he conveys with those big, sparkling brown eyes that he knows very well Morpheus cannot resist.

“Thank you, Suzanne,” Morpheus finally grits out, hoping his smile doesn’t look too forced. “That sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, cheers, Suze,” Hob agrees. “You’re a gem.”

“Sure am. Dunno what you’d do without me,” she winks. “Right, I’ll leave you lads to it, then. I’d better get this lot their drinks before they start rioting,” she sighs as she marches back to the bar.

Morpheus slumps in his seat, picking forlornly at his chips. Hob gives him a pitying look and hooks his foot around Morpheus’ ankle. “It won’t be that bad, dove,” he says. “Thanks for being a good sport about it. You know it would’ve broken her heart if we’d said no.”

“Two baby showers. Two. This is egregious,” Morpheus mutters. Hob’s mouth twitches as he makes a valiant effort to keep a straight face, and Morpheus finds his own twisting into a smile in spite of his best efforts to maintain his sullen pout. “You mock my misfortune, Hob Gadling?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux indignation.

He snatches the piece of fish that Hob was reaching for and stuffs it into his mouth, both to underscore his petulance and to smother the treacherous wheeze of laughter that was dangerously close to spilling out.

“Oh, poor you,” Hob chuckles, looking smugly triumphant at his husband’s reaction. “What dreadful misfortune, having so many people who love you that they’re throwing two separate parties in your honor. You know—”

Hob does not finish his thought as there is a sudden commotion near the bar. A shout, followed by a deafening shatter of glass. Morpheus goes still. He shivers, despite it being uncomfortably warm in the crowded pub. Everything sounds muffled and distant, like he is behind a thick layer of glass. He can feel it again. The glass, the iron, closing in on him, he cannot…

“Darling? Darling, are you—” Hob’s voice cuts through the noise as he turns away from the source of clamor and back to Morpheus, his eyes widening in concern. And oh, it is so loud, and Morpheus wants to go home, but he cannot move, and—

“—No! No, you need to leave. Trust me, mate, you do not want to get the owner involved.” Suzanne’s voice rings out, booming and steely and surprisingly intimidating. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she adds grimly, catching Hob’s eye as he rises from his chair.

“Hob—”

“Wait here,” Hob tells Morpheus, and before he can protest his husband is striding across the room, a look of flinty determination in his eyes that Morpheus has only seen once before. It sends another shiver down his spine, for rather different reasons this time.

From where Morpheus sits, he can see his husband approaching a belligerent and obviously drunk man who has crowded Suzanne into a corner. She glares defiantly up at him as he shouts obscenities at her, swaying on his feet all the while. “I already told you—you bitch,” he hiccups, slurring his words, “’m not leavin’ ‘til I talk to the owner.”

The room has gone silent. Everyone in the pub has turned towards the bar, riveted on the scene as it unfolds. Alan, the barman, wrings his hands nervously as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, apparently unsure as to whether he should step in. Toni and Ethan have emerged from the kitchen, still holding their knife and spatula, respectively, and looking as though they hope they will not need to use them to defend themselves. The New Inn is not the sort of establishment that frequently sees this sort of disorderly conduct, and everyone seems to be at a loss for what to do.

Everyone except Hob.

“I’m the owner, and you’re leaving now,” Hob announces sternly, grabbing the man (who is considerably larger than himself) by the shoulder and pulling him away from Suzanne.

“Get your fuckin’ ‘ands off me, mate! I haven’t done nothin’ wrong,” the man growls, shoving Hob backwards. Morpheus jumps to his feet almost involuntarily, but finds himself riveted to the spot where he stands, unable to move closer to the fray.

“He started spouting off a load of words I’m not going to repeat,” Suzanne interjects, “and when I asked him to leave he knocked all the glasses off the bar like a bloody toddler.”

“Yeah, you’re done here. Out. Now,” Hob barks, pointing to the door.

