#that if I ever have a husband I may not nag him

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

.

[wanyinchen-narts]

summertime bonding training with dad-sensei and his beloved dango children🌤️🤸🍡

(click on the pictures since Tumblr likes to snack on pixels)

[sassyandclassy94]

*Girls only*

I am so glad that 'the bomb' decided to drop yesterday instead of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or next Sunday! Why, you ask? Cause imagine having to sit in a car for hours driving to Pennsylvania and worrying about possibly messing up the nice leather seats in your papa's nice fancy truck. Or sitting in the theatre for hours hoping you'll be okay until intermission. Or messing up the hotel sheets (mortifying!!). Or having to sit in church for three hours on your heaviest day. And THEN imagine having to entertain a guest (who happens to be your crush) while also hiding the fact that the literal Battle of Agincourt is going on in your uterus.

Bottom line is, I am so thankful that I'm getting the worst days of my cycle over with before my trip to Sight & Sound (SO EXCITED!!) and my birthday dinner.

[luveline]

Ok Derek angst what about a non-bau gf getting jealous of his flirting with Garcia? Bc ngl if my bf did that with a girl who I hadn’t met I would be super upset and then May be his gf meets Garcia and realizes she’s a girls girl and super sweet? Idk u can take it any direction

ty for your request ♡ fem!reader

You don't want anything to do with Penelope Garcia. Honestly, you wouldn't ever meet her if you had your way, but you're level-headed enough to know that she's important to Derek. Integral to his life. It's a miracle you put off meeting her as long as you had. 

At first, you genuinely thought she was Derek's mom. He always ended calls with, "Love you, mama." It was only a few weeks ago when he shook things up to say, "I love you, babygirl," did you look up from the book on your thigh to ask who it was.

"Penelope," he'd said, like he was confused. "Who'd you think?" 

You shrugged noncommittal, earning yourself a hair pet and a kiss. You lay awake that night wondering if you got it wrong. You'd heard a hundred stories about her and felt reluctantly fond, but now? Your boyfriend calls other girls pet names, what do you do about that? What can you? 

You ignored it. And now you have to meet her. 

She doesn't seem as nefarious as you've imagined her, springing from her seat at the cafe table to hug you. "Hi! Oh my god hi! I can't believe I'm finally meeting you, I've never been this happy in my life! You're so pretty!" 

You wince at her arms thrown over your shoulders but reciprocate. You aren't a total bitch.

"Thank you," you say. She smells like coffee creamer and hairspray. She pulls away to beam at you, her lips painted a shiny, pretty red. "It's nice to meet you. Derek has nothing but good things to say about you."

It sounds awfully formal, like you're opening a bank account with a teller who has a shared acquaintance. Derek gives you a look. You give him a look back, mutual confusion. She may be his best friend, but you don't know her (and what you do know you're jealous of, so). 

Derek takes your hand despite your off behaviour to show you off with pride, his teeth peeking from behind his lips milky white. "My two favourite girls had to meet eventually."

"I thought I'd be more jealous about coming second," Penelope says, eyes twinkling, "but I've never seen Derek so happy." Her voice turns scratchy like stretched linen. "He deserves the best, you know? And it's clear you're it. He's smitten."

"Maybe don't give up all my secrets, sweetheart," he says. 

Seeing them together chills your raging envy. There's a lot of love there, clearly, but the sexual tension you pictured is fictional. "Girl code, my love,'' Penelope says with a shrug. She winks at you. 

Insecurity nags at your skin like condensation on a cold window, "You've known Derek for nearly six years? Have you guys always been this close?" 

"Well, mister muscles here didn't bother remembering my name for the first couple of weeks that we worked together, so he deferred to pet names. And, you know, he's him," —Penelope gestures to him as if to say, behold, drawing a startled laugh from you— "and I'm me, so. I didn't want him to stop." 

"Hey, now." 

Penelope shakes her head at you. "He always does this." 

"If 'this' is stopping you from talking bad on yourself, babygirl, then yeah. I'll always do it." 

You feel clarity break, the sweet taste of relief and the muggier lick of shame. Derek and Penelope have a special friendship. That you knew before meeting her. She's made a huge, irreplaceable impact on his life, and Derek has clearly done the same. They aren't playing work husband and wife —there are reasons for their affections that go well beyond the surface flirtation. 

"I get it. Nobody ever called me anything so nice as Derek calls me," you confide. Derek's eyebrows leap up. You've never told him this; you're telling Penelope as a sort of apology, though she can't know that. "I never got asked out growing up. When he asked me on a date I thought he was trying to win a bet." 

Penelope's expression flickers with relief. There and gone, quickly replaced by sympathy. "Are you kidding? You're so pretty, Derek's lucky he got to you before someone else did." 

Derek kisses your cheek. His lips linger against the apple of it, your joined hands pulled instinctively to his firm torso. You might be imagining it, but Derek seems to know everything, so he probably knows the hill you've just climbed in your head. "Damn straight I'm lucky. I'm surrounded by beautiful, genius women. This is paradise for the modern man." 

You flush at his touch and praise. Penelope makes a pleased squeak. "Ooh, you guys are cute! You need to let me take a photo. This'll make a great printout for your wedding."

"Penelope." 

[dvrk-moon]

ENHYPEN OT7 ; 엔하이픈

PLAYING MINECRAFT WITH THEM

requested : no

genre : crack, fluff

pairing : enhypen x reader (can be platonic)

warnings : cursing + the members being menaces

heeseung ; 희승

absolute sweat

like speed runner esque

nags on you for being too slow and making him have a speed run time of over fifteen minutes

like you’re barely getting an oak log and he’s already in the nether. like u turn away for two seconds and he’s already built the portal

“heeseung where did you go” “i’ve almost killed the wither wait” … “CAN U CHILL OUT WE JUST CREATED THIS WORLD”

so u thought u were gonna have fun hanging out with heeseung on minecraft? NO

because as soon as he finishes his speed run and you finally got your first diamond, he’s decided to build a base

and u thought he was gonna be all cute and make u a room awwww!!! no.

he does make u a room, but the stairway up to ur room is a parkour course

(when the fuck did he have time to even make that?!!?!!)

first and last time playing minecraft with him

jay ; 제이

absolute knight in shining armor

literally

those mobs have nothing on his iron drip

protects u even if u don’t need it

“oh shit there’s a creeper” “ON MY WAY Y/N”

his netherite sword is CRACKED. like perfect enchantments

when he’s not protecting u he becomes ur farmer

the farm is so organized and beautiful jay is literally my husband pls

does in fact laugh when u die tho

like he’ll collect your stuff for you but the second he sees “[your gamertag] fell from a high place” he’s going to laugh for like two minutes straight

also he keeps an extra chest in his room for u

like in case u need something OR u die and he’s not able to collect ur stuff so it despawns

jay is so husband. even in minecraft

jake ; 제이크

he’s played before ok (trust him)

(it was when he was like nine)

like he’s very very. bad

he’s trying tho!!!

keeps dying. like every two minutes you see “jake_awesome2002 was blown up by a creeper”

he does not know how to change his gamertag so ur just stuck playing with jake_awesome2002

he starts getting the hang of it and immediately thinks he’s cracked at the game (he’s not)

so he disappears from you out of nowhere and so you try to help him :

“jake where are you” … “jake” … “jake sim where the fuck are you” …………. “i don’t know”

(cue “jake_awesome2002 fell out of the world”)

“JAKE HOW DID YOU FALL OUT OF THE WORLD” “I DONT KNOW”

he respawns and like sulks for three minutes before leaving and collecting dirt(?) for some reason

coincidentally you keep finding dirt blocks placed throughout your base afterwards! how silly of him!

sunghoon ; 성훈

he was so ready to show u how good he is

he’s not very good. but at least he’s better than jake!

he somehow is always in a cave or some sort of dangerous location

like say u found a village and you’re like “sunghoon come raid this village with me!”

meanwhile he’s trying not to die because of a pillager outpost

somehow he doesn’t?

he’ll go and do stuff like that or spend days in the nether and survive but his weakness is witches

like he doesn’t scream UNLESS there is a witch

and if you’re nearby ? he will 100% sacrifice you to the witch so that he can survive

womp womp

he actually sacrifices you quite a bit because he has like 36 levels

he thinks he’s funny when he does it too

sunoo ; 선우

honestly prefers to play in creative mode (me too sunoo)

but when you were like “let’s play in survival for once” he’s like “fiiiiiiiiinneeeeeuhhhh” (very dramatic about it)

he immediately builds a forever base when you spawn in

makes you do all the mining and stuff

he will tag along! but he won’t do shit

he’s the interior designer. he’s got bigger and better things to do

he only redeems himself when you go into the base and find your minecraft beds right next to each other

besides holding the house down, he also has an extremely high scale and successful farming system

so if you ever check in his chests, 100% you will find like 20 stacks of wood, stacks of wheat, of carrots, of beets, etc.

may be a homebody in minecraft but at least he’s fun to play with !!!! 10/10 would recommend to a friend

jungwon ; 정원

the miner

like you’re trying to get along with your day until jungwon stops and drops into the smallest cave ever

“what are u doing” “wait y/n we might need this copper” “jungwon don’t u already have like three stacks of copper” “yeah but we might need it”

lots of time spent mining

u eat your words tho when he is decked out in diamond armor from almost the get-go

when you guys build a base it HAS to have a little mine under the house (little as in huge)

somehow has like ten dogs?

“this one is maeumi, this one is maeumi’s friend, this once can be gaeul… maybe this one can be layla? oh! and this one is maeumi’s other friend. this one is bisco. this one is yours but you don’t get to name it. i will name it for you.”

they would be cats if it was really up to you but you’ll live

also refuses to elaborate on this thing he does

he makes tons and tons of signs and just places them around the base

some of them make sense and others just don’t at all

has a 2x2 fenced in area and the sign outside of it says “jail”

has anyone ever been sent to jail there? no. but as jungwon says “just in case”

riki ; 니키

possibly the worst yet most fun person to play with

at first you’re like “let’s play together” and he’s like “yeah sure whatever” but little do u know he has every plan in the world to turn the game into warfare

it’s even worse if you are playing on a realm rather than just a server

he abandons you from the get-go and immediately runs away and you can’t catch him so he builds a base far away from you

the base is in fact a dirt house

but it’s minecraft who said he had to be an architect

yes he abandoned you and is regularly attacking you at any given chance but he still keeps his tabs on where you are

walks all over your farm and kills your livestock

leaves signs saying “riki was here” “get rikrolled”

since he keeps tabs on you, u have to be very cautious of what you leave in your chests

he will steal anything. just for fun

threatens to blow up everything because he just wants to

little does he know if he wants warfare ur gonna give him warfare

a/n : this is random but i played mc like two days ago and i thought this could be a silly idea

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Epilogue - Peace Ever After

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: None… the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. Also, our pair have some news for the world.

Word Count: 0.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl . Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the neat little bow I wanted to wrap this fic up with. I hope you have enjoyed this story; it's been a pleasure to write. Thank you for reading, and many thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, 8th May 1945

Benedict’s arm is curled securely around your back as you dance together, Vera Lynn warbling from the wireless in the corner of your living room.

There'll be bluebirds over, The white cliffs of Dover, Tomorrow, just you wait and see…

His breath is warm on your hairline as you sway gently. A spontaneous, uplifting and tender moment to celebrate the end of the war. A lightness in your heart that this dreadful era is finally over and the overwhelming gratitude that all your loved ones have survived. This dance is also a peaceful, romantic interlude from the whirlwind your lives have become in the last few weeks. 

There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow…

The shrill ring of the telephone echoing from the hallway of your cottage interrupts your reverie.

“Ignore it,” Benedict whispers in your ear.

“But we just had it installed! It’s only our third call. How exciting!” You lean back and shoot him your best pleading face, and he sighs and, with an affectionate eye roll, gestures for you to go answer it.

You rush over and pick up the heavy bakelite receiver, a crackle on the line that is an operator.

“Overseas call for the Bridgertons from Madam DuLac,” the operator announces primly.

“Oh wonderful, yes, please put her through!” you enthuse.

“Salut y/n!” comes that familiar voice from the past after a short delay.

“Solene! It’s so wonderful to hear from you! How are you? How’s Paris?”

Benedict walks over at the mention of her name, hovering nearby to partially eavesdrop.

“I am wonderful. Paris is finally free and as beautiful as ever. On this monumental day, I wanted to check on the lovebirds who didn’t invite me to their wedding,” she jibes good-naturedly.

You can’t help but giggle. “We are very well, and yet again, sorry.” 

“Tu connais, there is one way you can remedy this,” she singsongs.

“Name it.”

“Your daughter shall be Solene oui? At least a middle name.”

You laugh heartily, then shoot Benedict a sultry look that makes his brow crease, intrigued.

“Why don’t you nag my husband about that?” you challenge lightly as he draws nearer.

He crowds into your back and takes the receiver from your hand, tilting it between you so you can both hear.

“What is my darling wife roping me into now?” he inquires dryly.

“Giving her a daughter that must be named Solene…” your ex-landlady chimes cheekily.

“Is she now?” his voice drops to a throatier register that immediately has you flustered. “And what is wrong with the son I just gave her?” he queries casually as he raises a flirtatious eyebrow at you.

“Vous avez un bebe?!?” Solene gasps. “Felicitations!!” 

“Oui!” You grin happily as Benedict's lips ghost over your temple lovingly. “We were about to send out telegrams with the news. Louis Jerome Bridgerton,” you pronounce proudly. “He is three weeks old, and he is our whole world…” your sigh so contented as you lean into your husband's attention.

“You named him after my brother-in-law?” Solene protests with mock indignance. “Then I definitely get the middle name for the girl!” 

“It was after the man who married us,” Benedict points out laconically before conceding, “who, yes, coincidentally is also your brother in law…” 

“And I shall expect a visit when petit Louis is a little older to see the wonders of Paris,” she hints unsubtly.