The man scoffs and smirks as he raises his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. “Fine by me,” he sneers, looking Morpheus dead in the eye and jabbing his chin in his direction. “Too many freaks and trannies here for my taste anyway.”

Morpheus has no time to react to these words before there’s a loud, dull thwack, and the man is clutching his cheek and staggering backwards into a table. Morpheus only realizes belatedly that Hob must have punched him.

The pub goes silent. Then, all at once, there is a cacophony of whispers and shouts and everything in between as the denizens of the New Inn turn their fury on the man who interrupted their evening.

“You get ‘im, Robbie!” someone calls out.

“Yeah, that was well out of order, mate,” says another onlooker.

“Does he know he’s his husband?” hisses a blonde woman seated next to Keith.

A cold trickle of… something snakes its way through Morpheus’ veins as he stands there, torn between rushing to his husband’s side and remaining where he is for the sake of the baby’s safety. Is it shame that he feels? Anger, humiliation…? Yes. All of those, and perhaps some other things. But he cannot deliberate on them now, because the drunk man is stumbling back to his feet and raising his fist and—

“Hob—!” Morpheus cries, only realizing that his legs apparently do work after all when he is halfway across the room. His own words from centuries past ring in his head. ‘You can be hurt, or captured.' He reaches his husband faster than should be possible in his current state, propelled by equal amounts of rage and fear.

Morpheus reaches instinctively for his sand before remembering that—oh. Right. He is completely helpless now. Useless.

But Hob is still as capable as ever. He catches the man’s fist and deftly twists his arm around, pinning it behind his back. “Get the fuck out of my pub before I get my broadsword,” he snarls as he shoves the man towards the exit.

The man yelps and shambles clumsily to the door, and just as he is reaching for the handle, Hob seizes him by the collar and yanks him around to look him in the eye.

An uneasy murmur ripples through the room. The drunk man looks as terror-stricken as he would have had Morpheus unleashed his most vicious nightmares upon him.

“If you ever come near my husband or my family again, I’ll fucking—” Hob rages at the man, his teeth bared and his speech lapsing into an archaic dialect. Morpheus understands the threats of dismemberment and desecration of the man’s corpse, but to other observers it must sound like the garbled ravings of a lunatic (which may actually be less disturbing than what Hob is saying).

Morpheus has never seen his husband this angry before, and it is. Alarming. What is also alarming is how aroused he has become; he is glad that he wore black today, as he can feel the growing wetness in his underwear gradually seeping through the fabric of his joggers.

There is a loud thump as the back of the man’s head hits the door, Hob’s fists still clenched in the front of his shirt. Morpheus and Suzanne reach them at the same time and drag Hob away from the man by the shoulders.

“Hob—!” Morpheus begins.

“Robbie, that’s enough!” Suzanne yells at the same moment. “You’ve made your point, now let him go!”

Hob deflates under their hands. He turns around, glancing between Morpheus, Suzanne, and the crowd of wide-eyed spectators. He is breathing hard and he looks rather foggy and far away, his eyes glazed and his hands shaking.

The drunk man bolts out the door as soon as Hob turns his back, and a few of the patrons make noises of approval, though most are still sitting in stunned silence.

“Good riddance!” Keith calls out, and the blonde woman beside him—Helen, his wife, as Morpheus recalls—nods in vehement agreement.

Suzanne immediately returns to the bar with broom and mop, directing Alan to help her with the mess. She goes on with her work as if she is entirely unruffled by the whole affair, though Morpheus can see the way her hands tremble ever so slightly as she sweeps up jagged shards of glass.

Hob blinks, looking down at Morpheus’ hand on his shoulder and then up at his frowning face. The bewilderment in his eyes is gradually replaced by a look of profound shame and remorse. He hangs his head and sighs. “Please don’t be angry,” he mumbles, his voice thin and flat as he rubs his knuckles, which are already starting to bruise. “I know, I know… pot, kettle, and all.”

Morpheus opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. It had not occurred to him to be angry with Hob. Perhaps he should be, but the only anger he feels is for the man who just fled the pub. He is filled with a variety of competing emotions right now, but anger is surprisingly not one of the stronger contestants. He is relieved that Hob is safe. He is… touched, he supposes. And pleased. That Hob defended him, that Suzanne and everyone else sided with him.

But beneath that is the guilt—Hob defended him. He hurt that man and himself, and forced everyone in the pub to witness it, because of Morpheus. Morpheus, who cannot defend himself or his husband as he should, who put his child in harm’s way because he was too foolish to see his own weakness.

And beneath that, simmering and throbbing low in his belly, is a raging, nigh-overpowering inferno of pure lust.

He is still staring at Hob, who peers up at Morpheus with a sad smile of resignation. Morpheus does not know what to say. Something is about to erupt from him, but he does not know which of the warring feelings will emerge victorious until he is grasping Hob’s face with both hands and kissing him desperately right there in the middle of the pub. He licks into Hob’s mouth, burrowing in like he intends to make a home there, and Hob lets out a surprised little whimper as he opens eagerly for him, his hands coming up to clutch at Morpheus’ shirt and reel him closer.

It would seem they both forgot about their audience, as they startle back from each other when the pub explodes into raucous cheers, applause, and wolf whistles. Hob starts to giggle hysterically, shaking his head as his cheeks redden, and Morpheus hides his irrepressible grin in the crook of his husband’s neck.

When he looks up to meet his eyes, Hob has a knowing smirk on his face. “Don’t even say it,” he warns, with precisely none of the authority he carried just minutes ago. Morpheus decides to show him mercy. He says nothing, merely kisses him again until they are both gasping for breath.

“Get a room, you two!” someone laughs.

“Right!” Hob calls out, clapping his hands together as he glances around the pub. “We’re closing early, everybody out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Suzanne huffs, propping her elbows on the now-clean bar. “Just go home, you berks. We’ll be fine down here until closing time.”

“Are you sure?” Hob asks, sounding doubtful. “Suze, what if he comes back? What if the police show up? I can’t just leave—”

“Robbie, love, you misunderstand me. I’m kicking you out,” Suzanne interrupts. “Before you do something really indecent. I don’t think that scumbag will be back. And if the cops come round,” she adds, raising her voice to command the attention of everyone in the pub, “the owner wasn’t in today and none of us heard anything about a fight.”

There’s a distracted murmur of agreement throughout the room as the patrons turn back to their drinks and their football match, apparently ready to be done with the spectacle and move on with their evening. Morpheus shares their sentiments. He takes Hob’s hand and drags him toward the stairs with single-minded purpose.

“Alright, but call me if anything goes wrong, yeah?” Hob says hurriedly, glancing back as he is towed helplessly away. “And text me later so I know you got home safe!”

The journey upstairs and to the bedroom does not even register in Morpheus’ mind; everything feels rather surreal just now. Dreamlike. One moment they are in the pub, and the next they are standing beside their bed, having apparently already shed their clothing.

“… You with me, dove?” Hob is asking him, his hand on Morpheus’ cheek and his head tilted in concern.

“Yes,” Morpheus says, blinking as he comes back to himself.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

He needs… he needs. Full stop. He needs Hob, needs to touch him, needs to feel him inside and know that he is there, that he is real, that they are both alive and safe and loved and wanted and…

“You,” Morpheus replies finally, pulling Hob close and kissing him voraciously. He leads them backwards, his hands on Hob’s hips, until Hob falls back onto the bed. Morpheus breaks the kiss only long enough to crawl into his husband’s lap, fumbling blindly for the lube on the bedside table and knocking the alarm clock and Hob’s reading glasses to the floor. “I need to feel you. Everywhere,” he says, his voice low and rough.

Morpheus hastily uncaps the bottle with one hand, letting the other roam over Hob’s body, burying his fingers in luxuriant hair and sinking his nails into warm, yielding flesh. He kisses and bites his way down his neck while reaching behind himself to press a slick finger to his entrance. It is slightly challenging at this angle, and he struggles momentarily before Hob catches on to what he is doing, his eyes widening and his face darkening with arousal.