“Of course! His first trip will be to the Louvre,” your husband pronounces. “It was the very first place his parents went on a date, after all,” he adds, shooting you that trademark lopsided grin.

You elbow him mildly. “That was not a date!”

“It was for me, mon amour….” he side-eyes you heatedly. It makes you want to drag him upstairs and start on those daughter plans immediately.

“I should go and make my next call… to your sister and Phillip indeed; I just wanted to wish you a very happy Victory Day!” Solene interrupts your amorous moment.

“Et toi aussi,” you both answer in unison.

“Vive la France! Vive L’Angleterre! We won mes amis! Le monde est libre!”

You and Benedict’s eyes meet, a poignant moment, as the call disconnects.

“The world is free indeed,” he echoes softly, putting down the phone and sweeping you into his arms for a stirring kiss.

FIN

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[newkatzkafe2023]

What if...

Male (Y/N) was the type of person who not scared of anything or you can say he's fearless but that make him getting hurt so badly or almost die but Male (Y/N) didn't care much

How well the Monkey king react to a fearless but yet getting hurt or almost die Male (Y/N) ?

💀💀💀☠️☠️☠️

(Lmk Wukong) You cause him so much stress. Did you know he literally screamed when he found your bleeding body on the ground And all you said was oh hey peaches how was your day? You're gonna make him look like he's much older before his time. You're gonna cause him to have grey hair instead of Orange and 1 day he just burst out into tears. Due to the terror he feels from all of your life threatening injuries. You will decide to take it easy for a little while in order for him to calm down. He may be immortal but at if he has to take one more heart attack Who knows what's gonna happen.

(Mk Reborn Wukong) He is low-key afraid for your life. Everybody has watched receive brutal injuries before but this this is concerning even the monk. They know you're the most reckless between the Two of you considering you never had any fear for anything especially Wukong. But man you're getting really Stupidly reckless He slowly turns into a nag being housewife that demands her husband to take it easy. You're often able to shut him Up with a makeout session.

(NR Wukong) At First he was thought it It was kickass now he severely worried about you. You get more and More beat up every fight and What makes them worry the most is that you don't seem to care that you're in the worst condition he's ever found you in You could be bleeding out right now and you tell him that it's no big deal. But 1 day the final straw was, you came home like you were on the brink of death. And you tell him that it's no big deal and that you could take care of yourself. And that old man monkey deep bursted out into tears That's my Call your attention and you hobbled over your husband to see what was wrong. After he calms down a little bit. He holds on and tells you about how worried sick he is , and considering he made you immortal He knows he's not gonna lose you , but he also doesn't like see you like this whatsoever. After talking a little bit you say guys you're finally feed more careful with Handle things and he'll gladly help you with your injuries

(HIB Wukong) Oh man he's Is so paranoid right now it is crazy. Ever since he gave you that immortality peach, it seems you don't care for your well-being as much as you used to. In fact, you stop being scared of a lot of things and you're always Going Out there. Beating up random demons that bother you or the village and him as well.

(Netflix Wukong) You give this monkey boy nightmare. He is so scared that one of these injuries will kill you. And it especially don't help that you were mortal at first And your injuries make everybody wonder why you're not dead yet or how you didn't die yet. He made it his number one priority to get those immortality peaches because I don't His mental health can take another one of your life threatening injuries.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[fan-goddess]

Chapter Four: A new kind of promise

Catch up on the fic here!

Authors Note: After weeks of heavy research into Romani weddings traditions, I decided to use a mix of traditional events and my own versions. The questions I’ve been trying to find answers for have come up with little to nothing, so I’m mixing it all up into my own thing. I am sorry if that’s offended people, but I genuinely can’t do much about it. I have tried asking for help, but nothing came through. I’ve used mainly Christian traditions, but am making it my own with as much limited information that I found online weaved in.

Chapter Summary: The wedding day is coming up quickly, and your little conversation with your hopefully soon to be husband has made you think of things more clearly than you before

Taglist: @valeskafics, @omgbrcat @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity @anjelicawrites @lexwolfhale @helaenaluvr @scarletbedlam @tssf-imagines @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @arcielee @targaryenbarbie @ilikechocolatemilkh @tumblin-theworldaway

Warnings: Talks of arranged marriage, literal marriage, most likely incorrect portrayal of a Romani wedding, she/her pronouns mentioned, (if I miss any let me know!)

The wedding is in two days, and the memory of Abrahams body against yours is still unrelenting and clear in your mind as ever. Sticking with you with the same ferocity as a stick of Ivy that’s grown on the side of a house.

Though it were his words that clung to you most adamantly. ‘Because while she may not even be here yet, I already somehow finding myself caring for her. Just as much as I find myself already loving you.’

“What’s got you in such a state my darling?” Your mother says, making you suddenly jump in pure fright as in your thoughts you’d forgotten she was even there in the first place.

You sigh. “Nothing mum. I was just… just thinking of the wedding.”

You’d hate to say anything to inflate her ego, but your mum has been nothing short of a saint, even with her small snide comments every so often. As while you’ve been so caught up on Abraham, she’s been caught up in the making of your wedding. Making sure everything is being set up rightly for the day, and making sure your dress will be made in good time. It seems her bossiness and her attitude is good for something other than nagging you.

She scoffs in disbelief at your answer, but to your relief she seems to let the comment slide. Focusing on making herself a cup of tea, reminding you of your own that whilst you were caught up in your thoughts, turned cold in your hands. Still, you sip at it diligently anyway. Attempting to use it as a very useless distraction that of course does little to help.

The stables are now a place you can’t go to anymore. Too fearful to be put face to face with your soon-to-be husband to go anywhere near that now haunted place. From what you’ve heard from the recent girl talk you’ve been listening too with pricked up ears whenever Abrahams been mentioned, he hasn’t been going there too much recently anyway. Choosing to go either there or mainly out in the woods. He still drops off the wood and the animal carcasses, only with the recent development of the two of yours’ relationship, he only places them at the step of the door, before knocking and leaving soon as he comes. As if he was never there in the first place.

You don’t blame him for acting like this. Especially with how you acted to him after he practically told you he loved you.

You hate yourself for it. As when he uttered those words, you froze. You mumbled incoherent words even to yourself, and ran away like an absolute fucking coward. You left him standing there in that stable, leaning against the wall after he said those personal things to you, and you feel absolutely awful for it.

Your parents had asked what had you in such a rush when you all but sprinted through the door, but you couldn’t dare tell them the reason. Instead, you yelled you needed the loo, and hid in the toilets for a few minutes and cried into your hands like an idiot.

The days that went by after that had all been eerily and dreadfully similar. His words had revealed something within you that made you so fearful of it all that you now cannot do anything but hate yourself, and pray to whatever man or thing that was in the sky that Abraham would still love you, even after what you had done.

To your surprise though, praying to whoever you could seemingly worked, as each night that passed resulted in another day until your wedding. When you’d become his wife and he’d become your husband. It would have been so exhilarating if the days before hadn’t been so awful and hateful.

The anxiety has been killing you, but putting that aside, the dress itself was absolutely beautiful.

It was white, a colour insisted by your mother even though there was a very high chance it’d be dyed a mixture of green and brown by the end of night, and reached around your mid calf. There was even delicate lace hand sewn by your mother. An act you could not dare to deny brought small tears to your eyes that were quickly dried away claiming hay fever, in fear it would somehow spoil the minimal makeup that had been insisted by the other ladies who’d helped you get ready.

Yet as you found yourself walking down the laid out path towards where your fiancé stands, you cannot deny that for once, you felt truly beautiful. That it felt thrilling almost to feel actually wanted and desired by a man who you would soon share your bed with.

Abraham doesn’t turn to look at you until you’re a few steps away. Yet when he does, your heart does somersaults as you see his mouth open slightly, and his eyes quickly move to look over you fully. His eyes widening slightly as he takes you all in, though you feel the need to almost snicker when you see they linger at times specially around your cleavage. An act he stops doing so quickly you could easily blink and miss it.

His reaction calms you though. As it shows he still cares for you in his own way. It shows that he still wants to be wish you. In his own way…

When you get to him, he nods his head in his own way of a greeting, and you nervously nod your own. Your lips already sore and swollen from how much you’ve been biting them in your anxiety the last couple days. Yet when Abrahams eyes trail to look at your lips, a whole new type of ache travels through you.

“May all who are here today sit now!” Pal shouts, his voice loud and asserting as everyone quickly moves to follow his orders. You and Abraham as well moving to face him as he looks at the both of you with a kind smile you cannot help but reciprocate.

“Abraham Lee, is here today to marry this fine woman from our own clan. Her parents are here today to witness the change of her transitioning from their daughter, to Abrahams wife. I understand that Abraham, instead of using typical money, has gifted one of his prized horse to the brides parents as payment. Does the brides parents feel this is a good payment for their daughter?”

You can’t turn back at the moment to look, but you can hear your father’s grunt as he lifts himself onto his feet, and how your mother fusses at him for him to be careful.

“Yes, me and my wife believe the horse that Abraham has provided our family with was a sufficient price to pay for our daughter. We are grateful to welcome him into our home, and are grateful he has taken such a shine to our only child.” Your father chokes, almost sounding on the verge of tears at the end of his words, before another round of grunts begins, signifying he’s finished and has sat back down on his chair again with a sigh.

Pal nods his head in a silent thanks to your parents, and turns to your right to look at Abraham eye to eye.

“Okay then. Now, Abraham Lee. Do you promise to take this romni under your protection? Do you vow to look after her, and be a good husband for her? To allow herself to be shielded by you forever, until the day you die?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, you yourself only hearing him let out a single deep breath, and you quite honestly feel yourself almost die on the spot fearing the worst has happened. That he has realised his mistake and that he’d put the wedding off there and then, shaming you for your actions.

Only whilst you’re worrying, he grunts and begins speaking, and you have to slowly let out the breath you were holding previously in thanks. “Yes, I vow to do all that and more for her.”

Then Pal turns to you, and suddenly you find yourself unable to breath once more. Who knew the whole ordeal would be so friggin stressful?

“Do you, a daughter of this clan and of the Roma, take Abraham Lee as your husband? Do you understand you will be under his protection, living in his home with him and being with him until his or your last breath? Do you vow to be a good wife to him, looking after him and caring for him back to full health whenever needed? Do you vow to guide him, when it is needed too? Do you vow to do all that and more for him, in exchange for his protection?”

Your breath is shaky as you hold it, and whilst it would be improper to do so, you want so badly to hold Abrahams hand firmly in your own and use his strength for some stability. Still, it is improper, and Abraham still has every right to shove you to the dirt and shame you.

“Yes, clan leader, I vow to do all that and more for him, as he is my husband now and forever more.” The extra words aren’t necessary, but it feels nice to do and makes you feel sort of giddy to see the small smile on Abrahams face in the corner of your eye. His body shifting from side to side as the next part of the ceremony begins.

“May the husband and wife hold each others hands.”

The two of you turn to each other, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see Abraham’s cheeks are an unfamiliar shade of pink. He almost appears bashful, but that would no doubt be an unfamiliar feeling of his.

Still, his hands move to clasp your own, and your thumb begins to rub small shapes on the back of his veiny hand. His own hands though clench slightly round yours, possibly as a warning. It probably wouldn’t be a good look for him or you if he was to begin glaring at you already, not even ten minutes into the ceremony.

“Do the two do you vow to look after each other, stay true to each other, and be good to each other for the rest of yours and theirs’ lives?”

This time, there is no real hesitation from either of you, as both you and Abraham almost manage to say ‘I will’, at the same time as each other.

Though after that, Pal smiles at the two of you, and motions for the bread to be brought out. Which when it gets handed to the two of them, it’s odd, as it’s almost like the both of you don’t want to release each others hands just yet, content in providing the other with a comforting warmth. Still, the both of you split hands anyways, and move to hold your own hands and kneel before Pal who continues to stand, to allow the rest of the ceremony to continue to take place.

“I bless the both of you with this bread, in the hopes it will symbolise the fruitful future the two of you will bring to each other.” You can feel the bread being placed on your knees, and for a slight second, your body recognises that familiar feeling of warmth and comfort as you feel Abraham’s hand on your leg for a quick moment grabbing one of the two chunks of bread. Pal hands him the salt, and he adds an almost amusing amount onto it, you yourself doing the exact same, only with much less.

Abraham brings the bread to your lips, and with a surprising amount of grace you manage to take the break into your mouth, eyes widening as the sudden taste of salt hits you. Your hand moving to cover your mouth as it takes a few seconds for you to be able to swallow. But after that small moment, which you could see brought a smile to Abraham’s face, you place your own piece of bread by his lips, and with much less care for his manners he fully leans forward and places his lips over your fingers, leaving spit to cover your fingertips as you let go of the bread and it falls directly on his waiting tongue.

Pal gives the two of you a minute to swallow, but neither you nor Abraham needs it. And instead, the two of you take the time to admire each other in your respective wedding outfits. Your own eyes focused on the way his body somehow manages to look so good in the clean yet somehow still Abraham looking suit, while his almost can’t seem to focus on one thing. His eyes constantly roaming your body as if he can’t get enough of you.

“Now that that’s been done, the bride and groom, if you can continue to face each other please! It’s time for the last bit of the vows part before we can move onto dancing, which I can say for all is what we’re definitely looking forward too! Or in my case, the booze!”

A small wave of laughter is heard from the guests, and even a small giggle from yourself is heard. A doing which brings a small, barely noticeable smile from the man in front of you.

“Finally, the newly vowed couple of the rom and romni needs to do one final thing. Abraham, my friend, it’s time for you to kiss your new bride!”

Your breath feels like it’s swept away from you as Abraham steps closer to you and takes your head in his hands, before pulling you closer. Your eyes close in delight and you feel yourself so close to letting out some sort of noise of pure happiness when his lips firmly press against your own.

Your heart feels like it’s about to beat from your chest as your hands grasp around Abrahams vest and somehow try to pull him closer to you. You can feel his body heat overwhelming you, and you almost let out something akin to a sad sound when he eventually pulls away from you. Yet that quickly gets forgotten when you see Abrahams red swollen lips up close. And when you find yourself able to tear your eyes away to look properly at him, you can see his own eyes and doing just the same. Unable to look away from your lips.