“Let me help you with that, darling,” Hob says, taking the lube and pouring a generous amount on his fingers.

He grabs Morpheus by the hip with his other hand, steadying him as he circles one finger around his rim. Morpheus gasps at the cool, wet sensation and tightens his grip on Hob’s shoulders. Hob works him open quickly but gently, pausing intermittently to palm at Morpheus’ sopping wet cunt, smearing and spreading his arousal down to his hole and making a sloppy, squelching mess of both of them.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Hob pants. “Probably could have done it even without the lube.”

“Enough,” Morpheus rumbles, pushing Hob down to lie on his back and positioning himself over his hips. “I am ready,” he breathes as he guides himself onto his husband’s cock.

His eyes flutter shut and his moans, loud and wanton, mingle with Hob’s as he sinks down. They have not had anal sex in this manner since before the pregnancy, and they both take a moment to acclimate to the sensation. They are silent, save for their ragged breathing, and when he opens his eyes Morpheus sees his husband gazing reverently up at him, a look of awe in his tear-glazed eyes.

Morpheus takes one of Hob’s hands (the cleaner of the two), and without breaking eye contact he brings it to his mouth, slowly sucking on his fingers before pushing his arm down between his legs. Hob takes his cue and slides two fingers into Morpheus’ cunt, scissoring them and pressing into his g-spot. Morpheus hums pleasurably and begins to rock slowly, then gasps when Hob adds a third finger while simultaneously pressing his thumb to Morpheus’ clit. It is an awkward position for Hob, and Morpheus’ belly is an obstacle, but neither of them are deterred as Morpheus increases his pace and begins to ride Hob’s cock and fingers.

Morpheus shudders in relief at the feeling of fullness, and he bends forward to gain better leverage, resting his swollen midsection on Hob’s arm and bracing his hands on his chest as he bounces furiously. It’s fast and frantic, urgent and desperate, and Morpheus whines in frustration that he cannot be any closer to Hob than this. That he cannot, as he once could, take all of Hob’s being into himself, cannot merge the two of them together until they are one perfect, infinite entity.

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you,” Hob soothes. “Take what you need.”

And Morpheus does. He takes all he can, and Hob offers it up eagerly. It is not enough, it is never enough, but Morpheus gluts himself on his husband’s body until he is as sated as this form will allow. He thinks of the first time Hob fought and defended him, the way he had wanted to do exactly this (well, perhaps a variation, with a slightly different body). He had wanted so badly it burned, and now he gets to have this. And he will not let anyone or anything take it away. So he grasps and clutches with both hands and he takes and takes and takes.

“So beautiful,” Hob purrs, trailing his free hand up Morpheus’ stomach and thumbing at his nipple. “Love you so fucking much.”

Morpheus sobs as he comes, his legs shaking and his fingers curling tightly into the hair on Hob’s sweaty, heaving chest. His vision blurs and tears stream down his face, and Hob wails as he floods Morpheus’ insides with a copious rush of hot seed. Morpheus shivers in ecstasy, his own orgasm still pulsing through him.

Hob takes his fingers away and maneuvers Morpheus by the hips to pull his softening cock from his hole. Morpheus weeps at the sudden emptiness; it is not enough, he has not had his fill of Hob. He needs more.

He shifts forward slightly, straddling his husband’s plush waist and grinding his clit against the forest of coarse hair below his navel. The slick from his cunt mingles with the warm rivulet of lubricant and cum that trickles from his hole, forming a veritable puddle on Hob’s stomach as Morpheus ruts frenziedly against him. Hob is looking up at him softly when he comes again, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth hanging open in wonder.

Neither of them speak as Morpheus rolls over and collapses beside Hob, curling up against him once Hob has given them a cursory wipe-down with a clean towel from the stack they’ve taken to keeping next to the bed. They remain silent, catching their breath as they rest in each other’s arms, and Morpheus is glad for it. Today has been utterly exhausting—physically, mentally, and emotionally—and he has no energy to discuss it now.

Later, when he regains his composure, he must express to Hob… everything. He does not know. He cannot formulate the words now. His love, his gratitude, how much it means to him that Hob is always ready to defend him without a second thought. Hob is aware of all of this, he knows, but he feels it all so strongly now, and it is so… vexing. That he only has this body and his paltry words with which to articulate himself. That he cannot simply give Hob a dream that conveys the inexpressible depths of his affection.

He is so much less than he used to be. And yet still Hob loves him, still fights for him even though he is too weak to fight for himself.

The muted roar of activity from downstairs, usually a comforting presence in the background, only exacerbates Morpheus’ distress at the moment. Words from earlier echo through his head.

Freak. Tranny.

So this is how he is perceived, now that he has no say in whether or not he is perceived at all.

Yet still Hob loves him.

“I’m sorry.”

Hob’s voice, wet and quavering, comes so softly that it takes Morpheus a moment to realize he spoke, and another to understand what he is apologizing for.

“About earlier. I shouldn’t have hit that lad,” Hob clarifies.

“Do not be sorry, my love,” Morpheus says emphatically. “You were in the right.”

“See, but it’s fucked up that we both thought that,” Hob argues. “Mo, I shouldn’t have done that. What he said, what he did—it was completely inexcusable, but… He was leaving, and I attacked him. I just… lost control. And I’m so sorry.” He puts a hand over his face and sighs. “I’m going to get a handle on this before the baby comes, I swear.”

“Hob. Look at me,” Morpheus implores, taking Hob’s hand from his face and holding it in his own. His knuckles have bruised a deep plum, and it only occurs to Morpheus now that their activities a few minutes ago cannot have helped. “Oh. I have hurt you,” he murmurs, peering into Hob’s red-rimmed eyes and bringing his hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle tenderly.

“No, love. No,” Hob insists, fresh tears welling up in his eyes as he brings his other hand up to cover Morpheus’. “None of this is on you. This was all me and my stupid bloody anger issues.”

“Hob, I trust you with my life. And with our child’s life. I know that you would never turn your anger on either of us.”

“But what if I do?” Hob whispers shakily, sounding genuinely terrified. It breaks Morpheus’ heart to see him so distraught.

“You will not,” he replies. It is the truth, Morpheus is certain of it. He knows, of course, of Hob’s violent past—knows better than anyone, perhaps, save for Hob himself. And he knows that his husband would sooner rescind his immortality than harm his family. It is not that Hob is a violent man by nature; he is a passionate man, one who loves fiercely and would tear the world apart to save those he loves. He is a better man than Morpheus, who would have done far worse to that man in the pub had he still had the power of nightmares at his disposal.

“You will not, beloved,” Morpheus repeats, cradling him closer and soothing his hand absently up and down his back.

“Alright,” Hob says weakly. “I won’t. Promise.”

“You should put some ice on your hand,” Morpheus mumbles.

“I will, later. Let’s just get some sleep, yeah? Been a hell of a day.”

Morpheus yawns in agreement as he nestles into Hob’s side. They lie there in silence, neither succumbing to the lure of the Dreaming despite their weariness.

When Morpheus finally drifts off, it is a restless half-sleep scattered with disjointed scraps of nightmares. Massive hands enfold him in a sphere of cold, bone-white flesh. Peeking through the cracks between the fingers, he sees Hob in the distance. He carries a sword and his face is bloodied, his jaw set in grim resolve. The hands hold Morpheus aloft, just out of Hob’s reach, lifting him higher and higher until he is face to face with himself, vast and terrible.

The dream ends.