The both of you are so smitten that you almost don’t hear Pal announcing how it’s time for the celebration dance. Only broken from the trance when Pal places a hand gently against the both of yours’ shoulders and murmurs the instructions to the both of you, choosing to ignore the knowing smirk on his lips as the both of you are lead to where the rest of the nights festivities are being held.

It’s beautiful, for there are various lights that are hung up all around that brighten up the space wonderfully, and many other things that are dotted around that bring a deep sense of fondness deep in your heart. Soon though, music floods the air as you giggle amusingly at the sight of your mother and father dancing wildly as if there was no one else there. As if his injury was never there in the first place.

You look at Abraham, but to your delight you find he is already looking at you with a content smile on his face. It’s strange, to see the once hard working and duty driven man that is Abraham look so soft in your presence. But you must say, it certainly begins to grow on you almost annoyingly quickly.

“Do you, do you want to dance?” You stutter, scared he’d say no to your question. Only to your surprise, he doesn’t. Abraham murmurs his own version of an agreement, and takes your hand in his own, bringing a deep flush to your surprised face.

To your delight, he brings you to the very centre of the makeshift dancing area, and he holds you close to him as he begins to move you in time with his body. His hands clasped firmly against your waist and your hand, his face tucked next to yours.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but you look gorgeous…” Abraham murmurs, his breath tickling your ear sending shivers down your spine. “Made me forget about everything except the fact that you’re mine now. That you belong to me, and the fact that now…” He takes such a deep breath as he pauses that he almost causes the hair tucked behind your ear to fall loose. “That now I’m yours too.”

You can’t help yourself from grinning at his confession, nor can you dare think to stop yourself from kissing his cheek lightly. Showing your own silent appreciation for his words.

The two of you dance for a while. Content in each other arms. Dancing till you’re forced to confess how much your feet are aching in your shoes. Yet even when the two of you sit down, Abraham still keeps his firm hold on you, refusing to let go of your hand from his. The only time he actually let go being when he insisted on getting you some food to eat after the long day, glaring and seemingly harsh when he practically forbade you from standing and getting it for yourself. But as little as you really know your husband, you know he means the best in his words and his actions. As he had said earlier, he protects fiercely what he loves.

You’re so wrapped up in thoughts with a smile that you can’t help but flinch slightly when you feel a hand place itself on your shoulder, yet a brighter smile when you see you father looking down on you with his own tearful smile.

“The two of you looked happy together when you were dancing. I don’t think the poor boy wanted to let go of you!” He grins, sitting down next to you in an empty chair.

“I didn’t either!” You giggle, smiling so fondly you swear you can feel your cheeks begin to hurt.

“I’m glad. I’m so happy for you darling that you’re happy. You know, I just remembered the talking too I gave that boy before this...”

“Oh dad you didn’t!” You gasp with your hands over your mouth, a horrified look on your face as you think of all the worst things as possible that couldn’t happened between them.

“Oh you bet I did! I refused to allow this man one moment of thought that he could get away with hurting my little girl! I told him clearly and firmly, that if he hurt you in any way shape or form, that he’d have me and all the lads making sure he paid for it dearly!”

“Dad!” You groan, embarrassed and horrified as you laid you head in your hands, your cheeks no doubt a bright red right now from the shame.

“It’s true! I may have weak bones, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give him one for sure!” Your father insists, much to your utter horror. It gets even worse when another voice joins in the conversation…

“I agree sir!” Abraham speaks, two plates in his hands as he places one in front of you and one in front of himself as he sits in another empty chair to your left. When you look down to see what he’s gotten you, you’re quite delighted to see a lot of your favourite foods there waiting for you to eat them.

“Thank you.” You say to him, genuinely surprised and grateful for what he’s done for you just now.

“Don’t be,” He grunts, tucking into a sausage roll on his place. “I got your mother to help me. Didn’t want to get you anything you hated or were allergic too or something…”

You don’t respond, choosing what’s best to respond with is a small hum of agreement and nod, before placing your hand on his which lays on the table. You have to try and not let out an audible noise when Abraham seems to instinctively clench his fingers around yours and firmly hold you. Ever the possessive man it seems your husband will be.

Your father looks at the both of you fondly, and he gives you a small smile and a nod of his own before he leaves to most likely go to talk to your mother or some other person.

“Did you enjoy it. Today, I mean.” Abraham grunts again, pausing his movements to look at you so intently you feel your whole body flush.

“Yeah, I really did. Think it’s the best day of my life.” You smile, genuinely feeling almost euphoric seeing his bashful face that he tries to hide with his now free hand. Though to save his embarrassment you move to eat your own food with a smile, staring at the dance floor where Pal has somehow convinced your mother to dance with him, much to your amusement as you begin to giggle at the sight.

Soon though, the night comes to an end as the parents take the little kids home, and the adults who have no children have other adults take them home after getting absolutely shit faced drunk, much to Abrahams amusement who huffs a laugh at them.

Your parents come to the both of you and wish you well, as your belonging have apparently already been moved into Abrahams caravan so you could stay there tonight. And due to them knowing of Abrahams family situation, they wish him the best of luck too. Even giving him a hug which you swear leaves him looking brighter than earlier.

The two of you are the last people to leave the party, but a couple other members of the clan offer to help bring the presents people have given the both of you, which Abraham and you accept gratefully when you see the sheer size of a few of them. Though when you see some familiar wrapping you remember seeing in your mother’s wrapping box you can’t help but laugh slightly in reminiscence of it all.

Abraham and yourself make it to his caravan relatively quickly whilst being followed by those who’d offered to help. They came in and left rather quickly, putting the gifts on a countertop before leaving, saying their own little congratulations while they do. Leaving you and Abraham alone in the room to look at each other.

A strange sort of silence overwhelms you, and it’s with a small gasp you suddenly feel Abrahams hand on your cheek caressing your skin carefully and softly.

“I think, if it’s alright with you little, we continue what you left me with at the stables…”

[my-my-my]

modern Aizen??!! What type of dad would he be? Or husband? What type of life would he have?(job,money,hobbies,etc.)

I love modern Aizen concepts. I've thought so much about this - I have way too many ideas. I'll break this up into chunks for easier reading.

TW: none!

... as a husband:

A very career-oriented, driven man = very busy. There will be some days where you won't physically see him (because your work schedules don't align), but he will call you each day when you have free time.

He's very attentive. He can tell when you're upset, hurt or angry about something, and he'll listen.

He doesn't like nagging and passive aggressiveness. If you're upset with him, be direct! He trusts you and expects you to trust him as well.

He loves cooking with you, especially if you're curious about new recipes, or try something in a restaurant and want to recreate it at home with him.

He doesn't like leaving household chores with you - he tries to meal plan and prep with you. He's the one that offers to hire a cleaner so there's less stress for you.

When he has time off, he will spend it with you. He will plan elaborate, details days off, vacations, anniversaries, etc. - it's his way of "making up" to his intense schedule.

... as a father:

Extremely, and I mean EXTREMELY patient. He may not be all that understanding with his child, but he tries.

I think Aizen "handles" older children better than new borns and infants.

New borns and infants give Aizen a small seed of fear - this tiny, precious child is someone who inherently has to rely on Aizen. I think in this sense, Aizen's philosophy of "the weak need the strong" changes - of course his baby needs him!

Aizen will always, and I mean always, read them bedtime stories. He loves to encourage his child to read more. One of their first gifts from him (once they're old enough/develop memories) is a little bookshelf.

Library days are important! He's one of those parents who will sign up for parent-baby classes at the local library.

Aizen is definitely the "I'm not angry, just disappointed" parent. He won't shout at his child ever, but they develop an inherent respect for him.

I don't think Aizen would like the concept of private schools (inherently classist/elitist), so he's very much fine with his child going to a public school.

Summer vacations are also for travel! He would encourage his child to see the world - he doesn't want them to be ignorant of the world around them.

... his job:

I've talked about this before, but I can see Aizen in some type of medical or education-role (or both!). I often picture him as some kind of psychotherapist (requires a medical degree) at a world-renowned hospital/institute who's also an associate professor at the major university. He would be one of those people who would have the HBSc + MSc + MD + PhD lol

He would also be a graduate-level supervisor for students. But he's very selective on who he takes under his wing (i.e. Ichigo...). He would encourage his students to think critically about what he's teaching them, but also be supportive in their endeavours.

I think Aizen develops his supervisor persona because it was, unfortunately, something he didn't get to experience as a graduate student. His supervisors were very hands-off and while Aizen was an extremely competent student and fellow, I can see him wanting a mentor during that period of his life.

Aizen only sees a few patients a year, on a consultancy-basis, if he's more research-focused. But some years he does go back into the clinical practice route.

Aizen has definitely had a TEDTalk or two.

Aizen is always competing with Urahara for grants and funding lol it pisses him off.

If Aizen is on a thesis committee with Urahara, it frustrates him, but he tries to be nice and polite - often times he's ignoring Urahara in these meetings and at the time of a student's defence.

Aizen would be a notoriously difficult Comprehensive Examiner for PhD students. Again, going back to thinking critically - he expects students in his division/unit/stream to not regurgitate what they've learned, but demonstrate areas of improvement, new techniques, etc.

Aizen teaches one undergrad-level course in psychology, another one in sociology and then one last one in philosophy (at the 300 level). Many undergrad students flock to his office hours.

Overall - financially - Aizen is definitely not hurting for cash.

... his hobbies:

Reading: whether that be manuscripts, chapter proofs, fiction and non-fiction alike. I think Aizen is inherently a student for life type-of-person. He wants to know more, he has such a thirst for knowledge.

Coffee/tea-hopping: he's not one for gimmicky cafes, but Aizen's curious to try new spots for their coffee and tea selections. Even when he travels abroad, he will try local cafes and buy some beans and blends for home (if he likes it).

I think Aizen would still hold on to calligraphy - it's such a rare talent these days I find. It's an expensive hobby for sure - but one he plans and budgets for. Very, very rarely does he sell some of his prints - it's a way for him to decompress.

I think Aizen would be hesitant to introduce his child to calligraphy - he doesn't want them using his expensive inks and pens lol. I think he'd get them a "child" version of them, but he wouldn't pressure them to continue with calligraphy if it doesn't interest them.

In a similar vein, I can see Aizen enjoying playing the piano in his (very limited) spare time (he's trying to master Rachmaninoff and that unbelievably finger span). I don't see him playing the piano necessarily for the music - but rather, I think it's a test of almost all of his senses. It requires his focus, his ability to read music - translate that ability into finger movements, and be able to interpret the composers own feelings into the piece of music. I don't think he'd be able to tell you who his favourite composers were, but he would be able to tell you pieces that gave him a "challenge" (that he conquered). He would enrol his child in piano lessons.

I can see Aizen being into hiking, and maybe mountaineering. I think it gives him a sort of thrill to climb mountains (always reaching to the top).

Weirdly enough, I think he'd be into foraging as well? Foraging for edible mushrooms specifically (I guess there's something to be said with curiosity and mad scientist types).

Aizen avoids social media. He knows of it, he probably has a twitter account for his academic stuff, but that's about it. I also don't see him as a podcast listener - but he has been invited on to podcasts as a guest!

Overall, I think Aizen would have a life similar to a well-known, top-earning clinical researcher! Someone who's constantly learning, but also wants to share that knowledge to a few select students. This leads him to having a very limited home life, but he makes it up with his attentiveness and understanding. I think Aizen would be a devoted partner to a person who is as equally curious as him - someone he can also learn from.

Thanks anon for this ask! I hope this is what you had in mind.

[beskarandblasters]

Me and My Husband

Chapter Seven: I Know Who You Pretend I Am

Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Synopsis: Din Djarin is doing what any typical Mandalorian would be doing after reclaiming Mandalore, finding a riduur and settling down. He’s still a member of the Guild on Nevarro, taking bounties here and there to support his new family. But when he meets you while you’re working the front desk at an inn on Naboo, he finds himself hooked, feeling like he’s found something new and exciting in his now mundane life. How long can he keep up appearances with his riduur? And how long can he keep his little secret with you?

Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, set post season 3, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), some liberties taken with Mandalorian culture/weddings/marriages, infidelity, eventual smut (chapter two!), switches between Reader and Din's POV, no use of y/n

Author’s note: This chapter is a bit different than the others. Instead of being in Din’s or Ca’tra’s point of view, we’re visiting May’s point of view. It may not seem super important but there’s something at the end of this chapter that’s vital to the plot.

Chapter summary: A day in the life of May.

Word count: 1.8k

Chapter warnings: angst, talks of menstruating and having children, talks of infidelity

May

While Din is away for what feels like the millionth time, May wakes up in bed alone. Last night she had the most vivid dream of her and Din having a baby together. Grogu became an older brother and Din was the loving and doting father and husband she knows he has the potential to be. The dream felt so real. But when she wakes up in the morning she’s hit with the reality she’s living in now, a bleak lonely life.

She gets out of bed and feels a warm wetness between her legs. She looks down and sees her period staining her inner thighs. She’s… disappointed and doesn’t really understand why. She told Din she wasn’t ready yet, which is true. But the dream has her longing for a reality that’s so far out of reach, it’s clouding her judgement.

She gets Grogu up for the day, alone. Aren’t you supposed to share these tasks with the father of your children? Why is it always left up to her she wonders. Not that she minds. She’s grown quite close with Grogu in Din’s absence. Thank the Maker for him because if it were just her home alone in this empty house she would go crazy. 

She sits at the kitchen table and lets her mind wander…

Is Din really where he says he is?

Grogu’s eating his breakfast and babbling happily beside her. She’s not eating anything herself because she hasn't been able to shake the feeling that Din’s lying to her. She’s not sure what he’s lying about but he’s been acting suspicious ever since he came back from his first bounty since getting married. 

She sees the way other riduurs interact and when she compares it to her and Din’s marriage she feels a sense of longing; longing for something others have that she doesn’t. She wonders if she’s trapped in a one-sided marriage, one where she will always be the one trying harder, doing more, loving unconditionally, and not receiving the same treatment back. 

No, that’s silly, May thinks to herself. Din’s a hardworking man, always putting his family’s needs above his own, spending his life crossing the galaxy to make ends meet, to put food on the table, to make sure they’re safe. 

She tells herself this yet she can’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. 

He’s lying to you, May, the voice tells her. 

She puts the voice in the back of her mind for the moment and goes about her day. She takes Grogu to play with some of the other younglings while the parents stand by and chat. It’s always pairs of riduurs together except for her, always alone. And they’re always affectionate with each other. She feels out of place here but she shouldn’t. She belongs here just as much as the others do yet she feels like she’s missing an essential piece of the puzzle. 

After playtime she tends to the garden, gathering ingredients for tonight’s dinner. Dinner for two always, rarely ever for three. Grogu sits on a rock and watches her harvest the vegetables. She looks at him and wishes he could talk, wishes she could have some conversation other than her inner monologue. He’s better than no company and she truly loves him with all of her heart. He’s been the only blessing in this riduurok. 

Once the ingredients for dinner are collected she heads to the village center to trade with some of the other families, feeling the same sting as she did before when she sees pairs of riduurs together. The ones who don’t wear their helmet can’t hide their looks of pity when they see her alone, only with Grogu at her side. It makes the tips of her ears hot with embarrassment, but she’s grateful for her helmet in moments like these. 

And that takes her until dinner, sitting beside Grogu and feeling a sullen, empty feeling. This wasn’t how she pictured her life going. And now that she’s alone and not necessarily busy, the voice comes back. 

He’s hiding something from you, the voice tells her. 

She could sit here and argue with herself back and forth, sending her down a maddening downward spiral. Or she could confide in someone. Maybe the Armorer? Maybe Bo-Katan?

Literally, anyone if it’ll spare her from going mad. 

Bo-Katan will do. She’s the closest thing May has to a friend anyway. 

Once Grogu’s done with his food, she scoops him up into her arms, replaces her helmet on her head, and leaves. As she walks to Bo-Katan’s house in the night, she thinks about how she shouldn’t even have to be doing this. She shouldn’t have to confide in someone with her doubts about her marriage. 

She knocks on the front door and thinks of how she’s going to phrase this to Bo. There’s no easy way to say… what exactly? She hasn’t even admitted to herself what her true suspicions are because she’s afraid of the answer. 

But as soon as the door opens she blurts out, “I think Din’s having an affair.”

Bo’s eyes widen and she motions for May to come inside. They sit at Bo’s kitchen table together with Grogu in May’s lap.

“So… why do you think he’s having an affair?” Bo-Katan asks hesitantly. 

“Well, he’s… he’s so withdrawn from me. We’re never intimate. He never tells me he loves me. He’s not affectionate. And I mean I know he’s not really the affection type but-”

Bo sighs. “Look May… I had a suspicion but I didn’t want to impose.”

“I didn’t even tell you the worst part.”

“Oh?”

“A few rotations ago, before he left again, we were about to have sex and he asked to keep our helmets on.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, he said he thought it would be hot but that had to be a lie… Right?”

Bo takes a deep breath and says, “If you think he’s cheating you should bring it up with the Armorer. He’s not just betraying you, he’s betraying his family, his clan, his creed”

“And you think I should go to her?”

“Well, I-”

“If you were me in this situation, what would you do?”

After a pause for consideration, Bo says, “I would tell the Armorer.”

“It’s settled, then,” May sighs, “Will you… Will you go with me?”

“Of course,” she says, offering a sympathetic smile. She leans forward and pats May’s gloved hand resting on the tabletop before leaving her house and leading the way down to the forge. 

The walk there is silent, an uncomfortable tension hanging heavily in the air. May feels bad for this all of a sudden. She feels bad for putting Bo-Katan in the middle of their drama. Yes, she considers Bo a friend but Bo was also Din’s friend, too. She helped him rescue Grogu from Moff Gideon. She saved him from drowning in the Mines. He brought her back to the covert when her palace was destroyed. Surely she feels uncomfortable being in this situation. And if she does, she’s doing a good job at hiding it.

They arrive at the forge, the Armorer working on something when they get there. She seems busy even this late at night.

Kriff, maybe this was a bad time, May thinks to herself. But then again, there’s never a good time to accuse your riduur of cheating in front of a well-respected member of the tribe. And if there’s anyone who will know what to do, who will offer some sort of guidance; it’s her. 

“Bo-Katan Kryze. May Djarin. What brings you two here?”

“May has come here to tell you of her suspicions that Din is violating the terms of their riduurok.”

“How so?” she asks with a curious tone in her voice. 

“I think… I think he’s having an affair.”

“I see,” the Armorer says, setting down whatever she’s working on. 

“I don’t need to know why you think this. But this is a serious accusation to make. If this is true, he will become an apostate again. Are you certain he needs to be questioned?”

May takes a moment to think this over to herself and concludes that yes, he needs to be questioned. It will pain him to become an apostate again but he’s the one who made his choices and now he gets to suffer the consequences. May thought that the pain of Din being an apostate would prevent him from doing anything that would risk his creed. But clearly, he’s thinking with something other than his head. And why should she have to suffer because of his mistakes; his wrongdoings?

“Yes,” she nods, visor locked on the Armorer’s. 

“It is settled then. Din Djarin will be questioned about the accusations that he’s breaking the terms of his riduurok. Where is he now?”

“Off planet for a bounty,” May says. 

“Once he is back, bring him to me.”

May and Bo-Karan nod and the Armorer returns to the project she was working on. May takes a deep breath as she leaves the forge with Bo, a mix of emotions swirling her stomach. On one hand, she’s relieved this will be officially investigated. But on the other hand, she’s afraid of what's to come from it. 

Once they’re back out into the village Bo asks, “Are you going to be alright?”

“I think so,” May sighs.

“I don’t want you to be alone until he gets back.”

Just as Bo says that, Grogu makes a noise, looking up at May. 

“I won’t be alone. I have him,” May says, patting Grogu on the top of his head. 

“Well, don’t hesitate to stop by if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” May responds with a tip of her helmet before they part ways. 

Din proves to be gone several rotations. He hasn’t sent a transmission but he usually doesn’t. At first, May attributed that to him just forgetting that Mandalore can send and receive transmissions now. But that was back when May was lying to herself. Now that she’s admitted to herself and others that Din may be having an affair, the sugarcoated answers she would tell herself before are starting to slip away. 

He’s not where he says he is. He’s making up thinly veiled excuses as to why he’s gone for so long. There’s a reason he doesn’t want to be intimate with her. There’s a reason he doesn’t tell her he loves her or why he doesn’t tell her she’s beautiful. There’s a reason he wanted to have sex with the helmets on. That’s been the hardest pill for her to swallow. It’s either because he’s too guilty to even look May in the eye or it just makes it easier for Din to pretend May is someone else… you, whoever you are, wherever you are in the galaxy. You took her riduur from her. And she decides that you can have him. That is if he’ll be able to live with himself after losing his creed. Only time will tell. 

End note: As if we needed any more reasons to feel bad for May 🤪

Chapter Eight

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[neptilius]

001 ; 'love in the time of post-partum'

synopsis: the reader has pent-up stress and anxiety and takes it out on jack.

It was your first day back at your job ever since Alora was born and you were stressed out.

Jack insisted you stay home for a few more days. You knew he was only trying to make sure you were okay but it really set you off.

Postpartum depression had been kicking your ass and jack's constant nagging didn't make it better.

"Baby you really don't have to go back so early." He said, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

He kissed your neck softly and you shook out of his hold.

"Jack, I want to go back. You know I don't like to sit around and do nothing." You said sliding on your blazer.

"You know I'm just trying to help. I may not know what your going through right now but just know I'm always here for you." He said running his hands through his curls.

"Baby I'm fine." You said before giving him a kiss and walking out of your shared bedroom to wake your baby up.

"I don't know what to do steph! I know he's just trying to help but he's honestly just making things worse." You said frustratedly to your co-worker.

"I totally get you, when I had my son every little thing my husband did pissed me off." She said giggling softly at the end.

"But guess what? It's normal babe! It's just your body going through changes and he's trying to help you out." She said rubbing your back softly.

"But steph what if it doesn't get better? I feel like I'm falling out of love with him." You said tearing up out of pure guilt.

"Aww honey come here." She said pulling you into her chest.

"I feel like a bad wife and a bad mother." You said crying softly into her chest.

"It'll get better, my love I promise. You love that man and he loves you! After all the wild stories I've heard about the both of you I can guarantee you still love him. When this all blows over you'll be okay." She said, coaxing you through your tears.

"I love you so fucking much man." You said wiping your tears and giving her a proper hug.

"You look exhausted." Jack said when he saw you on the couch typing away at your computer.

"I have to get this done." You said tiredly rubbed your eyes.

"Mamas, I don't like the way your working yourself. If your tired take a break and try again tomorrow." He said sitting next to you on the couch.

You looked up at him tiredly with tears in your eyes. You hated feeling useless.

"That's easy for you to say jack. I'm not a celebrity! I don't have thousands of people ready to help me. Money doesn't just come out of my ass. I have a job to get done and your getting in the way!" Your sudden outburst surprised you.

Jack was stunned by what you said.

He knew you were going through it and he tried his best not to take it personally but there was only so much he could take.

I don't think I can do this anymore jack." You said putting legs up to your chest.

"You can't do what?" He said nervously, bouncing his leg up and down.

"Us babe." You said closing your computer and walking into your shared bedroom.

this was inspired by that on human resources episode !

[magickcandie]

Brian May x Pregnant!Fem!Reader

You were in your last trimester. This child, Brian’s child, was soon to be born. However that could wait, and you wanted nothing more to see your husband with his closest friends, doing what he loved. Tonight was Live Aid. A huge charity performance with many other rock bands. It just sounded like something Brian would love. Of course, he barely spoke about it the entire time you reached the stadium. Constantly asked about you. “Is it going to be too loud? Can that even effect the baby? Maybe we should find headphones. Are you comfortable, Y/N? You could stay in here - oh, but then you’d miss the performance. What if-”

“Brian! I’ll be fine. The baby will be fine. You don’t have to worry so much.” You said, offering a comforting hand on his. “I know, I’m sorry for worrying. I’m just..”

“Worried?” Brian nodded. “Well you don’t have to. We’ll be okay.” “Exactly, Bri, she said she’s fine.” Roger said. You knew it wasn’t your trailer and yet you forgot the rest of the band were in there. “Were you ever this nervous, John?” Brian asked. He nodded. “When the first one came, yeah. But it doesn’t get easier. Y/N is strong and healthy. Nothing to worry about. Even I wasn’t this nagging.” Of course John’s statement made Brian overthink.

“Nagging? I’m not really nagging you… aren’t I?” Brian turned to you, then to the rest of the other band members. You squeezed his hand. “Just a little, love. But with good reason.”

“Y/N will be fine, darling. Now you need to clear your head. I don’t want you on stage if you’re just going to cry over your wife.” “I’m not crying…”

“Brian! Just go! I’ll be watching, okay?” You helped Freddie push him out the trailer door as just as they helped you step down. “We’re going to be okay, Brian. You have fun, enjoy this.”

“I love you, Y/N.” “I love you too, Bri.” “And I love both of you,” Freddie said, taking both of in his arms.

You gave Brian a kiss and Freddie dragged him along. Roger and John following after, they waved at you.

The performance was beautiful. Brian played just as he always played, but it was still so enjoyable to see. There was never a doubt in your mind that this man, Brian May, would be your husband and father to your children.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Lost Part Four | Vegeta x Reader |

part one | part two | part three | part five | part six

author's note: i actually got the majority of this done within the last two days. i had such a strong burst of inspiration and this is where we've landed! i apologize for the wait, and hope next time won't take as long!

pairing: vegeta x fem!reader

warnings: canon typical violence, does not follow canon timeline of events, implied nsfw but nothing explicit

"I taught him everything I know." Vegeta's not surprised you've given him zero room to talk— but he's got an entire year to find you vulnerable, to get you talking and more importantly listening, so he'll quietly bide his time and allow you to steamroll his plans.

"Any new techniques?" Vegeta's arms cross, mind itching with the curiosity of a cat, wondering how you've spent the last twenty years. You're a Super Saiyan now, his pride in that achievement alone tops any pride and happiness he's ever felt, and the excitement for the impending year of training sends a tingle down his spine— of all the bad things, shitty choices and cruel twists of fate he's suffered in the last several years, this is perhaps the only time he's felt right, like he is exactly where he should be.

"Some, of course." Your feet are planted onto the ground, back still pointedly facing him. Despite the reprieve in your anger before, as you cuddled with him and kissed him fondly on the cheek just a few days ago, the burning fire dwelling within has reignited in full-force and Vegeta's struck with the nagging reminder that you possibly hate him more than you love him.

Possibly. He can work with that.

"Show me."

Idly, Vegeta thinks in the back of his mind that perhaps asking for you to attack him may not have been his brightest idea.

You turn on a dime and the yellow, jagged energy in your palm takes the shape of what resembles a bow, your other hand quickly firing off an arrow directed right between his eyes. And knowing your aim to always be true, the prince is swift, easily bypassing your little weapon of doom.

A mere swoop of his head is enough, and try as he might, Vegeta can't school his face; you're capable of way more than whatever that silly attempt was. "Points for style, I-" The smirk on your lips, so tiny and fleeting, is too out of place. "What's your- Shit!" You raise your palms and fire off quick little beams, spacing them out in an irregular pattern that's difficult to counter. You knew he'd underestimate the technique; it's what kept it in your arsenal, at the end of the day. If Vegeta, the master tactician and one of the most gifted fighters in this world, not to mention your husband that has spent more hours training with you than anyone else and knows your capabilities, could look down at the attack, then so would just about any foe.