✨✨✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

#dreamling #dreamling fanfiction #the sandman #retired dream #sandman #dreamling fic #sandman fic #sandman fanfiction #cw mpreg #cw pregnancy #trans dream #cw violence #cw transphobia #dream of the endless #hob gadling #zoom writes

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sofasoap · 2 years ago

Text

Healing heart

Pairing : Din Djarin x f!reader.

Summary: The Di’kut proposed a solution. Would you accept it? part 5 to Heartbreak

Slightly AU-ish, N1 is cool, but it is too small. Din got something else.

Warning : Mature theme. strong languages. Slightly hint of steamy time towards the end.

All mando’a are from the good old google, soooooo might be full of mistakes. And the timeline might be a bit funky. It’s AU. just… roll with it.

English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes.

A/N:For my sweet @groguspicklejar and @deakyjoe. sorry.I seriously did not expect this to turn into a multi-part story. Originally it was going to be a one-shot. Oops.

MASTERLIST for the previous stories in this multi-part fic.

“Become my riduur.”

You blinked. Once. Twice, Three times. Did he just propose to you? Din visor trained on your eyes. You can feel his hand, sweaty and shaking. Nervously waiting for an answer.

Mandalorians do not make vows and promises lightly. You remember your nanny’s words. We are people of honour and duty. Clans and families are the centre of our lives. They are very important to us. We cherish and love them. We protect them with our lives.

So which one is it? Sense of duty? Din offered you his protection because he felt obligated? Out of pity? Or …out of love?

“I had a dream, well, been having the exact same dream for the last few weeks.” you look down at his hand, not giving him an immediate answer. “Together with this person, I couldn’t see their face. I was heavily pregnant, carrying their child. ” His hand gripped yours tight.

“ …. And Grogu being Grogu, runs around amongst the fields of flowers and grass, chasing butterflies and frogs. Oh, there were two children tagging along with him as well. Both the kids have curly brown hair, brown eyes.They were beautiful…Just like their father.” Din’s heart jumped as he heard the description of the children, and what you are trying to hint. Lifting your head up, you stare into where you think his eyes are through the slit of the visor.

“Are you sure Din? I know vows are sacred to Mandalorians. I don’t want you to do this because you feel the need to protect me. Or out of obligation. I… I don’t want to tie you down.” I don’t want to be tied down. To a loveless, unhappy marriage. Like my parents. What they plan for me. You shuddered. It’s a terrible fate. Not one you wish upon anyone.

He shook his head.” No Mesh’la… I want this. I WANT you to be my riduur, you are my soul.. My life.” He quickly added, “ If, If you are not up to it, We can think of other solutions, you don’t have to agree…” He tapered off with slight sadness.

You sighed. “You know, I always thought it would be a romantic proposal. Sitting by the lake, having a picnic by the sunset, with Grogu bringing me my favourite five blossom cake , and you popping the question at the same time.” Din’s shoulder straightened up. That is what you always imagined when you were a young girl, in the rare chances you can dream about your future husband, even though you knew your parents had already set you up with some stiff upper class boy from Coruscant. And with the time you were travelling with Din, knowing him being a practical kind of person, you doubt this will ever happen.

You decided to end this poor man’s misery.

You cup one side of his helmet with one hand. “ Cyare.” You whispered. “There are a lot of things you need to make up for. You got the rest of your life to do it.” He immediately stood up and pulled you into a tight embrace. No words can describe how elated he is. You nozzle your face into his neck, breathing in his scent. You can get used to this. Even with his beskar armour on, you can still feel a bit of his body warmth sipping through the unpadded areas.

You can’t wait until he shed his armour, to feel his body underneath. “So what is next? Do we have to find another Mandalorian to hold a ceremony or..I vaguely remember my nanny mentioning something about a vow..” you asked. “The riduurok, or the marriage agreement, is very simple. We only need to recite the vow, in a private ceremony, just the two of us, anywhere, there are no restrictions on locations nor method.. And followed by a feast with the family and friends after.” Din explains. “Do you want to do it now?” Din pulled away in surprise. You shrug your shoulders. “ I have enoughs surprises today. Bounty on my head. A marriage proposal, why not add a wedding on top of it.” Din laughed. You never cease to surprise him. Eyes widened, you never heard him laugh before. You like it. A smile grew on your face.