He feels the sizzle of the arrow coming back, having to twist his body in a shape he didn't know was possible— and the twinge in his knee tells him it's, at the very least, not recommended.

Should've gotten that damn immortality when I had the chance.

"I believe I told you to mind your ego; if you still had a tail, you'd have felt it coming sooner."

Vegeta doesn't miss a beat, you find, as a hefty blast bursts from his palms and then it's you having to dodge, bending over backwards to avoid what would become a broken rib or two. Fast as ever, Vegeta's right above you and sends his fist to your gut, fully knocking you flat to the floor.

"And you…" He huffs out. "Clearly still underestimate me after knowing me for over forty years."

"Bite me." You growl; the absolute nerve of this man! To be so confident, as if no time passed since your last real brawl— he'd done the impossible and inflated his ego even more. Bastard.

"I hate to take a page out of Kakarot's book, but don't mind if I do."

Within a blink of an eye he's dropped to his knees, fangs sunk into that same spot as always, the mark so clear and distinctly his. The contact burns, Vegeta's lips hot and fangs molten lava as they break the barrier of skin— the taste of your blood kisses his tongue, a warning sign to stop biting deeper that he just barely heeds. But the sheer euphoria in his body, in yours, keeps him in place. Your bodies were never made for such distance between one another, yet withstood a twenty year gap— lesser Saiyans would have perished far sooner, perhaps even after a mere month apart if they faced the circumstances you and Vegeta had.

Your strength has always drawn Vegeta to you, ever since that day you punched him in the face. You survived not only a devastating separation, but an attack by his heir that, by all means was meant for, groomed to be an all-elite Saiyan like the rest of his royal lineage. You are stronger than Vegeta, and even his traditionally massive ego is able to step aside to only find nothing but the purest pride in you. He could have no other woman for his wife or his mate— you are simply the strongest, and the prince could never expect or have any less than that.

"Vegeta…" Your breathless whimper of his name urges his jaw in a tighter hold, clamping down on your mating scar. His brain searches for his tail, urging a signal to the lost appendage to tangle with yours as yours flicks at the very end, your hot body trembling beneath his.

And then there's a snap sounding in your brain as your tail fails to find your mate's, that stiff reminder of what's happened since the mating ceremony like a punch to the gut, eyes flying open with a growl as your nails dig into his muscled flesh. "Get the hell off of me."

Vegeta's cry of pain releases his bite, and he growls while forcing your hands off of him, using his weight and superior physical strength to pin your wrists to your sides. "Must you be so damn difficult, woman?!"

"I refuse to be your mistress, you vile-"

"If anyone's the mistress here, it would be Bulma and you know it." Vegeta says dryly. "And I'm not here with you for that. If V is as strong as you say-"

"He is." You scowl, the chip on your shoulder still very much present.

"Then I need to train too, and with a clear head. What good is training if our primal instincts have a score to settle?"

You huff and muster the strength to tear your hands free of his hold, pushing him off of your body and kicking him squarely in the gut before rolling backwards onto your feet, standing tall before his crouched form. "That's for earlier, Prince."

"Oh, you're gonna get it, Princess." Vegeta seethes, clutching his stomach.

"You refused to fight before; don't tell me the earth woman's made you soft."

Your husband grunts and forgets his pain to retaliate, his fist solid to your jaw with an uppercut. And thus the real brawl begins, fists and swears and smoldering looks passed between you. Each strike is calculated, your experience as seasoned fighters on display— you hold no audience, but perhaps your aim is for one another, rather than your Saiyan pride. Together as long as you were, you never did stop aiming to impress one another. It's in your Prince's blood to have an ego, of course, and as you throw your forearm up to block one of his mighty kicks, the possibility that you still want to be desirable to him crosses your mind, rather than training for the sake of strength.

What a shallow Saiyan you are.

But the fact that he spent any amount of time with her, pleasing her and potentially even courting her, has you set in a jealous rage that won't settle. They've got a child, a filthy halfling that's what, a year old? Maybe? And he's been living with her this whole time. Do they share a bed? What a nonsensical question, they must-

"You're getting distracted!" Vegeta growls after landing a fierce strike to your chest, knocking the wind out of you as you land right on your back. You stay down, Vegeta giving you reprieve as he stands tall above you, a stern frown on his lips. "Surely you don't find this a game, princess."

Your teeth clamp down on your tongue, the searing rage inside built up further by his taunts. "How dare you even suggest such a thing."

Vegeta offers his gloved hand to you, and you slip your hand in his after a moment's hesitation. Your prince has always had mercy on you, no matter how slight. His palm burns you through that white glove, and as he pulls you up to your feet his scent, a mixture of sweat and his natural musk beyond that, sets your insides alight. The mating scar you left eons ago is particularly sightly against his pale skin, the impression of your fangs clear to anybody with a set of eyes.

Your jaw quivers with need, aching to bite his most sensitive spot and take in his pheromones— he's always smelled so sweet despite his rough exterior; ever since your teenage years, when the genuine romance in your betrothal began, you've noticed that special scent of your prince.

You catch a whiff of that saccharine fragrance again, this time as you're walking through the palace for tea time with your betrothed and his father. You've been slated to marry the prince for many years now, though only recently have you taken a true liking to him— the idea of marriage is favorable in your mind now, with Vegeta having matured into a gentleman rather than the rude boy you decked solidly in the jaw just a few years ago.

He's also gotten quite handsome, regrettably.

It's breezy out, so tea is on a balcony with a view of the lower class's work division— Vegeta and his father are waiting patiently, though Nappa informs the king of an urgent matter he must attend to before you can even take your seat. King Vegeta grimaces, nodding apologetically before taking his leave. Leaving you and the prince alone, Nappa closes the doors to the balcony. The sweetness is stronger now, with Vegeta pulling your chair out for you. He's so close— clearly Vegeta must be the source of that intoxicating scent. You swallow thickly, hesitating to take your seat for the briefest of moments.

The urge to take a bite of him is new and strong and the sense of want is so disgustingly present, though the back of your mind coils in repugnance. Betrothed or not, attractive or not, he's still Vegeta. An arrogant, rude—

Vegeta tucks your chair in, his strength easily moving you to the table with grace. He's solidly behind you, hands lingering on your chair for just a second longer than necessary before he breaks away, taking his place beside you as the wind only forces more of his sweet pheromones your direction.

— perhaps you judge him too harshly.

You maintain your composure and refrain from biting him like a savage (though it's Vegeta that loses it at your very next encounter) but you do end the afternoon with a kiss that's passionate enough for your father to pass you a sideways glance when you return home absolutely covered in Vegeta's scent.

Vegeta nearly trembles under that hungry, near lustful gaze in your eye. He feels like meat, the mere prey to your raging ferality that's run so rampant, it's doubtful you've even noticed the way your tail sharply flicks around. You still hold his hand, bodies as close as possible without touching. Wetting your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and nearly cracking under Vegeta's handsome stare, you step back with a scowl.

This is no time for my biology to intervene.

"This has been a wash." You mutter, turning on your heel and powering into Super Saiyan.

"Glad we're in agreement." Vegeta follows up, the glow from your ascensions meeting in the middle for a brighter light, forcing both of you to squint. Vegeta holds a hand out, fingers curled as he seeks out your form beyond the blinding glow of Super Saiyan.

You hold two fingers out, generating a fraction of your power into the very tips of them, and Vegeta follows your lead.

"May the strongest Saiyan win." You say in unison, and with a charge and a call out, your fists meet in the middle, creating a shockwave that bellows out through the endless chamber, your brawl not missing even a single beat.

Your hair loses the luster of Super Saiyan as you collapse to the ground, entirely spent and bruised head-to-toe. Vegeta's sporting a messy cut above his brow, left eye closed as the wound bleeds a steady stream. With a huff he falls to his knee, holding his injured right arm carefully at the crook of his elbow— he watches your chest rise and fall with every breath, soon comforted with the movements.

Vegeta swipes away some blood rather fruitlessly, wiping it on his ruined armor. With a grunt he falls on his rear, holding his palm to the wound as he gathers his bearings. You push yourself up despite the cries of your ribs, grimacing at all of the blood on your husband's face. His open eye flicks your direction and he waves his hand nonchalantly— "No worse than a scratch."

"Scratches don't bleed profusely." You snap, itching closer to him as you shrug off the remaining scrap of the poor t-shirt you'd walked in the chamber with. Your leggings aren't in much better shape, but to be stripped down to the bare necessities certainly wasn't an option. "Move your hand."

Vegeta complies at the snippy tone of your voice, his head throbbing as you examine the wound. Your heated skin is close, so infectiously hot as you cup his face and tut at the mark you've left on him, pressing the ruined t-shirt tightly against the wound to soak up the blood. "I've got to bandage this." You murmur, clutching your side as you attempt to push yourself to your feet to reach the medical supplies in the rest area, which is a regrettable distance away.

"Stay down, princess. Your ribs aren't in any better shape than me." Vegeta tugs you back to the ground roughly, wincing at your groan of pain as you hit the floor. His hand is quick to your side, searching for the worst of the injury on the side you favored. His palm skims over a spot that's already bruising and your body shifts involuntarily, a whimper hidden behind your gritted teeth.

"You haven't got much experience fighting in Super Saiyan." He murmurs, pushing himself up and tossing the bloodied remains of your shirt aside before kneeling and carefully picking you up. He shushes softly your cries of pain, taking care not to jostle you as he flies back to where the door to the chamber is.

"It feels like home in here." You murmur as Vegeta lays you gently on a bed.

"It does." Vegeta says softly, removing his stained gloves. "The gravity in here is the same as Planet Vegeta's."

"I miss home." You stare blankly at the purple curtains that divide the sleeping quarters. "V and I spent our years on a Frieza colony, laying low. I worked on a farm to earn our keep, and V grew up like a normal child. I think our neighbors knew of our race, but they didn't ever speak a word to it— I don't know if it was loyalty to us, or just so Frieza wouldn't come back and destroy that planet too. We lived peacefully for a long time."

Vegeta quietly wraps a bandage around your ribcage, tying a cold compress tightly to the worst of your wound. His nimble fingers pause as you look back at him, searching his dark eyes for a moment before zeroing in on the slice above his brow. The bleeding has stopped, but he's still left with a large gash. "How did you train him?"

You push yourself up, not falling to his demanding hand that presses against your chest, urging you to rest. "We practiced basic hand to hand for a long time, and when he was older we began going off planet for more serious training. By the time he was 16, I had him trained like our parents had trained us. He would've been of great service to Planet Vegeta… You can't imagine how proud I was of him. How proud I am, even after what's happened."

"He's our boy. Of course he would be great." Vegeta's chest puffs out in pride, though his face bears the sorrow in his heart. He takes a place at the edge of the bed at your gentle insistence, his hands finding the curve of your hips— your exposed skin is hot under his touch and he brushes his thumbs up and down carefully while you wipe away blood from the wound.

"This cut you deeper than I thought." You toss away the bloody wipes once it's clean so you can inspect the wound. "I'll need to suture it."

Vegeta watches as you collect supplies from one of the many medical kits he's already laid out on the bed. Battered as you are, angry as you are, even, you don't bat away his hold. He watches you intently as you thread up the fresh needle, and your hand comes to softly touch his face after. "This is going to hurt."

"Try not to enjoy it too much."

The quirk on your lips tells him there won't be much trying.

Once you're gloved up, you begin work on suturing the wound. Vegeta's strong hands clutch your hips as the needle pierces his skin, but he remains strong throughout. He took your beating like a champ, and he'll take your healing with grace.

"Do you remember the last time I had to stitch you up?" You murmur, attempting a distraction as you work your careful stitches.

"I'd prefer not to." He mutters dryly, and you laugh a little.

"I kept my word, you know. I never did tell your father why you had stitches."

"Tch, give our planet a few more years and I'm sure that cat would've been out of the bag."

Vegeta watches your face as you laugh, squeezing your hips with the memory clear as day in his mind.

Vegeta storms to your bedchamber sporting his trademark scowl as he quickly moves through the castle. Why you've sent for him during an important war room meeting with his father and the men he commands, he doesn't know. His eyes burn like fire when he sees you, lounging in bed like it's a breezy afternoon where your husband isn't planning perhaps the riskiest invasion the planet has ever attempted.

"Have you lost your mind, woman?!" He stops short of the bed, biting down on his tongue, lest his angry tongue get him into trouble that the late-night prince would regret.

You roll your eyes and sit up, setting your book aside. "You didn't have to come now if it was that important."

"As my wife and my mate, I will always answer your call. It is up to you if you abuse that level of care I have." Vegeta's beefy arms cross over his chest, his anger simmering down into something less explosive once he's caught a whiff of your pheromones. There's something different— the gears in his mind turn.

"I didn't call you for nothing. It's actually quite important, and I think you'll find it worth the interruption."

"Well? What is it?!" Vegeta huffs, your scent getting stronger as you slink off the bed and into his personal bubble.

"I've just met with our physician." You smile widely, excitement palpable in the air.

"And…?" Vegeta's heart threatens to burst through his solid chest. Could it be…?

"I'm pregnant." You whisper, and your concerned face as his vision fades is the last thing he sees before total darkness.

"It's not my most honorable scar, but I wear it with pride all the same." Vegeta's fingers brush over the faint, thin scar lining his temple to his hairline. The smile that graces your lips at the memory makes the embarrassment worth it.

"Almost done." You assure him softly, and soon enough you're snipping the last of the thread and peeling off the blue gloves.

Vegeta heads to the bathroom, inspecting the patch job in the mirror. "You've always been exceptional with a needle and thread." Your stitches are neat, and the scar will be clean.

"Thank you." You brush by him, washing your hands as Vegeta turns his head.

"I'll draw a bath."

Slowly toweling off your hands, you look at the tub and then into the mirror. "No, I don't have much experience fighting in Super Saiyan. I tried it against V a few times, but couldn't keep it up for too long."

"First you must master the form, so the energy drain will be negligible." Vegeta powers up easily while testing the temperature of the water. "You're exhausted easier because of the transformation, but with diligence you'll master it as I have."

Your side aches as you take in a breath, gritting your teeth to power up into the legendary form. You've got to plant your feet to not topple over and lose it, but your sheer willpower alone saves you from failure. It's so draining and you're already exhausted of just about all you can give, but there's never been such a thing as a Saiyan who wasn't headstrong.

"Kakarot and I used this chamber once before to master Super Saiyan. It comes to us as easily as breathing now— there's no strain at all on our bodies. I dare say the form is beneath us now."

"Saiyans always get stronger." You grit out, nearly blinded by your own reflection. "I've had a few zenkai boosts through the last two years. I never really thought I could actually reach this power level. It's unheard of."

"I always knew you would continue to climb, though I wish it wasn't in part to zenkai." Vegeta murmurs, stripping away his armor to dip into the relaxing bath. "You were made for greatness. We would have been the strongest to lead our glorious race, had we been given the chance."

"That was only natural." You mutter bitterly, fingers gripping the sink tightly enough to crack the stone. "Perhaps we could've gotten out from under Frieza's thumb…"

"It's a wonderful thought." Vegeta murmurs thoughtfully, sinking further into the tub. And it calls for you, the scent of soap and the heat radiating from his way has you absolutely yearning to be in that tub. "Ruling over Vegeta together, raising children to be even stronger than us."

Your ribs ache with each breath you take, the icy compress burning against your skin. Though it's the sting in your eyes that hurts the most as the infinite what-ifs assault your imagination— More children? A strong, large royal family? The greatest warriors the world would have ever known? A life where your son didn't try to murder his own mother?

"Life is cruel." You whisper, two tears slipping past your lids as you close them.

Vegeta turns his head, closing his eyes— only to open them again when the glow of your transformation approaches the tub and you slip in with him, bandages and compress abandoned at the sink. He opens his hand to you and his heart soars at your willing contact in return, fingers wrapped tightly around the other's. Your husband leans forward for a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and you softly poke the tip of his nose.

"How long did it take you to master Super Saiyan?"

"A full year in this chamber to start, and on top of that I spent weeks in constant Super Saiyan after the fact." Vegeta explains, and damn if he isn't attractive when he's talking battle techniques to you in the tub.

"I see." You murmur, staring pointedly at the center of his broad, scarred chest. Several of the scars there are new to you; they're healed and have aged like the rest of him, and it's now that it truly hits you— your time with Vegeta was another lifetime ago. Could he really be the same man you mated? Are you the same woman he mated with?

"It will be hard." He warns. "But I know you'll persevere, as the stubborn brat you are."

You scoff indignantly, fingers still laced with his as the flutter in your chest contradicts yours words of objection. Vegeta just chuckles lowly during your tirade, massaging your hand and occasionally reigniting your fire with a small quip whenever it strikes him. It's a moment all too wonderful and comforting after all he's lost— your friendship hopefully isn't a casualty among the wreckage after all. His romantic love wasn't always there, as it rarely is with betrothal (especially as you were children when you met) but your connection very early on was in the form of a tight-knit kinship.

Your husband eventually begins wiping away the dried blood and sweat from himself, and your aching arms follow suit before sifting through the chests of clothes with a surprising amount of Frieza Force armors. Leaving behind the white chest piece, you smooth your hands down the perfectly fitted blue suit.

"Bulma created a variety of them for me, and I placed several here in the chamber." Vegeta murmurs as he pulls on a new pair of gloves. "Because eventually it will be Gohan's time to achieve and master Super Saiyan."

"He's a bright kid." You whisper to yourself.

"He may only be half of a Saiyan, but I believe he could be stronger than any full-blood."

Trunks could be stronger, is what you truly mean to say, Prince. Stronger than my son… Is that something you wish to see?

"Perhaps."

As beneficial as the use of the chamber is for your training, it's just as much a torture device as you spend every waking moment with your husband. The routine settles almost instantly, with breakfast and relentless training, bickering, and those brief moments, where the world slows for you for just a few seconds and all is right and you're almost living life how you were meant to— by Vegeta's side, through anything.

The hour on the clock above the door indicates you've got one final day as you lay in your bed, you and Vegeta separated only by a purple curtain, the way it has been since night one. The silence of the chamber is particularly deafening, jarring even—

"Bulma is not my wife." Vegeta breaks the silence, though barely. "She has cared for me, given me a son… But I've never thought of making her my wife."

You shift, turning on your side to face the sound of his voice. "And why is that? You begged me not to hurt her. You underestimate the level of your own care."

Vegeta's quiet for a moment. "She deserves a man greater than I am."

"But she loves you. Do you love her?"

His uncertain silence doesn't break. More than you, absolutely not. On the same level, doubtful. But his heart harbors that feeling, even if he won't admit it, be it to you or himself.

Vegeta slips past the thin purple barrier, climbing into the small bed and tugging you into his arms for a kiss as true as your first. Hesitation is at a full stop now, your lips passionate in the heated kiss. Four hands wander, though not necessarily out of lust, as you map one another's bodies again. The trail is more worn than it used to be, but the journey remains as pleasurable and familiar as ever as your lips begin to wander as well. It's all a messy tangle, teeth nipping and limbs fighting for dominance underneath the mutual glow of the after and even your mastered Super Saiyan past a certain point.

Your fangs itch and finally, The Rock has come back and you bite his mating scar, hackles of your tail raising with the sinking of your teeth into that delicious smelling flesh, heightened senses sending you in a euphoric spiral that leaves you dizzy in Vegeta's hot, scarred arms. He's damn near out himself, eyes rolled back so far he just might be able to see his brain as he releases all he's got, burning gold beneath you and damn if either of you have ever felt so fulfilled and at home.

A heaping mess of pants and lethargic limbs, sleep overtakes the remaining hours of the chamber's power, and it's your husband's hands and insistent lips that wakes you up in time to leave before another day on the outside begins.

Goku and Piccolo await you on the outside, the former buzzing with so much energy that adrenaline fills your veins with his crushing hug.

"You mastered Super Saiyan, didn't you?!"

"I did." Your grin is impossible to hold back against that innocent enthusiasm— Vegeta smirks proudly behind you, arms crossed tightly.

"She is far stronger now than she would've been with training you, Kakarot. She is a Saiyan elite!" Pride oozes out of every little pore, and it'd be a lie to say your heart isn't swelling with his joy focused so entirely on you.

"Well then, Ms. Saiyan Elite," Goku teases. "Show me what you're made of!"

"Darling, we would need an entire planet for a battle between us." You tease, which only seems to excite Goku further.

"Man, I gotta find the time to look for some! Maybe Bulma could help…?" He taps his chin thoughtfully, and Vegeta freezes briefly at the mention of her name.

The shift is palpable and Piccolo quietly ponders the situation further as you take note of Vegeta's pause, and he looks away from you and towards the sky. "We'll have to start searching for V soon."

"I have an idea of where he'll be." You eye your husband carefully.

"Good. We'll use one of Bulma's ships and go there within a few day's time. A little more training wouldn't hurt, though. For him to put a hurt on you as badly as he has, he's going to be hard to kill and-"

"What did you just say?!"

Vegeta's head turns and is met with your open palm to his face, your fangs bared and eyes razor sharp. He growls right back and steps forward, just as angry at your sudden change of pace. "It has been a constant two steps back with you. What the hell is the problem now?!"

"You are not killing my son!"

"You think I'd let him live?! He nearly killed you, his own mother! No damn son of mine will still breathe after such a betrayal towards my wife! What the hell did you think all this was for?"

"You won't lay a single hand on my baby."

"V is-"

"He has your name and your looks, but I raised that boy! I trained him, and I'm the one that cared enough about his life to trust Bardock and leave that doomed planet while you sooner preferred to leave him and I there like sitting ducks!"

"That's not fair to say." Vegeta sneers coolly.

"The truth doesn't care about what you think is fair. You will not kill my son. We fought hard to give him life in the first place, and I'd sooner kill you than V." 

Vegeta doesn't back down, and you're locked in a standstill as you stare each other down.

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object, Piccolo thinks to himself.

[possumbylight]

Lonely Rite

A/N: this is my first time posting my writing on tumblr despite posting on ao3 a bit recently so i wanted to start cross posting my stuff in case anybody here wants to read it too thanks for stoppin by ;)

Summary: She can’t sleep while her husband is away on a two-week business trip. so she turns to the next best thing, even if it is ten feet taller than her and made of stone.

Warnings: None! it’s fluff, and i don’t think there’s any language (if there is it’s super mild), and there’s one teeny itty bitty suggestive line at the end but it is so so mild i swear

Pairings: Zhongli/Reader, Hu Tao and Childe as pals along the way

The driving rain was her only warmth, though it slowly chilled her the longer the evening drew on. It was impractical to risk exposure to the element, but all practicality had dwindled over the past two weeks like a waning flame that finally evaporated into smoke when she had first stepped into the storm.

For two weeks, she had fought to find interest anywhere other than the nagging thoughts in her brain, seeking company from just about anyone who would humor her for even a moment. She was not usually one to stop to converse with street-side merchants for no reason but friendly chitchat-- that was more her husband’s domain, after all-- but everyone from the perfume seller to the old kite-maker to the shaky fishmonger by the docks had entertained her insatiable need to kill time. 

She was running out of topics of conversation. The weather could only get her so far, and she was loath to discuss the death of Rex Lapis, given that she was not good at keeping secrets.

When she failed to sleep for the nth time since her husband’s departure, she grew sick of her ordeal, sick of the inside of her house, and sick of the empty bed that was far too big for her alone. She knew precisely where she was headed when she opened her front door, and even the bite of the stinging rain could stop her from completing her mission. It was, undoubtedly, a drastic measure, but she had put up far too long with drastic times.

Two weeks prior.

“I will not be away long, dearest,” her husband promised, though his own eyes were laced with a distinct sorrow that even his unending wisdom could not mask. “I will write when I can. Will you write to me, as well?”

“If I don’t, will you come home sooner?”

He laughed. She would miss the sound.

“I will return as soon as my job is complete.”

“And you’re sure I can’t come with you?”

“I fear your boss at the book house would not appreciate your sudden departure,” he argued, frustratingly practical to the extent that it made her pout. It wasn’t fair that he always made such good points. She deserved to be impractical every now and again, but her husband always made far too much sense. “And I could hardly put you in such danger. I fear that the days ahead will be harsh. You should not be subjected to such hostilities.”

“And you should?”

“I have survived far worse.”

“Yes, but you can’t exactly hurl mountainsides anymore, can you?” She muttered under her breath, folding her arms like a cross child, if only so that he would dote upon her.

“While it is true that I cannot control the earth as I could in my youth, you underestimate my resolve. I am no feeble old man, my love. I will return to you safely, as I always have, as I always will.”

Eventually, she had been convinced, though hardly happy about it. She may have been a lowly bookstore clerk with a penchant for adventure novels, but she was also a seasoned adventurer herself. Who better to judge such subject matter than one who has experienced it firsthand?

Y/n could have easily boarded the boat with her husband and traveled to Inazuma to fulfill whatever harebrained request had been made of him. Why some random Inazuman citizen had any authority to commission a funeral parlor consultant from Liyue, she did not know, but if she ever met the doushin who had sent for her husband to cross the sea under such treacherous conditions, she would not be kind.

But despite her dramatics, she woke up the next day, rubbed her eyes of sleep all by herself, made tea all by herself, and made the walk to work all by herself, feeling all the while that the sun was a little dimmer without her companion to help guide her step.

She felt desperate. She felt pathetic, like some poor little lost puppy, following her husband around and giving him big moony eyes every time he so much as cleared his throat to speak, but before she had met him, she had been lonely for some time. She was quiet by nature, and when she had packed her life up and moved to Liyue on a whim, it hadn’t been long before she realized that her only friends were coworkers and books.

Meeting him amongst the shelves was a dream, and falling in love with him was a fresh adventure every day.

As she stepped behind the desk at the Wanwen Bookhouse, she remembered exactly where he had stood when she had first met him.

She didn’t want to bother him—most who wandered onto the top level of Wanwen Bookhouse enjoyed the quiet. The Liyue sun was good to them, pleasantly wandering across the spines of books but not so harsh that it bore down on the patrons as they leisurely paced through the shelves. She tended to let her visitors experience the shop at their own pace until they signaled a need of her.

This man, however, looked so remarkably pensive that she could not help but ask. His one hand pressed lightly to his chin and the other tucked behind his back, the only part of him that proved him not to be an elegant statue was his hair, bristling at the ends as the wind flitted through the pages around him.

“Can I help you find something today?” she asked him, approaching as though opening her hand toward a timid animal. “You look awfully deep in thought.”

He took his time responding, but his kind smile was enough to assure her that she had not overstepped. When he did speak, his voice, sturdy as stone and smooth like honey, warmed her.

“I am glad you asked. If I might take a moment of your time, I have several questions regarding this series.”

“I’d be happy to answer, sir.”

He took a single book into his gloved hands, cradling it gently yet weighing it as though assessing its contents through feel alone, as if it would somehow whisper to him the precise questions he ought to ask of her. She took his brief distraction to watch him unabashedly. The people of Liyue were pretty, certainly, but this man had eyes made of precious stone a face of ageless beauty. The way he carried himself alone was enough to make her feel only two inches tall, but the ease with which he spoke to her and the care of his words calmed her.

“I am curious about the author. Zhang Jianning is a name I have yet to encounter. Do you know of his history?”

She nodded, a quiet smile rising on her face. Thankfully, the man had asked her about a beloved adventure series, one which she was immensely fond of. If there was any single employee at the Wanwen Bookhouse who could best answer his questions, it was her.

“Zhang Jianning is actually a pen name. Call of the Ocean Void was actually written by a woman, who used the name of her husband so that she could publish her works.”