He leaned his head down, gently touching his forehead to yours while holding your arms. “Just repeat after me.” you nodded lightly.

“ Mhi solus tome,”“ Mhi solus tome.” We are one when together

“ mhi solus dar'tome,” “mhi solus dar'tome.” we are one when parted,

“mhi me'dinui an,” “mhi me'dinui an.” we share all,

“mhi ba'juri verde.” “mhi ba'juri verde.” we will raise warriors.

Din lightly grabbed your hand with his and moved onto the lip of his helmet. Guiding you to the latch, you suddenly realise the meaning of it. He is taking his helmet off. To show you his face. With the sound of a hiss, you slowly lift it off his head with your trembling hands. An overwhelming emotion takes over as he reveals himself. This is him. Your husband. Your riduur. The Real Din Djarin

Putting down the helmet gently on your cot, you reach back and caress his face.

Your eyes roam around his face, taking in all his features, afraid he is going to regret his decision of showing you the face, you try to commit every single detail to your memory.

Patchy beard, moustache. No wonder it tickled when he kissed me in my dream, you thought. The curly brown hair, exactly the same as the children in your dream. You feel the urge to run your fingers through them. The strong aquiline nose. Slightly crook, perhaps been broken in battles or hunting incidents? And the eyes. The big brown eyes,despite being a seasoned warrior, he is now looking at you with trepidation. Fear of rejection, again. Now you feel slightly guilty of putting him through a bit of trial. He is beautiful. Your finger glides down towards his lips, he gives your hand a light kiss, as his eye drops down to focus on your lips, and back up again, silently asking for permission. You move your body forward, tilting your head up a little, the lips brushing together tentatively, his slightly chapped lip against yours. You lean in a bit closer, wanting more. Soon became slightly heated, grabbing the shawl, you pull him even closer, moulding your body as close as you can against his armour. One of his hands glides down towards your waist, and another grabs onto your backside. You can feel his slight arousal through his flight suit. Remember something, you reluctantly break the kiss. “ Din.. we can’t. Peli and the little pea are still waiting for us..” you panted. ‘ I don’t care. They can wait.” he said as he pulled you back in and started to pepper kisses on your face and down towards your neck. You try to suppress a moan. And you heard a loud knock on the door. “ HEY YOU TWO, Ok in there? Do you need me to rescue you from Mando??” Din groaned into your neck. You laughed. “ We are ok Peli!! You might want to go get some food and drinks because we are going to have a party tonight!” you yelled back through the door. And you heard her making a confused noise as she walked away, while talking to the droid and Grogu. “ Come on Din, You did say we have a wedding feast right after the ceremony.” You poke him with your finger, trying to get him off you. “ Come on, be good.” Dropping your voice down a little,” Peli can have Grogu tonight, her room is way on the other side of the hanger.” Finally peeling away from you, he gives you the look, with a pout. You rolled your eyes, turned around, picking up the helmet from the cot and passing it to him. “ Can you put it back on for me please?” he whispered. “ The only other person that can take and put on the helmet for Mandalorians is their riduur.” You see his cheek flush a little. That is one ritual you wouldn’t mind doing for him for the rest of your life. Little intimate moments belong only to you and Din. Giving him one last kiss, and combing his hair with your finger, you slide the helmet back onto his head. “Wait until Peli hears about the news.” “ She is going to have a heart attack, for sure.” You chuckled.

Later on that night, two of you holding tightly on each other in your cot, with him buried deep in you, you finally declare your love to him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner riduur”.

Had bit of migraine when i try to push this chapter out. ugh. bad. next chapter prob will be in few weeks, I want to watch bit of s3 The Mandalorian to get the feel for next part. as always, thank you for reading, any likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated :D

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#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #grogu #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

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