“Fascinating,” he replied, and she sensed that he meant it. Sometimes, a customer would ask her for a recommendation, and she would get overexcited at the prospect and accidentally bore the patron into pitying her, nodding along though they had stopped caring long ago. It wasn’t often, after all, that she got to talk to people about a subject she loved so dearly, so when someone asked a question, she really let herself go.

“Her name was actually Zhang Ting, and her work was revolutionary at the time. The genre was flooded with a whole lot of men telling the same stories, and when Ting published the first book of her series, it was an instant success. She revealed her true name when she finished the last installment of the series, and then published everything afterwards under her own name. But instead of changing newly published editions of Call of the Ocean Void, she kept them under her husband’s name as thanks to him.”

“That is a wonderful tale,” the man complimented her, and she flushed at the praise. It wasn’t every day that she had tall, handsome men praising her for her ability to ramble about her favorite books. “Do you enjoy this series yourself?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You are obviously quite interested in its history. Do you enjoy the content, as well?”

“It’s one of my favorites,” she explained as her fingers brushed across the book spines, coming to rest on one particular novel. “The fourth book is my favorite. It’s—well, I won’t tell you, in case you decide you’d like to read it. Do you like adventure novels?”

“I often find myself consuming solely non-fictional accounts and entirely neglecting fiction, but I have recently become quite appreciative of the thrill of adventure.”

Y/n had helped him purchase the book, and within a few days, he had returned for the next book in the series. By the fourth book, he decided that he would buy all of them at once, and she, though pleased by the idea that she had sparked his interest in a beloved series, lamented that she would no longer be encountering the man who was turning out to be her favorite customer.

As she carefully jotted down the details of his newest purchase for her records, he cleared his throat, and for the first time, she witnessed a slight discomfort in his stance.

“Miss Y/n, I wonder if you have ever taken the time to listen to the local storytellers? I find that Tian is quite skilled in his art.”

“Mr. Tian is the storyteller at Third-Round Knockout, right? I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Then, perhaps you would be interested in accompanying me tomorrow evening.”

“To… to listen to the storyteller?”

“Yes, if you would like. If you have other matters to attend, I understand.”

“No, I would like that.”

Y/n sighed sweetly at the memory, cursing her past self for being so oblivious and so cowardly. If she had accepted that their first trip to the storyteller had been their first date, then perhaps they could have moved on with the whole relationship with considerably more efficiency than they did, dawdling and pining for at least a year.

Despite the memories that lived amongst all of the shelves, she completed her job as efficiently as she could without daydreaming.

Eleven Days Prior.

Several days later, and she was desperate enough to wander into the halls of the Northland Bank, seeking the company of the man who had attempted to drown the entire city with her inside it, and yet, somehow became a friend to both her and her husband. Tartaglia, if rumor was to be believed, had killed her husband, but she only rolled her eyes at such tall tales. The bloodthirsty Eleventh Harbinger would never kill without a proper fight, and despite his grandstanding, a row with Morax was not a fight Tartaglia could reasonably win.

“I’m here to see Childe,” she muttered to the baffled attendant behind the counter. Usually when she made visits to the Northland Bank, she was accompanied by her husband, whose stately presence made up for the fact that the two of them were seemingly nobodies come to call on a high and mighty harbinger. Now all by herself, she was just a shy little civilian who no doubt appeared visibly unnerved by the hollow and clean halls of the bank.

“Lord Tartaglia does not take meetings without an appointment,” came the steady reply. The guards eyed her warily. “What is your name?”

“Y/n. I don’t have an appointment, though.”

“Then I’m afraid you will have to return once you have made the appropriate preparations.”

“Oh. Sorry, then, I—”

“Y/n! There you are, comrade.” If the voice wasn’t unmistakable, the fiery head of hair that bobbed down the stairs was a clear tell from a mile away. As soon as his boots hit the expensive marble floor, all heads in the room bowed in reverence. Y/n felt a swell of pride in her chest. “Don’t tell me that Levin was giving you a hard time.”

“He was just making sure I wasn’t coming to assassinate you, I suppose.”

“And? Are you?”

“Don’t sound so excited about it, Childe. I’m a decent adventurer, but I would be far too easy of a fight for you.”

“Yes, I fear that you would be,” he uttered, though his voice was still riddled with the humor that made his threats so chilling—the ease with which he spoke of conquest and battle, followed by a cheery laugh, made talking with him unnerving at times. It was only because he was a dazzling conversationalist and a loyal friend that she and her husband were able to skillfully repress Tartaglia’s rocky past.

“So why do you still look like you want to try it?”

“Ah, because after I’ve successfully gotten you out of the way, then your lover would have no choice but to fight me. Where is Mr. Zhongli, by the way? I’m surprised he’s left you to roam the streets alone.”

Her face scrunched so pitifully that Childe nearly laughed, had it not been for the unutterable sadness that filled her eyes.

“He’s in Inazuma,” she whined, trekking with heavy step up the stairs behind him. “Some stupid doushin asked for his expertise on a case or something.”

“Inazuma. That’s awfully far. How long will he be gone?”

“Two weeks.”

“Aw, poor little thing. You look like someone’s knocked the wind right out of your sails. But, if you’re lonely, we could always go outside the city and find some treasure hoarders to knock around a bit.”

She pondered the idea longer than she was proud of.

“Ask again in a few days,” she finally sighed. “I might get bored enough to take you up on that.”

One Week Prior.

She had, several days later, taken up Tartaglia on his offer to go adventuring, and even though he had been more than happy to take care of any enemy that passed their way, y/n still ended up aching in the joints and riddled with little cuts and bruises all over every inch of skin that had been exposed during their journey.

So, she hobbled up the long and arduous path to Bubu Pharmacy, praying to all the archons that the tall stairs would miraculously shorten to make her journey less painful.

“How am I supposed to pray to Rex Lapis for the earth to bend to my will,” she muttered bitterly as she heaved another step upward, “when he’s out of town on a business trip?”

“Good afternoon, y/n! You’re looking a little worse for wear. Might I inquire as to why you’re so beaten up?”

Hu Tao skidded to a halt beside her, and somewhere, Qiqi let out a relieved sigh that the director had been momentarily sidetracked by another potential client.

“I went out adventuring yesterday, to pass the time.”

“To pass the time, or to pass away? You know, I have been designing an attractive pair of couple’s coffins for you and Mr. Zhongli, but if you go ahead and die now, you’ll get a significant discount.”

“I don’t plan on dying right now, but thank you,” y/n muttered, somewhat gratefully. She had been quite sure at the bottom of the stairs that she would survive to the top, but somewhere around the middle, her faith in herself wavered.

“Let me know if you change your mind. Have you heard from Mr. Zhongli since he’s been gone?”

“Mm, he sent me a couple letters. The weather’s been rough in Inazuma lately. Apparently, their stormy season is particularly trying.”

Y/n grimaced as she recalled her husband’s wording, and the way she knew he was masking some of the peril he had experienced. No doubt, he was trying his best to keep her from worrying so much that she hopped on the next boat out of town and tried to fight the Raiden Shogun in his honor.

My dearest y/n,

           I write to inform you that I have safely landed in Inazuma’s port at Ritou. The maple trees are rich with color, and the air is clean, when the storms have subsided. Ritou is lined with quaint little markets, and I have found the time to pick up a few souvenirs you will no doubt find interesting.

I did remember my wallet, this time.

The famed Yae Publishing House is my next prospect, and I intend to visit as soon as I have reasonable time. Perhaps if I find a suitable novel, I can read it aloud to you when I return. Though, I miss your voice so much I may request that you read it aloud to me, at least for a night. I could never fully give up the sight of you curled up at my side, dozing off to sleep at the sound of my voice.

I hope you are faring well in my absence. I know how reluctant you were to leave me by the docks, and it pained me just as much to watch as you faded into the distance. I could see the tears in your eyes, and my heart begged me to beseech the captain to turn the boat around just so that I could comfort you.

I digress—I do not wish to make you feel lonely.

Inazuma is a beautiful nation, despite its weather becoming volatile at times. There is no need to worry, however, as my lodging during my journey provides me a sturdy roof. I doubt, as well, that this nation’s archon would be so quick to strike me down with her lightning.

Rest assured that the Shogun’s thunder is a terror I have survived many a time.

I hope to bring you here someday, during a season in which the weather is far more temperate. The Sakura trees surrounding the Grand Narukami Shrine are loveliest at the peak of their blooms, and I believe you would enjoy the long and winding walk to the mountain’s peak. The pathway is paved with stone, and the red of the wooden terraces is rich against the pale blue of the sky.

Nothing compares, however, to the way you shine under the Liyue sun. I hope the sun shines on the day I return to you, darling, but even if it does not, I will be equally overjoyed to see you.

                                                                                   All my love,

                                                                                               Zhongli

Y/n hoped that Hu Tao couldn’t read the way her lip barely trembled at the thought of the poetic letter. She wished, after all the beautiful books she had read, of all the brilliant and descriptive words she knew, that she could write nearly as well as Zhongli. He always went on about how he loved the way her words sounded on her tongue or on the page, but she knew that she was hardly impressive compared to him.

She swooned when he so much as asked her to pass the sugar bowl.

Hu Tao, despite having offered y/n a comfortable means of transport to the afterlife, helped her up the stairs until Dr. Baizhu could properly prescribe a salve that would hopefully heal all of her wounds by the time her husband arrived, though she wasn’t opposed to the idea of her beloved doting on her as he cooed at how pitiful her wounds looked.

Perhaps she would skip a few applications and let Zhongli give her a massage, for good measure.

Four Days Prior.

She stared down the incense burner with an intense passion, as though lighting the embers with her very eyes. Of course, she could write letters to her husband, but it wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as talking to him in person, and even though he wasn’t nearly as involved in Liyue’s affairs as before, he was still at least semi-divine, so she was willing to stake her chances that he might hear her should she direct all her wishes to Rex Lapis’s little effigy that sat atop the stone burner instead of waiting for Zhongli to reply.

She spoke to him with little regard for the other supplicants milling about the terrace—if anyone should hear her, they would likely think her some enthusiast of the former Geo Archon, mourning his loss and pining for his return.

“I miss you,” she spoke as the fragrance began warming the air around her. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I miss you so much it hurts.”

Waiting on a sign was silly, but she still hoped beyond hope that the smoke might give her some kind of signal. When nothing happened, she addressed him again, this time listing all of the names she could remember, just in case. The earth might not respond to Zhongli, but it would certainly recognize Morax.

“Zhongli. Rex Lapis. Lord of Geo. Morax. If you can hear me, you should say something now so I don’t look like a buffoon talking to a dead god.”

It could have been her eyes playing tricks on her—her sleep schedule had been wretched in her husband’s absence—but the smoke gave a slight hitch to the left as it rose.

“Yes, I know you’re not actually dead, but no one else knows that. What’s the point of marrying a former god if he can’t hear you when you pray to him?”

She sighed, sitting down on the sun-soaked pavement with her legs crossed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be snippy. I just forgot how lonely I was before I met you. Now that we spend so much time with each other, it’s hard to be away from you for this long without going mad. I’m starting to doubt that you can hear me at this point, but if you can, please try to cut your trip short. I don’t know if I’ll last four more days.”

For the next hour, she sat in the sun and mumbled sweet supplications to Rex Lapis, hoping that at least one of them would reach his ears.

He had told her of his identity the night he asked her to marry him. It was a prerequisite, he said. Before he asked her the all-important question, he had to ensure that she was comfortable with all of him—his past, present and future selves.

“Y/n, if we are to proceed with this relationship, I must inform you of something which might alter the course of your feelings towards me. I… have not always been a funeral parlor consultant.”

She expected that perhaps he had been wild in his youth, running with treasure hoarders or engaging in the shady trade that always littered the lower docks. Never could she have imagined that his prior job had been Geo Archon, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He had, more times than she could count, corrected arrogant historians on minute details, filling in narrative holes with all sorts of odd accounts that somehow lined up entirely with historical fact.

Besides that, there was one occasion on which Tartaglia had referred to Zhongli as, “the guy who sealed up Osial in the first place,” which y/n had written off as some strange inside joke between the two.

The night he had revealed the truth to her, it had taken her several hours of questioning, which he had valiantly endured, to adjust to the new information, though her heart never thought twice about her decision to agree to his proposal. When he finally asked the question, she responded so immediately that it shocked him.

“Darling, I am overjoyed to hear this, but I must ask if you are sure. This is quite a lot to take in at once. If you require a few days’ thought, I would understand.”

“I know my answer now. I love you—every bit of you, even the parts that are complicated. I don’t mind what other names you’ve been called in the past, or other lives you’ve lived. You’re my Zhongli now, and you’ll be my Zhongli forever, if you’d like.”

“That is more than I could ever ask.”

When she agreed to marry him, she never pictured herself awaiting his return by sitting cross-legged before his draconic visage, muttering under her breath for only the cool stone to hear. It was worth it, however, to feel that he was so close even when he was so far away. No one else in the harbor could claim that their lover’s figure sat handsomely etched in stone in statues overlooking the city. She was the only one who could confirm whether Rex Lapis at all resembled his statues.

And she was quite smug about that, as well.

One hour prior.

He begged his heart not to expect the sight of her at the docks, her figure swaying amongst the silhouetted crowd as his ship crested the horizon and set for the docks. He had not discussed his arrival time with her, as he did not know it himself, and thus, it would be impractical for him to assume that she lingered at the docks for his return.

Even still, when he saw that the docks were empty at such late hours of the night, his heart stung with the pang of loneliness that would have to last just a bit longer.

He filled his mind instead with visions of her swaddled in blankets, chest rising with steady breath as she dreamed peacefully. When he finally arrived home, he could finally remove his business clothes, let loose his hair, and participate in that sweet domestic ritual of curling up in bed beside his wife, wishing to see her eyes but hating to wake her.

When he opened the bedroom door to find the house entirely empty, he fought to keep himself level. Surely, there was a reasonable answer for this. She had written him hardly a day prior, so he assumed her to be still in good health. Perhaps, even, she had overexerted herself in filling his absence, attending some late-night party from which she would eventually crawl home, exhausted and socially spent.

He doubted this. She had begun to appreciate light conversation more since the start of their relationship, but she was hardly the type to stay out past bedtime to engage in any social activities.

He searched the whole house one more time, thoroughly exhausting all his options until he was left with only the impractical—his wife could hardly fit in the vase by the fireplace, but he had to be sure of this. Compiling a list of her most frequent haunts, he took to the streets, not caring a single bit that the gray clouds had pooled all in one adumbral mass above the harbor, pouring rain that startled the seas with its force.

The Wanwen Bookhouse was, of course, closed at such a late hour, its wares sheltered in billowing tarps that pushed and pulled loudly in the strong winds. He thought she may be there, too, drenching herself to the bone as she fought to keep the pages of her favorite books safe, but she was not hiding amongst the shelves.

The Terrace was empty, save for the dimming light of the glaze lilies, closing their buds to the storm that threatened to pull their stalks from the earth. The incense that had once burned in the public altar was dampened entirely. Just as he was about to head for his next destination, however, the dome of a single lavender umbrella cut through the driving rain.

“Mr. Zhongli, I am surprised to find you here at this hour,” Keqing spoke in measured tone, as though it was perfectly normal for her to be there at that hour. “You’re soaking wet. Might I offer you an umbrella from my office for your journey home?”

“Forgive me, Lady Keqing, I do not mean to be abrupt, but I cannot seem to find my wife.”

“Quite alright, Mr. Zhongli. I assumed she had met you at the docks. I haven’t seen her since yesterday, but if I do, I will be sure to let her know that you’re looking for her.”

“Thank you, Lady Yuheng.”

He was gone long before he could acknowledge the quiet wave of farewell she gave. His next destination—and he prayed this to be wrong—was the pharmacy, where a single lamp flickered in the front office.

“Good evening. Or… is it now morning? Qiqi… does not own a watch.”

“Qiqi, have you seen my wife?” he questioned hurriedly, forgetting in his haste that the smallest of the pharmacy employees was also the slowest.

“Your… wife? You are Mr. Zhongli. Qiqi wrote down your name, because you always compliment Qiqi on the selection of violetgrass. Should Qiqi call for Dr. Baizhu?”

“No, thank you, Qiqi.”

A wasted venture, but one that took him to one of the last locations on his list, and the one place he would find someone who might truly have information. The Northland Bank was, after all, open at all hours of the day and night.

“Enjoying the rain, Zhongli? You don’t seem like the type to go out without an umbrella. I’d be happy to lend a few mora, if you need to procure a new one.”

“Thank you, Childe, but I fear an umbrella would be of no use to me at this point. Pardon me, but I do not have time to speak with you just now, I—”

“No time to speak?” Tartaglia asked him with a strange sort of glimmer in his eye that caught in the moonlight. “That’s odd. It’s rare that you don’t have a story to tell me, though, I suppose it makes sense. You wouldn’t go out in the rain and get soaked for no reason. Tell me, Zhongli, what’s your mission today? You look awfully determined.”

Zhongli sighed. Childe was, by some odd event, a friend to him, and though the two had spent hours exchanging stories, Zhongli was in no mood to humor his friend’s conversation, however amicable. As the hour drew on, his worry grew until it sat heavy right in the center of his chest.

“I have been looking for my wife, to no avail. I am aware that she is capable, but I am beginning to worry.”

“Y/n has certainly been lonely since you left on your little adventure. She’s stopped by the bank on more than one occasion, just to chat. The first time it happened, I thought something must be wrong. I’m not used to seeing one of you without the other at this point.”

“Childe, have you seen her today?”

“I haven’t. But, I might have an idea of where she may be.”

“I would be incredibly grateful for any information you are willing to spare.”

“She’s with you, of course,” Childe answered with a laugh, as though it should be obvious. When Zhongli’s brow furrowed, the younger man’s smile only grew.  “I did say that I hardly see one of you without the other, didn’t I? So where else would she be, than with you?”

Childe lifted one long arm to point upwards towards the horizon, dotted with brightening stars that grew as the sun dissipated behind the harbor’s wavering border. Rising tall, just above the rolling hills beyond the city’s gates, stood a singular, familiar figure, glowing faint blue against the darkening sky.

“I see,” Zhongli whispered. The waver in his tone faded into a fondness that untied the great knot of worry that had tangled his heart. It was silly, of course—he should have been upset that his most beloved had ventured out into the rain on such a wild and sentimental hare, but he could not bring himself to feel even the slightest bit of resentment towards her.

He had left her alone for two weeks. It was only reasonable that she should seek comfort in the next best thing. He hardly took time to thank Tartaglia before rushing towards the hillside, following the faint glow of the Statue of the Seven.

As he approached the statue, he saw her, shadowed by stone and sky, huddled into an uncomfortable mass on the statue’s lap. He fended off the passing sting of jealousy—it was his lap, but it wasn’t.

He hardly had trouble making his way up to the top, though as he did, he could not help but wonder how she had climbed there, and in the rain, of all things, but he thought to ask her later. There were far more pressing issues on his mind.

“Darling, wake up,” he cooed, brushing his fingers across the side of her face and warmed at the precious sight of her squirming and mumbling sleepily. “We need to get you out of this rain. You’ll fall ill in this cold.”

“Zhongli,” she whispered, as though in the midst of a sweet dream. “Get home, already. I can’t sleep when you’re not here.”

“I’m sorry, dearest. I am here now. Come—let me take you home.”

“Mmhmm. Okay. Carry me?”

“Of course. Hold on tight.”

“You’re really home?”

“Yes, my love, I am truly home.”

“Oh, no,” she whined, burying her head into his chest. “I’m sorry. You must be tired, and here I’m making you carry me. You can put me down, I can walk on my own.”

“Nonsense. How long have you been curled up against nothing but unyielding stone? It is my pleasure to carry you home, dear.”

She hummed happily as he crossed the threshold of their house, the amber glow of the kitchen lamp flushing their cheeks red with warmth as they sought shelter from the cold rain. Once she was on her own two feet, she quickly returned to the cradle of his arms, hiding herself away against him as though he would disappear if she did not hold him close enough.

“I must seem pathetic,” she whimpered, and he only laughed in response. The gracious rumble in his chest was enough to give her a smile of her own.

“Of course not. Should it be of interest to you, I found it difficult to sleep apart from you as well. The only way I found myself able to close my eyes at all was because I kept something of yours with me.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“Oh, I—” he stammered, uncharacteristically flustered at the sudden turn of the conversation that placed all attention on him. “I borrowed a shirt of yours.”

“My green shirt? The one with the pocket on the front? So that’s where it’s been.”

“I apologize if you missed it.”

“I missed it a little, but not as much as I missed you.”

“That is good to hear,” he sighed. He pressed his lips quietly to her forehead, letting himself enjoy the weight of her in his arms before he went to move again, this time taking her by the hand and leading her towards the bedroom. “Come now, darling. We should rid ourselves of these clothes before we both fall ill.”

“Oh?”

“What an odd look in your eyes, dear. I am merely suggesting that you should not remain in wet clothes for very long, for your health.”

“You’re not suggesting anything else?”

He did not respond, but the twitch of his mouth gave him away, and she grasped his hand, eager to follow wherever he may lead.

[ahsxkatano]

Where I Can’t Follow (Preview)

author’s note: So, I had mentioned the other day about wanting to write a Dream x Spouse!Reader, and I have written a small blurb :) I wanted to make it gender neutral, but if you see anything you feel may be too descriptive, please let me know! I plan on making a short series about Spouse!Reader pretty much going through the motions after her husband mysteriously disappears. Let me know what you guys think 🥺 this is my second time ever attempting an x reader so I apologize if it reads weird!!

masterlist

pairing: Dream/Morpheus x Spouse!Reader

request: no

warnings: a lil angsty but nothing crazy (yet)

word count: 556

We begin…

…with a lovers quarrel:

“I just don’t understand why I can’t come with you. The Corinthian is not one to be toyed with, my love, especially on your own.” (Y/n) crosses their arms, feeling anger consume every inch of their body. Maybe anger at the present moment, but it was only there to mask the massive worry that shook them to their core.

The man before them appeared to look as stoic as ever, but (Y/N) was able to read him like a book. One would hope so after centuries of marriage. But they could sense the annoyance radiating from the man’s body. The two had been going at it for hours. His back was facing them, gathering things for the journey that awaited him, still refusing to acknowledge (Y/N)’s concerns. 

“My love…please.” They can hear their voice practically pleading. “Nightmares…they flourish in the waking world! But dreams…” Their voice trails off. Slowly, (Y/N) takes a few steps forward. “I just…I don’t want anything to happen to you…” Gently, their hand reaches out, interlocking their fingers. He lets out a sigh, turning to face his beloved. 

“Darling…” Morpheus's voice rings out, placing his other hand against their cheek. (Y/N) leans into his touch. “Do you really think so little of me that I can’t seem to handle a mere Nightmare?” His annoyance seems to radiate away, the tiniest of smirks appearing on his pale features. (Y/N) rolls their eyes.

Cocky bastard.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” They mumble. “I just…I wish you would let me come with you. I…I hate when you go where I can’t follow…” (Y/N) knew arguing with him was futile at this point, resigning to their fate of staying behind in the Dreaming. Another sigh escapes the man’s lips, as he lowers his head down, gently pressing their foreheads together.

“I promise, I will not be long.” (Y/N) frowns. They had a nagging feeling in their stomach, trying to convince them that that would not be true this time around. However, they do their best to try and swat that feeling away. This was their husband, after all, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. A powerful being older than the gods themselves. Why should they be worried? Morpheus begins to pull away. “I must go.” He whispers.

He makes his way towards his thrown, grabbing his helm from the seat. “Lucienne, please keep an eye on (Y/N) while I’m gone.” The smaller woman bows.

“Of course, my lord.” He turns to the two for one last time, placing the helm atop his head. Grabbing his pouch of endless sand, he dumps it onto his hand, the minuscule gravel begins to swirl around him

“Safe travels, my love…” (Y/N) murmurs out. Though the helm covers his face, they could feel his eyes stare straight into theirs. “And make sure you hurry back! It’s not polite to keep your spouse waiting.” They tease. (Y/N) could feel his laugh rumble deep within their chest.

“Wait long, you shall not, my darling.” And with that, his body vanishes, off somewhere in the waking world. Lucienne places a gentle hand on their shoulder.

“He’ll be back soon.” She tries to convince. (Y/N) just lets out a sigh.

“I can only hope…”

[milogreer]

Grah (Milo 🥺🥺) ('send me a character' ask game!)

@darlinghowl asked: milo too!

YAAYYY HUSBAND TIME 🩷🩷 ↳ send me a character!

My first impression: i’m being so so serious when i say i had to pause milo’s first audio pretty much immediately after he started talking because his accent made me blush LMFAO it’s like he was built for me in a fuckin lab. werewolf with a ny/nj accent, the cockiness and bitchiness with just that hint of a soft side near the end when he talks about wanting dahlia to stay safe, and the FLIRTINESS my god. and that was ONE AUDIO LMAO that’s not even getting into everything else he has going on that felt tailored to me (*cough*heatingupinthebedroom*cough*) 🫠💖 

My impression now: unchanged baby he has been my number one since day one!!! not that this is surprising to anyone given my blog theme 🤣 i may not talk about him all the time but he’s never losing top spot in my heart. i’ve gotten butterflies from a handful of moments across the redactedverse but nothing that stuck with me as hard as the panic attack audio did, and he still makes me kick my feet and twirl my hair whenever he gets all sweet 💘 he’s truly the redacted love of my life

A favorite thing: as a massive horror media enjoyer, i think it’s so cute that he’s a little scaredy cat when it comes to ghosts and demons. the gameplay vids are super immersive for me bc whenever he jumps at something i start giggling and then he tells sweetheart to shut up for also giggling LMAO 

Least favorite thing: nothing. he’s the most perfect man ever. actually no least favorite thing is that he doesn’t talk abt his family enough !! i wanna know more about his family life so badly after the “worried about you” audio 😫 i wanna know more about marie other than that she likes ghostbusters and nags his ear off when he gets himself hurt and i wanna really dig into his feelings for his previously alcoholic/gambling addict father

Favorite interaction they have with another: AHHH THE ASHER MOUNTAIN INCIDENT. ok ok i’ve talked abt this before but i’m gonna say it again bc it always bears repeating. this was i think the first time we’ve heard about him shifting after regaining the ability post-inversion and it made me actually cry bc it was just two best friends having stupid fun together as shifters 😭😭 like even though milo came out of it injured he still got to wolf out and fuck around with asher and that makes me sooo happy for him after suffering through those 5-6 months being unable to shift

A character that I wish they would interact with more: DARLIN PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE erik i’m on my knees!!! darlin’s gotten audios with david and asher, when will it be milo’s turn!! i’ve thought a lot about them as teens and how they got on and how they navigated being sort of the odd ones out wrt their family dynamics vs david and asher’s + how the pack meeting with darlin went ☹️ i need them to get a one on one audio

A headcanon: aggro is a black cat that milo adopted from a shelter specifically because of the stigma surrounding black cats. people think they’re unlucky or evil or whatever but aggro is the sweetest little thing and he was just a little baby who had been there for probably a month or two and when milo came around, there was an instant connection 🥺 i also think that if he wasn’t already a registered ESA then they definitely would’ve gotten it done post-inversion. milo doesn’t typically take him anywhere but sometimes sweetheart will take him with them to the office; he even has a cute little ESA vest 🥰

A song: this is so hard because i have a handful of good ones… one i don’t think i’ve posted before is just what i needed by the cars! really early relationship vibes, i like it a lot 💕

An unpopular opinion: [looks around cautiously before leaning close to the mic and whispering] i don’t think he’s into being called daddy. MAYBE I’M BIASED because i don’t usually vibe with it myself, but i just don’t see it. however i think if you called him “sir” you’d both be locked up in the bedroom for several hours 🤷🏼‍♀️